He sat expressionless. I stood across from him staring with the utmost contempt for this filth. "How could you; knowing that you were about to destroy a person's well being. How could you do that to another human being." I looked deep into his eyes and spoke slowly, "You are pure evil." He said nothing, yet his eyes seemed to change from that of self-confidence to that of self-doubt; perhaps even fear. It was as if he knew that one day his lies will catch up to him and he will pay his karmic dues.
And then I woke up.
It was seven years ago today. Seven years ago when I came home from a long, exhausting flight from New Jersey. I had spent the week there preparing for my grandmother's funeral. When I finally returned home, I just wanted to sleep the weekend away before returning to my summer school teaching assignment. But instead, I experienced a traumatic episode that would alter my life's journey.
Friday, June 29, 2007
I was sitting on my living room couch watching TV. My front door swung open and there he stood. "You know, you should really consider locking your door." He slammed it shut before he demanded, "take off your clothes."
I didn't comply, and before I realized what was happening, he grabbed my arm and pulled me from the couch. I tried going up the stairs in attempt to get away from him, but I tripped on the first steps. He kept saying, "C'mon!" It wasn't a shout, but rather a lowered, sinister voice. I told him no and that I didn't want it. He kept pulling back at my arms. I cornered myself against the wall making it difficult for him to get around me. Again he kept pulling at my arms until he yanked hard enough to pull me forward. He then pushed me over the side of the couch. What I felt next was a stinging pain between my legs that I screamed in pain. He penetrated me from behind by force. He kept his full weight on my back as he thrust. He whispered into my ear and said, "tell me this is what you want." I didn't answer him. He asked again. I only whimpered in pain.
It only lasted a minute or two. It was that fast. When he was finished, he pulled up his shorts and walked out the door. He didn't even close the door. It was left wide open while I was still slumped over the couch.
What happened next was a complete blur. I didn't feel anything; I couldn't hear anything. I was completely out of my senses. I don't even remember closing the door. I don't even remember falling asleep. I probably slept the entire weekend away. I spoke to no one; not even my parents who were still in New Jersey.
And the nightmare was just getting started.
"It's your fault because you failed to report the assault."
I'm quite sure each of us has known someone who has been sexually assaulted. Did you ever know them to make a report? If they did, what was the outcome? Far too often sexual assaults are underreported because the complaints are never taken seriously especially when the assailant is known to the victim. It becomes a "he said/she said" case that goes nowhere. Then the slut shaming begins. Instead of questioning the perpetrator, the victim is questioned and often judged. Her sexual history is scrutinized as though somehow she deserved it because she isn't a virgin. So the question was, "why would I file a report?"
He knew what he was doing. He knew the law very well and he terrorized me over the next two years.
...to be continued
I'm quite sure each of us has known someone who has been sexually assaulted. Did you ever know them to make a report? If they did, what was the outcome? Far too often sexual assaults are underreported because the complaints are never taken seriously especially when the assailant is known to the victim. It becomes a "he said/she said" case that goes nowhere. Then the slut shaming begins. Instead of questioning the perpetrator, the victim is questioned and often judged. Her sexual history is scrutinized as though somehow she deserved it because she isn't a virgin. So the question was, "why would I file a report?"
He knew what he was doing. He knew the law very well and he terrorized me over the next two years.
...to be continued