http://mexicanicepick.livejournal.com/27333.html?thread=291269#t291269
make it stop
I had a date Thursday night. My date knew seven languages, but not the word "no." [Incidentally, the reason I phrase it like that is because it kills something inside me when I have to come right out and say it. Why so many people think this is a funny joke, I do not know.]
Wednesday night, I'd stayed on the phone with him for upwards of two hours. One of the things we talked about was sex and what I told him was that I did not have intercourse outside of serious relationships. But, that didn't turn out to matter.
During the date, he took me to this lounge area adjacent to a supply shed -- he works in maintenance in my condo -- and we were watching some truly awful movie. We started hooking up. For a while, I resisted my pants coming off, but eventually gave in, and remained in nothing but my thong. When he took off my pants, I told him I wouldn't have sex with him. But, that didn't turn out to matter. Oral didn't happen, but he ended up on top of me.
Several times, he tried to enter me. Each time, I swiveled away and told him that we weren't going to have sex. After three or four times, I pushed him off and got dressed. He began apologizing profusely and asking me to see his side: he is a man, he hasn't had sex in three months, I am attractive, and I should not have taken my pants off if I was unprepared to have sex with him. I told him that he needed to respect me, that these were not excuses, there were no excuses. He told me he didn't want me dressed, I was so attractive. I told him I was attractive with my clothes on. I sat down. After a few minutes, he began to try to take my pants off again. I left. I had trouble getting the door open and as he came over, I was so scared... He let me out, telling me as he did so that I had fucked with his emotions. I went home. He called me three times that night. The first time I said I didn't want to talk to him. The second time I told him to stop calling. The third time I didn't pick up.
This level of guilt is something I could not previously have imagined. Why did I agree to a date with someone I met through my ex? Why did I go there with him? Why did I let him take off my pants if I didn't want to have sex? Why didn't I leave sooner? Why didn't I say "no" more forcefully, maybe then he would have stopped? Why did I try to talk to him? Why did I ever pick up the phone? And I know, I do know that this is not my fault. I know it, but I don't Know it. And I can't shake this.
I feel guilty when I tell people, because I know I'm worrying them. I hate feeling like a burden. I feel guilty for feeling guilty instead of feeling more angry at him. I feel guilty for not having been stronger or smarter. I feel guilty for blaming myself.
I'm scared that he'll call me again. Every time the phone rings, my stomach drops. I'm scared that he'll come here. He has access to my house. I don't even feel fucking safe in my own fucking house. I don't actually, rationally think he would but that doesn't stop the fear. I'm even more scared to leave, though, because he works here and I know he's somewhere here during business hours. Going to get a package from the mailman was terrifying. I feel guilty for feeling so irrationally scared.
I feel guilty endlessly. Endlessly. Its like quicksand.
I wish I could tell my parents, I do. But I can't tell them. They would blame me, wholly and unequivocally. They've been looking, waiting for evidence of my being a slut. When I developped a UTI last winter, my mother asked me what the potential causes were; when I read off chlamydia, she said ah-HA, I KNEW it, NOW you've done it. This was nine months into a monogamous relationship.
We saw a movie a while ago, in which a woman got graphically raped on screen: held down as she cried and begged to be let go. When I was horrified by this scene, my parents told me this wasn't rape because 1) the perp was her ex-husband and 2) she had gone to bed with him willingly. When I asked what they'd do if this happened to me, they told me they'd inform me of my stupidity for having gotten into bed.
When I was between the ages of 11 and 15, my parents had a particularly close family friend whom I hated. He used to be at our house constantly and go on vacations with us. On multiple occasions, at least four off the top of my head, he walked in on me in various states of undress and it always took him a good three seconds to leave. Also, he had a tendency to hug me, which I hated. Once, with my 'rents around, I asked him to let me go twice, calmly, and he didn't. Then, I barked at him to LET ME GO and he did but my mother got mad at me for being rude. I recently brought it back up as something that still haunts me and she was entirely dismissive of my feelings about him and about the episode.
I can't tell them. But, they're already noticing that I'm extremely unhappy and that I keep chaining the door, which we generally never do. I'm so scared that they'll find out or I'll be weak and tell them. It doesn't help that they've chosen THIS TIME to start picking fights with me and giving me endless lectures adrressing all my flaws.
I began writing this last night, but I ran out of strength. I was talking to someone who was distracting me and genuinely making me feel a lot better. I feel guilty for that, incidentally. At 3:30 AM, I got a phone call from an "unidentified" number. The line was disconnected as soon as I picked up. I went and chained my door and did my best to repress the panic.
I stayed up talking really, really late/early. I was awoken around 10:30 AM by a phone call. Sleepily, I picked it up and the name on the screen just flashed in my eyes before I said "hello." It was him. I told him to STOP FUCKING CALLING ME and hung up. He called back, but I didn't pick up. I panicked and called Kirill. No one understands why I'm so scared but I'm SO scared.
I know this is harassment and it is not legal and I could report it, but then I run a high risk of my parents finding out. That's not something I can risk.
Most of my friends have been very, very supportive. However, certain conversations I've had have made me want to claw my skin off.
My friend Chris continually tells me to "just calm down" or some variations on it. When I try to explain that it isn't so simple, he says I could do it if I just realized that I'm not in danger. First of all, I don't think I'm in a great deal of danger, but the fact remains that he not only knows exactly where I live but can physically enter my house. Second of all, even if that was not the case, the sexual assault in and of itself isn't exactly something that is easy to forget. By this I mean that I can barely think of anything else.
Several people have breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief when I told them that he did not actually rape me. As if trying to shove his dick inside me is, you know, okay, so long as I manage to push him away.
Last night, Shaun told me, verbatim, that "it could have been worse and [I] am blessed it wasn't." He defended this by saying I could have been raped, beaten, or killed and it was "dumb" to overlook the dangers that hadn't befallen me. Let me make this EXTREMELY FUCKING CLEAR:
MY SEXUAL ASSAULT WAS NOT A BLESSING.
He said something about having some sort of experience (I assume this was an allusion to his being older than I am), but that is complete and utter bullshit. He does NOT KNOW what it feels like and, more than likely, he will NEVER know. If he knew, he would not DREAM of DARING to say something like that to me. Seriously, what the FUCK? Its enough that I feel guilty for not being able to "just get over it." At least I rationally know that I'm entitled to my pain and it is emphatically NOT OKAY to take that away from me.
Incidentally, Danny, my first love, the one who claims not to be able to forget me and has always said he needs to have me in his life somehow, has not found time to call me, despite my pleading request and my explanation that I needed to talk to a male that I trust. Clearly, its just as well: I have no reason to trust him. He's running out of time to keep me in his life in any way, but I suspect that he's too selfish to know or care until the next time a pang of missing me hits him.
I know I'm a ridiculously open person about basically everything, but I'm beginning to suspect that the reason people are reluctant to talk widely about experiences of sexual violence is because non-supportive responses from people you love/trust feel like getting hit in the head by bricks.
I know its only been two days but I want this to end. This has to end. I know I brought this upon myself (I know I didn't; I Know I did) but I want it to stop. Its not fair, its not fair, its not fair, ITS NOT FAIR. I want it to stop.
