Rape Silence Comes From Confusion and Feelings of Culpability, I Think

I could relate to your story completely. I am a non-reporter. I never even told my mother, and I was a teenager living at home. I am going to be graphic and disgusting, so don’t read on if you have a weak stomach.

The first man who raped me was 18 years old, and after he did it, the rumor around our middle school was that it was revenge toward women, because he had been given crabs. As a result of the rape, he gave them to me, too. It was horrifying. I was at least indignant enough to tell my little junior high friends what happened. I didn’t know what to do in terms of reporting, because the only people I was telling about the rape were young and ignorant.

Bear with me, this little aside becomes relevant: My whole family got lice when I was in 5th grade. At the time, you had to go to a doctor to get the shampoo prescribed that eliminated them. She refused to do so, because she had already lost custody of her children once, and she was afraid the lice would be grounds for losing them again. So, she meticulously went through each of our heads and used the term “nit picking” for its original meaning. She asked me to help her when her arms were too tired. She pulled every last tiny black nit (lice eggs) and, of course, the actual lice out of our hair. She washed all the bedding and all of our clothes. Amazingly, it worked.

After Archie gave me crabs, I followed my mother’s process to eliminate them. I never saw a doctor where I might have been questioned about their origin. I missed that chance to report him. Another complication was that he was my best friend’s older brother. I made the mistake of telling her, and she believed her brother over me, so I lost the friendship. It just seemed like telling people about rape backfired to create more misery.

I had struggled against Archie, but he easily overcome me. The next boy to rape me was supposedly my new 9th grade boyfriend. He came over to the place I was babysitting with a friend of his after the kids were asleep. When he started removing my pants and underwear, and pushing me down on the sofa, I struggled but not enough, in my opinion. I didn’t want to make noise and wake up the children. It’s weird where your priorities can lay. I didn’t report Tony either, and he broke up with me the next day just to punctuate that getting in my pants was his whole intent.

Finally, a boy named James asked me out on a date to go to the movies in 10th grade. He was handsome, and I was thrilled he picked me. I spent over an hour doing my hair and make-up, and about half that time again selecting what to wear. I selected a mini-skirt, which I later regretted. Once James picked me up from my house, he started driving toward the park near the Fairview cemetery. This was exactly the opposite direction from the movies. I was confused and asked him, “Aren’t we going to be late for the movie?” He replied, “We aren’t going to the movie.” Then he parked in a dark corner of a parking lot at the colloquially name “Rocket” park, and said, “Let’s make out in the back seat.” Every instinct I had told me it was suspicious, and I blame myself for not listening to them. I got in the back seat to “make out” and he promptly raped me with minor struggle from me.

Each time, I felt like I should have been fighting for my life. I didn’t feel like my life was in danger any of the times. I just felt physically overpowered. I feel I should have reported each of the three incidents, but I reported none of them. I can’t even blame being drunk, because I was stone sober at each time. I don’t get upset at men and women who don’t report their attacks, because I know exactly what their mindset is when they don’t. But, I always mightily wish people would report their rapes. I guess that makes me a hypocrite, too.

I personally believe it is the feelings of shock and culpability that keep the attacked silenced. Each time, what was happening was surreal and in my head I kept thinking, “This can’t be happening.” The fact I didn’t scream even once during any of the attacks had me convinced I was guilty of the crime as well. There are other traumas that have harmed me more deeply than these incidents, perhaps because of the fact I blame myself for these in part. Still, they do haunt a person.