One Year Later

He had the gumption to text me the next morning: By the way if u want u can use medicine just in case ;) it was really good and u want thats why we had sex

The morning after waking up with torn tights and painful bruises in places that should not be named, I began receiving taunting text messages from my rapist. I rushed to a drug store and swallowed that Plan B pill like my life depended on it. Swallowed the pill and swallowed the belief that maybe what had happened wasn't so bad. But it was.

It took me a week to report it. I'm a journalist so I did my best to tell the story objectively and without crying too much. I had been interviewing people who were at the bar that night, and had a timeline established from their testimony. My friends, now acquaintances, had wandered off to other corners of the bar. The last person to see me that night was the bartender. He told me all about how I was dancing on a table, laughing.

"You looked so carefree, I remember thinking 'Dang it's about time she let loose a little.' "

He turned to help a few customers and when he returned his gaze to my table, I was gone. That's when my rapist must have led me to his car.

I don't remember anything past the 5th drink I had that night, but unfortunately I do recall a few seconds of the rape. I remember realizing I was facedown in the back seat of a car. I remember all the places on my back that hurt from his weight as he kept me down. I remember looking out the window and not being able to move. I remember realizing he was inside me. That fucking horrible moment when I wish I could have struggled but all I remember is blacking out again. I may not have been awake for the whole thing, but there's an awful memory that's never left my mind: the moment when you realize you're being violated. It's a god awful feeling that I wish no one would ever have to experience.

The night I reported the rape is also the night I put out a blog post about what had happened. That was the cue for what would be weeks of hateful messages and hurtful arguments with people whom I thought were my friends. There was a great deal of victim blaming and SO MUCH SHAME. Being raped is a traumatic experience but the nightmare doesn't end after the incident. There's the hospital check up, christ. I didn't go the morning after my rape, but I was put through a similarly embarrassing and lengthy process.

You get asked about your sexual history. How you know certain pain is unusual. What went where. What have you done since then. You strip and they ask you to look in a mirror (again, the shame) and describe every inch of your body to them. Does it always look that way? Turn this way and stay still for  the picture.  

The nurse apologizes before beginning to touch me up and down.

Does it hurt here? And here? Does this feel tender? How so? What about if I do this? Lift please. More. Turn this way. Has that bruise always been there? Does it still hurt? 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Exactly a month after reporting the crime I finally get a pre-texted call set up with my case detectives. It's a desperate call wherein I tried to get my rapist to spell his name, describe his car, describe his home, reveal any detail police could use to find him. It was unsuccessful. And although police had text messages and the guy's phone number, they never bothered to seek the man's information before that day. So that two days after the pretexted call when they did try to trace the man's number, the phone company replied saying the account had been disabled. And there was no information they could provide.

That's the story about how my case went unsolved. It was closed because the DA wasn't interested in pursuing it any further.

The quarter that I was raped was the only quarter in my entire college career that I earned straight A's. Thanks to my new friend, PTSD, the library was the only place where I could avoid being startled or bothered or threatened. The Friday before finals week I got my acceptance e-mail to Columbia. I felt relief and more importantly- I felt hope. My life was back on track. In a sort of pathetic way, grad school has saved my life. Because for a while I wasn't thrilled about my reality. I never tried anything. But it was the possibility that loomed in my head through my days. The depression and trauma was intense, every day was a struggle to not think about committing suicide. But knowing that my dream plan was coming true helped snap my perspective back into focus. And now here I am, one year later living in New York City. I can't say that I've gotten over it.

For months I thought I'd gained complete control over my emotions. And then our school had a panel on covering trauma. One of the reporters played a video in which a rape victim described her experience. But that wasn't mentioned prior to the video playing. In other words, there was no trigger warning. There are a lot of things that trigger a reaction in me, and this victim's interview was horrifying. I broke down and started to cry. Like hot mess crying. And to make matters worse, I was sitting in the front row. I'm crying in front of really important journalists, and peers who aren't all that accepting sometimes. For an awful span of minutes I felt the same guilt and shame that I'd felt in college all over again.

Then there are less obvious moments of anxiety, like today when a professor showed our class photographs of rape victims. I squirmed in my seat, propped my head on my fist and did my best to stay calm. It's still incredibly awkward talking to people about it. At the beginning of the school year I remember the faces some people would make when I told them. It was this strange mixture of embarrassment for me and of me.

I'm putting this out there because when I was raped I remember thinking that no, Law and Order SVU does not prepare you for this sort of situation. And no, not everyone is kind or supportive. I know there are people who will read this and judge me for it, and I'm ready for that. I was a strong character to begin with, and this whole ordeal has only built me up with more courage to speak out about injustice. If someone reading this is a rape victim I hope my late night post gives you some comfort. There is so much isolation that comes with this type of trauma. I hope you know that you can get through it.