Dedication: My therapist and friend who showed me the courage inside me
Trigger warning: Before reading this post, please be aware that it contains references to rape.
I have rocked back and forth on the floor of my closet crying uncontrollably feeling like the whole world was on fire. Even wishing that it was. My sorrow and hopelessness were so great I wanted the world to stop and let me off. Like an amusement park ride I could no longer handle because it made me too sick and terrified. I prayed for a natural disaster or death.
That was then. I am stronger now and full of love and compassion that I want to share. There is astounding strength inside all of us that often goes untapped.
I still have guilt and fear but I am a survivor. It was hard work to put life back on track through therapy and spirituality after I had lost out on so much. My childhood ended that day in high school and I’ll never get it back, but I finally pulled my heart back up by it’s bootstraps and think of myself as a survivor now, not a victim. Something I can move forward with to make the most of the years I have left.
I intend to use my abusive experiences to help others. First, by sharing my story and showing my support on survivor websites with women brave enough to share their story and in so doing help diffuse some of the burden of keeping a toxic secret. Sites and organizations like SayItForward.org help many of us so much. It is a way for those of us who don’t know what to do and are still having major trust issues to share with no judgment or possible negative repercussions, and find resources and a community to become a part of without being physically looked at when we may not be ready for it. I also hope to do more in becoming a therapist myself. I will get to that journey after my story.
My therapist, a psychoanalyst, was the first one who took me seriously. She agreed that it was a form of rape. I am healing.
The one person I told while it was still happening replied, “Yeah right.” like I was making it up. Then few years ago a friend from work who I confided in because she had been abused said to me, “That sounds hot.” Her form of support was to tell me I should not even complain because she had it much worse than me. It is true, but not how you should respond to someone’s abuse story. So you can see why many of us are afraid to come forward.
When I was on cheer squad my sophomore and junior years of high school, I was victimized by an assistant coach of the football team. He was the father of boy from the class below me. He was muscular and athletic with some dad fat and not tall but bigger than me. Much stronger. He had come up and talked to me a couple times before the day it started. After a Saturday practice he was still there during our practice even though football practice was over and came up and asked me to help him with the football player jerseys. We were supposed to be the leaders of school spirit and the football team was the highest priority in terms of attendance and interest, so it was the biggest thing cheer was there for. I told him my ride would be leaving and he said he could drop me off easily. After sorting the old and new jerseys, he followed me right into the girl’s locker room when nobody was there and without asking, helped me undress. I had sex with him willingly only because I did not see any other choice. I have more guilt for my actions in that moment, when I could have prevented the whole thing. I barely had any sexual experience at the time. After that it was like I belonged to him, and I let him own me. I formed an emotional attachment to him—like a boyfriend that I had to keep secret from everyone. He was married and 23 years older. I did not think of it at the time but I was his mistress on and off for almost two years. It was so sick that he had me befriend then date his son, who was four months younger than me, so I would have an excuse to know him. Thus, I knew their family and ate dinner with them and it did not seem so weird when he sometimes gave me a ride home from practice or away games. He would even come into my house to chat with my parents and have a beer with my dad sometimes. It was so warped watching them smile and laugh when if my dad knew what had happened before he drove me home it would crush our family and burn my world publicly instead of secretly.
After an away game once I shared a hotel room with him. Our most romantic night. He went all out. Roses, champagne, music, chocolate strawberries, bubble bath. At the time I loved it. My good feelings were always short lived.
Once my cheer coach asked if he ever bothered me and I said no. I protected him, even as he got more demanding and rough. I did what he wanted even when I felt humiliated. I fell into darker and deeper emotional turmoil.
During my junior year I could not handle it anymore when I had been taking things so slow with my public but fake boyfriend (his son). The son was going to break up me if I did not start having sex with him. So I did but after a few weeks I like cracked in my brain and could not take it anymore! That truly felt like rape. One day it was both of them in the same day and I lost my mind.
