I don’t know how to process my rape, so I’m keeping track of how it’s changing me
(tw)
The first time I was assaulted, it was by a friend of a friend of a friend. He was a stranger. He pinned me against a bar table and thrust his hands down pants and grabbed handfuls of my butt. I fell to the ground and crawled under a table to get away. After that first time, I was scared to walk alone outside. One night I forced myself to go to a movie, and I walked all the way home to prove to myself that I could.
The second time I was assaulted, it was on a second date. I agreed to some physical contact, but it went too far too fast, regardless of what I said or did. The first assault scared me. This one terrified me in a way I’ve never felt before. It was violent. And unlike the first one where I could run, there was no escaping this assault. As it was happening, I was planning my escape route for when it was over. I snuck out when he fell asleep and hid behind bushes while I waited for my Lyft ride home.
After this rape, I tried to chalk it up to a bad sexual experience. I told a few friends that it was bad but didn’t go into specifics. I normally tell people close to me about everything in my life, but I couldn’t talk about this for weeks. After I came to terms with the word “rape,” I became incredibly withdrawn. I had panic attacks and was too depressed to leave my apartment.
As a society, we talk about justice for survivors. We talk about jail time and prosecution. What we rarely talk about is how the survivors get back to living their lives. We don’t hear about the physical and emotional aftermath of such a traumatic experience, so I started keeping track. I want to be aware of how this experience has affected my life.
So here’s what’s been happening in the weeks after:
I cry. A lot.
I stopped hanging out with friends and people I care about (and who care about me). Sometimes I don’t even want to talk to another human all day, which is strange for an extrovert.
I’ve been angry. Or I’ve been apathetic. I’ve had difficulty finding a middle ground.
I’ve stopped wearing makeup and showering regularly. I don’t care if I look conventionally attractive, and in fact, I’m not sure I want to.
My eating habits are unhealthy. I go back and forth between binge eating and not eating anything at all.
I grind my teeth. I don’t even notice until my jaw gets sore from clenching so hard.
I stopped dating. I don’t want to meet men off dating apps. It’s not that I’m scared — OK, that’s part of it — it’s more that I don’t want to interact with men. I do it at work and I converse with my male friends and family members, but I don’t want to introduce any new men into my life at the moment. I don’t want to risk it. I don’t want to put energy into a new relationship or friendship that could hurt me.
I’ve gotten into “The Bachelorette” and romantic comedies. It’s nice to be reminded love stories do exist, even if they’re a Hollywood version.
Some days are good. Some days I can barely feed myself. Healing is a process, one I haven’t figured out yet.
I don’t even know how to start healing from this, let alone how to process it. The only thing I’ve done is be kinder and gentler with myself, and I’m planning to go to therapy soon (hopefully).
I wish I had some optimistic ending for this piece. I wish I had some wisdom or hope to share, but I’m empty. All I know is that people who go through this — we are not broken. We’ve been hurt, but we are far stronger than the circumstances that happen to us. Rape forever changes us, but it does not define us.
