I was reading a post of a young woman harassed by a group of men, the most vocal of the guys trash-talking toward and about her to impress his friends. This woman’s response revealed what she had endured from men just that day in which she worried about whether she would be raped. This wasn’t a one-off situation. This happens all. the. time.
I started thinking about our story similarities, and while they still happen to me, they occur less frequently. Not only was I being molested by an older brother starting when I was around seven, but at nine, a group of boys about a year older, their ring-leader brandishing a knife from where he stood on the rise headed up toward a rail overpass, him and his friends all leering down at me while he talked about maybe fucking me. I was nine. Thankfully I knew his sister and had seen him once before so I called him out by name, saying I would tell his sister, and he and his group backed off. Imagine if I hadn’t ever met him before that morning on my way to school.
I’m eleven and my friend and I, tired from trying to wield her bike with one of us on the handlebars or bike seat by turns on the four mile ride to her house, decided to take turns riding the bike for a long stretch and then waiting for the other to catch up. We had just switched turns for the last leg and I was to walk the last quarter-mile or so and meet her at my house. The guy on the side of the road with his pick-up truck’s hood up must have seen our bike switch and was waiting for me. He seemed a lot older to me, probably somewhere between his twenties and thirties. He asked me how far it was to the center of town. A street sign practically next to his head stated how far the town center was, and in which direction, which was his next question. I thought he was very stupid. As I’m walking away he calls out ‘hey kid’. I turn to look at him, and he’s jacking off walking toward me. Thankfully my flight response kicked in and I ran to the first house I saw, which was the longest hundred yards or so I’ve ever run, and I was screaming and banging on the door, not daring to turn around, and finally a woman came to the door and I pushed past her, the wild animal I had become, screaming for her to save me. The man was long gone, and I’ve never been able to look at a man in painter’s pants without wanting to throw up ever since that day.
A man I knew, we’ll say he was a neighbor, for brevity, was molesting me every chance he got. He had digitally raped me, forced me to tongue kiss him, and humped me (because what harm is there if he didn’t penetrate me with his penis?), and I wasn’t the only little girl he was molesting.
I lost my virginity through rape at fourteen by the leader of the commune/cult, a man eleven years my senior. I said ‘no’, but he laughed at me and continued. I tried to stop it, but I should never have had to face that situation with him because of his position of authority, and because I said ‘no’.
In my teens and twenties men unabashedly remarked on my ‘nice ass’. I hate my body. I hate my ass most of all. I wish I could cut it off of me. One day, I finally snapped and viciously told the next guy who talked about my ass what a disgusting creep he was, and what made him think it was OK to say anything at all about my body? - and he didn’t apologize for being inappropriate. He called me a bitch.
I had recently moved to California, had a fight with my roommate, and left in a huff to the corner 7-Eleven. As I’m walking into the parking lot, a man in a truck slows, puts his window down, and tells me in a hoarse whisper that he’d like to fuck me. You’d think I wouldn’t be shocked anymore, but I was. It was still dark out, and we were alone enough that terror swept over me and I worried I might get raped. I couldn’t call my friend to come pick me up, and I shook for the entire short walk back to her apartment, and never spoke of the incident until now.
I was so deeply ashamed by these sexual assaults, and others, that I almost killed myself. All this sickness I’ve endured through out my life has shown me that I am an object, that my value is only in what others can take from me.
What happened to me is mild compared to what happens to women here in the United States and all over the world every day. There is no good god. We are on our own, and it is up to us to stop it. I hope we do.
© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.