Stolen Innocence

Once upon a time, a young, naive, and very sheltered girl met a guy a few years older than she while at a friend’s house. He was the friend of her friend’s older sister. He was very cute, very flirty and paid her a lot of attention immediately.

As the day wore on and they had become comfortable through conversation, he asked her to go for a walk with him. Of course she said yes. As they walked the half mile towards the local lake, he took her hand in his. They continued this way, chatting non-stop until they reached the large drainage tunnels beside the lake. Being leery of snakes she hesitated, but he urged her inside the dark, murky hole.

He kissed her after they were several feet into the tunnel and she kissed him back. After a moment or two his hands began roaming and he tried slipping his hand inside her spandex shorts. She moved his hand away. It wasn’t the first time a guy had tried that move and she wasn’t down for that. But he persisted. She stopped kissing him and said it was time to go.

It all happened so fast. One moment she was turning to walk away and the next he had forced her onto the ground. He held one hand on her neck, and the other was tugging at her shorts. She struggled against him and begged him to let her go, but he was so much stronger than her 86 pounds. When her pants were finally down, within seconds his were open. She continued to struggle, begging him to please stop, but he didn’t. He forced his way inside her. She cried and pleaded, but her pleas were weak as his grip on her throat was firm. For what seemed to be an eternity, he continued.

When he was done, he finally released her. As she lay there in the muck of the dark tunnel, he got up, zipped up his pants and said, ‘Now we can go’. She didn’t know how long she laid there, tears streaming down her face, her body in pain. When she did finally get up, she pulled her spandex back on as he just stood there leering at her. No other words were said until they emerged from the tunnel.

‘No one will believe you, you know. It’s clear you wanted it’, he chimed.

The girl was never the same after that. Her innocence had been stolen, yet she felt he was right, no one would believe her. She was a flirt after all. So instead of telling even her closest friend, she beat herself up like most victims do, doubting herself, wondering if she had in fact deserved it. Her self esteem and self worth in shambles, she kept silent.

That girl was me. I was 14. For many years following, I self sabotaged. I was humiliated, scared, and completely broken. I was embarrassed that I had been so weak. Still thinking maybe I could have fought harder, screamed for help, anything. A few years later, my mother found out after reading a poem I had written of the incident. Years after that, the father of my children found the same poem. Even through their love and support, it took many more years to finally realize that it wasn’t my fault. That there was nothing more I could have done that would have changed the outcome.

Why am I telling you this now? Because last week, while on vacation with my family, I received a FaceBook friend request from him. Sick bastard. Obviously he got blocked, but seeing his face sent me into a mental spiral that has taken days to shake.

I did not make the decision to be raped. But I do now get to make the decision that I will no longer be his victim. No. I am a survivor. And now I get to choose. And I choose to let it go once and for all. I no longer want fear and shame to lead me. I did not deserve what happened to me. I did not ask for it. I did not want it. And I pray and believe that by speaking my truth, I can and will finally be set free. The box is now open and I am shredding it and setting it ablaze.

One in five women will be sexually assaulted during their lives. It’s staggering. Maybe you are the one in five. If you are, I write this for you, too. You are not alone. You have never been alone. And as long as I have breath, you will never be alone.

We are the physically wounded, the emotionally scarred. It is a horrific act and should never happen, but we have survived. I have survived. And being a survivor is something I can be proud of.