When I was thirteen, I was sexually assaulted at school by my classmates.
They had been emotionally and sexually abusing me all that school year, but as we got closer to the end of
the term, the quality and pace of their name calling and molestation changed.
The abuse was horrible. It was almost constant through those last
few months of school. The assault took place on the day of our eighth grade graduation. Unfortunately, most of
that day is just blank -- I want to remember -- I want to know what they did. Part of me wants it to have been rape
-- if it was rape, then the pain I feel is justified -- that's what I've always thought. After all the time
that's passed, I know that the pain I feel IS justified, whether the assault ended in rape or not. I don't remember
everything that happened. Part of that day, and the last part of the assault, is just empty. So I don't know
for sure -- I may never know. I can recall being shoved back and forth between them... I can recall feeling so
humiliated and frightened...I felt cold all through, like my body was filled with ice. I remember their laughter as
they touched me, I can recall how rough their hands were, and how desperate I felt as I tried to get away.
After it was over, I hid in the bathroom. I remember washing my hands and
just letting the water pour over them; it was cold and I remember feeling like I'd never be clean again. I remember
staring at myself in the mirror and wondering why I'd been crying. I remember staying in there for almost thirty minutes,
listening to the water run and telling myself that nothing happened. Nothing happened.
It worked -- I believed it for years.
It was four years before I began to remember some of the things they had done.
And it was another eight years before the memories began to mean anything to me. Then I spent almost three years denying
that it was real -- I kept telling myself that I was sick, that I was a pervert who got off on especially vivid rape fantasies
-- even if these "fantasies" sickened and disgusted me.
I was crippled by social anxiety disorder. I couldn't bear to feel like
people were watching me or looking at me. I hated being seen. I couldn't bear to get a job -- and when
I did raise my courage to find work, I'd quit after only a few days or weeks. I stayed home; I wrote stories and novels,
and had some of my work published, but I couldn't stand the thought of working in public or being among people. The
worst thing I could imagine was being looked at -- being touched that way again -- I'd do anything to avoid it. Then
a terrible thing happened, something I'd never even considered might be possible -- my husband asked for a divorce.
We had been married for nine years at the time; and he'd had enough of my clinginess, of my fear of everything. He had
his own emotional problems, and he couldn't take mine anymore. He wanted out. I prayed to God not to let my marriage
end. I got a miracle -- my husband came back; he said he still loved me and wanted to work things out. I knew
then that I had to deal with my problems. I had to take action.
I faced up to the fact that the assault was the root of my anxieties.
I was allowing it to ruin my life. I faced up to the reality of what happened to me. I went online, searching
for help and support, and ended up at Pandora's Aquarium, a message board for survivors of rape, sexual assault, and abuse. Being among people who understood
how I felt and what I was going through literally changed everything for me.
I took back control of myself and of my life. I faced the memories -- I'm
still facing new ones -- and I'm winning. It isn't easy, but with support and an outlet for my emotions, I'm healing.
I have a job now, one that I love, and I've been working there for eleven months, and plan to keep working there.
I'm in better control of my compulsive eating disorder, and I treat myself more gently. Best of all, my marriage problems
have also faded as I faced up to the abuse and assault. My husband and I will celebrate thirteen years this June.
There are days when I still don't want to get out of bed, but I do it anyway.
Life goes on. There is life after assault. And it is good -- it is good.
UPDATE (11-10-02)
This weekend, I went back to the place where the assault happened.
It was an experience that was both terrifying and exalting. When I walked into that building and stood on the spot where
I was assaulted all those years ago, I felt victorious, I felt that I had conquered. But the days before the planned
trip, I was so frightened. Afraid that I wouldn't remember anything; afraid that I would. Afraid that it would
be just another place, one that held nothing. Afraid that I'd remember and find out that all along, I'd been making
something out of nothing.
I did remember. Not everything -- that's still somewhere in the future
-- but some scenes came back. I have a fuller knowledge of what happened, and where it happened. I have a fuller
knowledge of who was involved -- of who participated and who just watched. What they did was terrible, but in remembering
it, I have risen above it. I have proven to myself that I am stronger than the pain they inflicted.
UPDATE (4-26-03)
It recently occurred to me that I've been concentrating on what I can't remember
as a way to avoid thinking about what I can remember. By thinking about the possibility of having been raped, I've been
able to push aside the pain of having been sexually abused by people whom I thought were my friends. Facing up to that
has been a real challenge. It has been so much easier, concentrating on regaining memories, than dealing with the memories
I have, which I know are real.
Something that has impacted my life in the past two months is the grim, ugly
reality of abuse. I guess that I had discounted its importance in my own mind by thinking that the rape itself must
have been worse. The fact is that it doesn't matter -- there is no "easy" pain, no "easy" abuse or assault. The
horrible things they said, the humiliation of having my body treated like a THING, the way they just assumed that I was there
for their use... Those things matter just as much as what I can't remember. I'm working on dealing with that,
but it's been hard. Harder than I ever thought it would be.
Update (12-29-03)
As I'm writing this, I'm able to say that I am healed. I still can't
remember everything, but that doesn't matter any more. I'm through feeling guilty for hurting over what I CAN remember
-- the molestation, the sexual abuse, the emotional pain they caused me. I always somehow felt that it was wrong of
me to mind what they did -- that it was only okay to feel hurt if it was rape. Well, it may have been! But it
doesn't matter if I remember it, my feelings are mine, the pain is mine, and I am worth healing and working for. Acceptance
of this has helped me so much. I am not drowning in the pain or rage or humiliation anymore. I'm walking in sunlight
(not all the time, but who does?) and I'm able to appreciate and enjoy it. It has been a hard path, but worthwhile.
Come walk it with me. Accept yourself -- you are worth fighting for.
"Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering,
there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in."
-- Leonard Cohen
Update: February 10, 2007
Maybe healing is never really finished. Or maybe it's just
that anything that heals is also scarred. Either way, I find that there are more layers to my healing than I thought
there would be. I have had a good few years, I don't deny that. I've been in a place where the assault was not
a huge part of my life. It was there, but not overshadowing everything. And I'm still in that place. I'm
having new memories, though, and that's never the easiest thing to deal with. I can honestly say that I'm not finding
it as difficult this time. I feel more sadness than anger, more regret than rage. But I'll get through this as
I've gotten through the other hard spots. I won't give up trying.
