Alana has asked if I would post the story of her rape, and I’m honored to do so. Show her some love and support, y’all.
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As I sit here deleting and retyping words, I realize there’s no way pretty way to say I was raped.
For years I wouldn’t even use the word “rape.” If the need arose, I would say I was “sexually assaulted” as if to mitigate the ugliness of being raped. Just the word “sexually assaulted” sounded much tidier and like less of an admission in a way I can’t easily explain (but I’m sure other people can relate to). The word “rape” is complicated and people don’t know how to deal with complicated. It’s a word that forces us to feel and to question and to relate to other human beings. It’s a word that I hate and hope will eventually be unneeded.
Just typing the word is like ash in my mouth.
But I want to share my experience. The first time I shared my story I claimed that I wasn’t “looking for sympathy, just understanding” and “that if I only ever give one honest, naked piece of myself to my blog, then I want it to be this.” I still stand by both those statements a hundred percent.
The first thing you have to understand is the way I grew up because you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you I was only thirteen when this happened. I don’t want to get into all the ugly details, but drugs, alcohol, and sex were all regular aspects of my life by 13. Both of my parents were tweakers and though my mother tried, she had her own problems and didn’t really give a shit what I was up to. It wasn’t strange for girls I knew to have kids before they were fifteen or to date men twice their age. So even though I was thirteen and he was 22, it wasn’t some astounding significance. It just was just the way things happened where I lived.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I said no.
I’m not going to get into the details of what happened because I don’t think it really matters anymore. What matters is I’m finally able to admit that I was raped and that I am not defined by that fact. For a long time I thought maybe it wasn’t rape but somehow something less. I may have said no, but I didn’t fight or scream so how can it really be rape? I wasn’t beaten up or bruised. I didn’t press charges. I figured it must have been my fault, especially since it was someone I knew. Someone I had slept with before (once). In fact, he was the first person I ever slept with. How can it be rape? I must have misunderstood what was happening to me. There a hundred thousand lies I’ve told myself to believe I wasn’t raped. It had to be anything but rape.
But I’ll never forget the brief words, “It’s so cute the way you say no,” that he whispered intp my ear as he took off my clothes.
That’s the part that’s really stayed with me all these years. The fact that I still hesitate to say I was raped is still deeply upsetting to me. Every year I seem to feel a little less hesitance though and I’m starting to realize how much of my hesitation comes out of an attempt to make the people around me more comfortable. (This is one of the worse consequences of rape culture in my opinion. The pressure to stay silent is just another way of being victimized.) I can’t even explain what a difference women like Britni, and the dozens of other people who have bravely shared their stories, have been in my ability to accept the reality that I was raped. This happened ten years ago so I’ve had a long time to come to terms with my situation and cope, but I’m getting emotional just thinking about all the amazing stories I’ve read. I can not say thank you enough to every one of you who has shared a story in one way or another.
Seriously, thank you.
So I guess that’s it. If you’re reading this and you’ve been sexually assaulted, remember you’re not alone and it does get better. Here is a link to RAINN, The Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network. I hope you never have to use it.
I'm Britni, a snarky bitch and generally awesome person. I write about sex, love, and bullshit. If sex-positivity, discussions about BDSM and kink, queer issues, and topics that are completely inappropriate by society's standards make you uncomfortable, then this blog is not for you.
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8 Comments
“It’s so cute the way you say no.”
That line was actually triggering for me, because the one thing that’s stuck with me the most were the words spoken in my ear: “This is going to happen whether you want it or not.”
Funny, isn’t it, how much of it can fade from memory, but how strongly lines like that can stand out in your mind.
Thanks for sharing, lady. You’re amazingly strong and brave. <3
Alana–I had no idea. I haven’t followed your blog long enough to recall you saying anything about it.
Like Britni, the whispered words, “It’s so cute the way you say no” bother me greatly. I have never been raped or sexually assaulted, so I can’t claim to have any real understanding about what you have gone through…but that is just chilling. You are a strong and awesome woman. Thank you for sharing your story.
This made me cry. You are such a brave woman. Thanks for your words.
Alana,
Thank you for sharing. Rape IS assault. If you said no, you said no. period.
Ric
“It’s so cute the way you say no.”
GAH THIS MAKES ME SO MOTHERFUCKING ANGRY.
*hug*. Thanks for sharing your story.
You know, when I read this back again, the other thing that stands out to me is that you were 13 and he was 22. Even if you had consensually slept with him before, what kind of 22-year-old man WANTS to sleep with a 13-year-old girl? I don’t blame YOU in the least… if I was 13, and a 22-year-old guy showed interest in me, I’d probably think I was so cool, and be so into it. But looking back on it now, at our age, think about what that says about the kind of person he was. Even excluding the rape (which is virtually impossible to do), he was clearly someone that preyed on vulnerability, and people he could take advantage of. Like a 13-year-old girl. I’m sorry that you had to go through this, and you know I think you rock.
Thanks for all your comments guys! They really mean a lot.
About the age difference specifically Britni, this is also something that really bothers me now that I’m older. Like I said, most of the girls I knew dated men a lot older then them and at the time it didn’t seem weird since it was the norm. But now that I’m older I just don’t get it. Even the most mature 13 year old in the world is still 13. No matter how “developed” a teenager is they’re still a teenager. I just don’t get it and think you’re right. These guys must get off on the lack of agency of young girls or something.
alana, thanks for sharing this. I’ve had a really, really hard time with the word rape too, and find it much easier to talk about “sexual assault” or “sexual violence.” I haven’t really been able to put my finger on why — but I think you nail it. It’s a word that forces us to *feel*. And aside from just my discomfort with forcing OTHER people to feel, I don’t like always having to feel myself. So fucked up.
There’s something so simultaneously shitty and lovely about so many people speaking up and sharing their stories this month. But you know what? I wouldn’t have been able to do it alone. So, thanks to you and Britni and everyone else who’s spoken up. It means a lot to me.