Even at the age of nine, I had still seen plenty of Lifetime movies with my mother. You know, some cute guy sees a pretty girl, charms her, marries her, beats her, she leaves him and he kills her. They're all the same, just different pretty faces and names. I had also seen many rape victims stay victim all of their lives, and I refused for that to happen. I was scared and lonely, hurting and I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. I didn't want to be "Poor little Michele, rape victim." for the rest of my life, so I stuck with the story my friends told, the one where I was chased by Andrea and her friends.
The probelm with one lie is that it spirals out of control and becomes multiple lies. I wasn't okay. I was scared, I was scarred, I was merely a shell of my former self. What was taken from me that day was some of the most valuable things a person can have. I didn't trust anyone, certainly not myself. I wasn't racist, I know abuse knows no gender, race, age, etc. I dreaded going anywhere, I always wanted to stay with a group.
I know what it's like to scrub your skin until it bleeds. I know what it's like to scream and not hear your own voice. I know what it's like to look in the mirror and see nothing. The worst feeling in the world is lying in your own bed wishing for your own death, because you know the pain of that would be much easier than the daily pain you walk with. What those guys stole from me that day was irreplaceable. What they did was horrid, unfair and a punishment I didn't deserve.
In the years after my rape I was like a caterpillar stuck in a caccoon. I would wake up drenched in sweat, barely able to breathe, feeling like I was pinned down, but knowing that I wasn't. I hate the smell of fresh cut grass, the smell of sweat still makes me gag, and the heat has caused me to panic on many occassions. The worst thing I ever did was stay silent about what happened to me. I needed help, I just didn't realize it at the time. In my child-like mind that originially trusted too much, I felt like I would be treated like an invalid, and I was so scared no one would believe me, that silence seemed like the best option.
Freedom costs, as does restriction. I wish I would've known at that moment how much restriction would cost me.
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