Apr 16 2017

What it's like (TW)

Trigger warning for rape:

What’s it like to be raped? 

It’s nothing like the movies. 

In fact, it’s Charlotte King from Private Practice who says it best, its violent, and dirty. It’s not a woman crying in her shower. 

Rape in and of itself is violent, whether a weapon is used, whether a survivor is even hit. It’s violent because in an instant a survivor’s sense of self, sense of safety, sense of fairness is ripped from them. 

My story isn’t one that you hear in the movies, or even in the news, but it is certainly not uncommon. In fact, forced oral sex is one of the #1 ways that teenagers and young adults are raped or sexually assaulted.

Let me make this perfectly clear for those of you who may be confused. I had no choice. My choice was taken from me. I said no, more than once. There was no consent. 

There was no consent when he bit my breast so hard it was black and blue (not healing, not turning yellow or green, BLACK AND BLUE) for a week. 

There was no consent in what he did that morning. Consent is not the absence of a no, it is the presence of a yes. Not once in that time I was in his presence did I say yes. 

No, I wasn’t held at gun point, no he had no weapon I could see, no he didn’t threaten my life, but I was still in fear for it. I didn’t know this person, I didn’t know what he was capable of. 

So when he pushed me towards his penis, I went somewhere else. I don’t know where. I only came back when he ejaculated in my mouth. 

I went somewhere else again when he told me “if you were naked we’d be having sex right now” as he was grinding his hips against mine. 

This was when he bit my breast, bringing me back, terrified he was going to bite off part of my breast. 

So no, it wasn’t violent in the way that some of my dear dear friends (who are also survivors) have experienced. It wasn’t “as bad” but as they’ve told me, just because theirs was more violent, it doesn’t make me any less of a survivor. 

So before you pass judgement on what I experienced, the fact that I call myself a survivor, please remember you don’t know what happened. You are not the person who tells me what I can call myself, what I can call what happened to me. 

You don’t get to tell me a damn thing until you’ve been in my shoes. 

Do you know how horrible it is to look at what is supposed to be the most comforting passage in the Bible and get no feeling other than anxiety and fear? 

When no one believes you, you start to feel crazy, like maybe you misremembered, and then you meet someone who does, who gives you back your voice, and you start to believe in yourself again, you start to trust yourself, love yourself, and decide “screw anyone who tries to judge my experiences”.

I’ve decided I don’t need anyone who is going to further the myth that forced oral sex is actually illegal and considered rape in my life. Bye bye.

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