My Dark Secret
You don’t have to be an emotional wreck to prove you were sexually assaulted. I should know.
I haven’t told many people about this. My family doesn’t know because I know they’d press me for information and honestly, it’s not something that I want to get into. It’s not something that I want to expand upon beyond the bare bones of it.
I was sexually assaulted years ago by a friend — before I even knew what sexual assault was. Before I had my first sex-ed class, I was being manipulated into performing acts by my friend as I stayed the night at his house.
You’ll have to forgive me for being vague, but the point of this isn’t to ruin the life of another person. It’s not about bringing my tormentor to justice years after the fact, because honestly, this doesn’t torment me.
The reason I’m writing this is because of a recent “This American Life” episode that explored how police botched a rape investigation because friends of a woman doubted her story. That woman was later vindicated without a doubt, but before that she was mocked and bullied into writing a false claim saying that she had falsified her rape account.
It all started because this woman’s friends and family doubted her story because she failed to act in the way that a stereotypical rape victim would act.
She called her friends after the event to tell them, she seemed happy and untraumatized. She didn’t fit the bill of the rape victim (for the full story, go to “This American Life” or the amazing story that inspired the episode over at “The Marshall Project”).
I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen it with myself. On Internet forums, I’ve balked at the idea that all survivors of sexual assault or rape are emotionally unstable wrecks, running at the first sign of a trigger warning. Breaking down into flashbacks of their experiences at the mention of something like their ordeal.
Saying that not all sexual assault survivors should be treated in this way has brought me quite a bit of hate on the Internet when I bring it up. It’s why I’ve kept so silent about it in real life. I don’t want the pitiful stares. I don’t want the awkward tiptoeing around sensitive issues.
Perhaps, it’s like what one lovely commenter said to me; “maybe your experience just wasn’t bad enough?”
It started out innocently enough. A game of truth-or-dare. Truths would turn into dares, which would ultimately turn into me being dared to touch him, or him daring me to let him touch me.
He was older, not by much, but old enough for me to know that he could hurt me if he wanted to. He would force me to sleep in the same bed as him. I would say that I wanted to sleep on the top bunk or on the little couch in his room, but he would tell me no.
“My dad says you have to sleep with me,” would be the answer. “If you don’t, you’ll get in trouble. I will too.”
Then, truth-or-dare.
This went on for years. I didn’t know what was going on really. I thought maybe this was normal. This is just what older kids do, and he’s a cool kid. He has all the newest video games, he has a home theater and a DVD player (a brand new invention at the time). Why wouldn’t I want to be friends with him?
As I got older, I came to hate our truth-or-dare games. He would force me into them.
“I know that cute girl you like in my grade,” he’d say. “She likes you but she wants to make sure you can do the right stuff.”
He wanted me to perform oral sex on him. He wanted to perform it on me.
“Everyone does this,” he promised.
I still didn’t want to. So he threatened to tell people about it. He threatened to tell everyone how gay I was being. So, I gave in.
This wasn’t the worst that he had done to me, but it was that incident that finally made me realize I didn’t want to be friends anymore.
I’ve heard that kids experiment. I promise you that this was not experimentation. I wanted no part of it. I wasn’t curious. I was not looking to advance my scientific knowledge.
For years, I refused to call my experiences sexual assault, but now, I know what it is. It’s nothing short of it. I don’t care how many cool video games he had.
I’ve never had a nightmare about this. Since my experiences, I can’t think of a single instance where I legitimately felt like I might encounter a similar situation. I don’t need trigger warnings, and as far as I know I don’t have any triggers.
I’m not saying that others don’t. I’m not saying that there aren’t people who don’t suffer terrible trauma because of being raped or sexually assaulted. But I’m certainly not one of them.
I have no idea if my “friend” had any idea what he was really doing. Again, I’m not out for vengeance. Probably the biggest reason I’ve kept silent over this experience is because I don’t want to expose who did this to me.
Honestly, I’m over it.
As I said previously, my issue lies in the idea that because I’m over it, what I have to say on the issue isn’t valid.
People should not fall blindly into belief every time they hear a rape accusation (see the Duke Lacrosse team, or the Rolling Stone debacle). The “victim” isn’t always right.
On the flip side, a person should not be discredited because they don’t fit the stereotype of a victim.
I’ve always found it strange that the idea of a victim moving on and simply living life could be offensive. But in discussions I’ve had with people, I’ve been met with hostility at the idea of “life goes on, it will get better.” Often by people who have not been sexually assaulted.
They seek to shield victims from anything that could possibly be “trigger inducing” and lean on the stereotype of the weak and emotionally shattered person. To me, that’s the offensive thing.
And, as we’ve seen by the “Marshall Report” story, it can be dangerous as well.
“She couldn’t possible have been raped. She wants to buy the same sheets to replace the ones she was raped in taken by the cops.”
That was an actual reason given by someone as to why the victim wasn’t believed. Never mind the idea that they might be an awesome pair of comfy sheets, her poor fragile mind couldn’t bare to see them, lest she be reminded of her torment.
It seems strange to me that the Internet PC culture is so quick to rage against stereotypes for criminals. Obviously, not all Muslims are terrorist. Not all black men are criminals. In fact, most aren’t. And the Internet is quick to remind us of this, loudly and often.
I just find it strange that victims aren’t awarded the same courtesy.