I broke up with both of them abruptly. It was maybe the strongest and smartest thing I ever did. It was an emotional reflex. My heart, mind, spirit, and body had taken too much. I was a wreck for months and everybody thought it was all because of the son, who everybody told me was not good enough for me anyway. He was not, and not just because of appearance. He was not as smooth, or fun, or charming or passionate as his dad. With him taking my body for granted TOO…
I blew up and just quit EVERYTHING; Love, friendship, cheer, church, studying, eating. The man I thought I loved had my heart in his pocket for so long and the loss I felt was a mountain on fire. My mom was great during those times but she did not know the truth. I was alone with my painful secret. I even tried to have sex with my dad once I was so lost. I came all too close to succeeding before he snapped out of it and became my dad again in the nick of time. Moments after it had actually started, even with his primitive instinct willing him to continue, he felt the insanity of what he was doing and abruptly stopped and instead just held me like I needed him to do. I was dissociated during that time (I did not know who I actually was or recognize myself) and would not have stopped. It was the strongest dissociation I ever experienced. It went on for part of the next day before I finally knew that I was me.
Recovering after that pain and shame for my final year was maybe the reason I did not go to college. My grades that semester tanked and I would have to explain that crash but could not. I could not tell anyone back then. So I did not apply. I did not take the SAT’s. My parents were disappointed. I had so much guilt. I had shaking fits, mild dissociation, fits of crying and flashbacks to when I felt so helpless and assaulted. And of course, the nightmares.
All because a mediocre excuse for an old alpha male wanted me as a piece of candy. He got to be the envy of all those dads and fans. My analyst made me realize what a predator he was and that he likely bragged about me to some men who were in the stands watching. I am glad I did not know that then.
I had joined the cheer team after riding the bench on the soccer team my freshman year and I just decided I wanted to be a cheerleader and just did it. I was being brave, I thought. I was considered the pretty one of the squad. That was why the predator chose me. We were not a competitive cheer squad. All-girl just because there were no boys interested. Every girl who tried out made the team. Never more than thirteen of us. Several were overweight but amazing girls. We just did routines with minimal stunts. But we did them well. It was not a sport that the popular girls did at my school and when I made the team I could not even do a scorpion. I was not the best the first year but even coach said my beauty improved morale. When I looked out to the stands closely I always saw too many eyes on me. I liked it and felt guilty anxiety at the same time, like being under hot lamp. I got much better my second year and became the best tumbler and could do a multiple back handsprings or a backflip off a roundoff. I loved the work and getting better and the feeling of being a part of a team and the whole big machine. It is a great sport that has more levels and requires more work, concentration, and athleticism than many people give it credit for.
But I regretted ever joining for years. I fell into another abusive relationship with an age appropriate man but again freed myself when my soul was being crushed. It only lasted three months this time. Now I am very wary of the warning sings and approach relationships with extreme caution. Probably too much. My few friends all agree on that.
I regretted my role in the sport I was good at. I regretted a huge portion of my life…
Until therapy! There was a program where I met a wonderful person who was a psychoanalyst in training, so it was much cheaper. I was afraid of things and had been meek for so long. I feel like a stronger woman now instead of a cowering, frightened girl stuck in that terrible situation. I worked diligently at opening myself in some ways that I was closed off to the world. Little by little, I learned to trust parts of my world again.
I am hesitant about relationships even when it is not healthy, but I am working on it. I recommend some type of therapy to anyone still struggling with their abuse. I know that includes almost all of us who have been abused. It is a life long process. But it builds strength. Psychoanalysis is a specific type of therapy and not for everyone. But there are many professionals who are excellent and can help you become more yourself again. I got so interested in therapy and how it helped me so much that I read books about it and got more fascinated the more I learned. I believe I have found my true calling. I will rise above the ashes.
I have recently written to three key people in the administration of my former school and reported my abuse, using much of what I just shared with you in order to prevent it from happening to others. He is no longer a coach at the school. I will do more and perhaps go to the police when I am ready. When it started I was still fifteen and so he is guilty of statutory rape, at the very least. Even if he beats the wrap, those closest to him will have heard what he did to me and be wary. Like his wife. He may pay just because of that. They may realize it is true because it all fits. I am 27 now and no longer the naive girl he preyed upon.
Now, I plan on going to go back to got to school for as long as it takes to become a psychologist. I have already started my specific, written plan including classes at a community college to get into the university, get my bachelors degree, and then begin my PhD in psychology.
I go to church with my mom and feel a connection to God.
I am a rape survivor
~
Photo credit: Image provided by the storyteller.