In my Trauma and Recovery class, we talked about breaking the 8 rules of dysfunctional families:
- Don’t talk about it
- Don’t feel
- Be emotionally available
- Don’t get to know what you want
- Base your self-esteem on what others think
- Don’t reject anyone
- Don’t stand up for yourself
- Don’t trust
Today I will break the first rule by talking about the three most significant experiences I have had with sexual abuse, the ones that each represented a new “step” towards feeling violated.
The first one occurred when I was 11 or 12. I was wrestling with one of my brothers, like we’d done our entire lives. He pinned me down, grabbed my breasts and started fondling and squeezing them. Nobody had ever touched my breasts before, and I was scared and confused. It also hurt a lot. He was not being gentle. I struggled, but he kept going and I eventually stopped struggling. It was so unexpected I didn’t know how to react.
It seemed to last forever, then he stopped as suddenly and unexpectedly as he had started. He got up and left without looking at me. We never mentioned it to each other or to anyone else in my family, and we never wrestled again.
To this day I don’t know why he stopped. As much as this experience freaked me out, I was mostly grateful to him for not raping me. How fucked up is that?
The next guy didn’t rape me either. On April 1st, 1999 (I was 14), a classmate invited me to go to the library together. Because it was April 1st, I expected a prank, but I thought it may be funny so I went along. Once we got there, he pushed me into the restrooms and into a stall. I was mostly confused at this point. He started to undress me, and I tensed but didn’t actively fight back because I was still trying to figure out what part of this was supposed to be funny. He lifted my shirt, pulled my breasts out of my bra. He pulled down my pants and underwear, looked at me. He seemed grossed out by my genitals. That… really fucked up my self esteem. Took me years to realise I’m completely normal down there. Regardless, he seemed to change plans.
He dropped down his own pants, stuck out his erect penis from his boxers, pointed at it and said (in French) “Put your mouth here”. I shook my head. No fucking way.
“Oh, Come on,” he insisted while fondling my breasts (much more gently than my brother had). He sucked on my nipples. I started tearing up.
I still had my pant and panties around my thighs but he ignored everything from the waist down, which I guess was a good thing, but made me feel terribly inadequate about that part of my body for a long time.
He kept insisting that I give him a blowjob. I don’t remember any of his arguments, except for the last one: “If you don’t do it, I’ll be really upset with you”. I don’t know where it came from, but I answered “If I do it, I’ll be really upset with myself”. I remember it clearly because that’s the first thing I remember being proud of doing in my entire life so far.
I thought he was going to start hitting me at that point, or maybe just grab me, force me onto my knees and fuck my face by force. But instead, he sighed. “Fine!” he said, sounding really bitter. He pulled his pants back up and stormed out. I locked the door behind him. I thought he was getting someone else, that he was coming back. I wondered if they’d be able to break down the door and get me, if anyone would hear.
He didn’t come back. He was gone. I sat on the toilet and cried. Then I thought about my parents and what they would say if I got home late, and I pulled down my shirt, pulled up my pants, and went home.
I waited for the subway and wondered if I should jump. I didn’t. When I got home, I went to the bathroom right away. As I got undressed I realised that I pulled down my shirt with my breasts still hanging out of my bra. I threw all my clothes in the laundry. I took a really, really long shower, and I never told my parents.
He told his friends at school I had given him a blowjob, and I got bullied for being a slut, but I was grateful to him for lying about it rather than forcing me, so I took the bullying as “penance” for refusing to do it. It's not like I wasn't getting bullied before anyway, I thought. I told one of the teachers what happened, but nothing changed.
A few years later, I was just out of high school and I had locked myself out of my place. I didn’t want to ring the bell and wake up everyone, so I went to a pub where I was a regular (they knew me as Guava Girl because I always ordered guava juice), hoping to run into people I knew.
I ran into my on-again, off-again boyfriend, Dan (I’m not using real names). Dan and the mother of his 3 kids were having a lot of issues, and they were on a break that he thought would be final when he and I started dating. A week later, she came back so he broke up with me. After that, every time she broke up with him, he’d let me know he was available again, and he’d break up with me when she came back. I don’t think there was ever any expectation on his part, but he was a good friend and I really liked him, and he was my first boyfriend, so I was quite happy to get back together whenever it was an option. Mostly, I was confused we couldn’t just date him at the same time, since we both knew about each other, but I think that just shows I already had polyamorous leanings.
Dan and his girlfriend were on at the time, so I couldn’t sleep at his place, but his best friend Victor offered his own place. I didn't know him at all, but he was Dan's best friend so that was good enough for me. When I stayed at his place, he asked me if I just wanted a place to sleep, or if I actually wanted to have sex with him. I told him I had no interest in having sex. He wasn’t too happy, but he didn’t make any moves. That I know of. In retrospect, I have no idea what he may have done to me while I was asleep.
A couple of weeks later, Dan invited me to hang out at his place (he and his girlfriend were off). Victor was there too. I drank a few sips of Dan’s drink (he always drank gin and tonic. Disgusting stuff) and because I’m a lightweight it was enough to get me buzzed. They offered me some pot. I didn’t have any experience with it but I felt safe with them so I shared a joint with Dan. As the night continued, I started feeling tired and overheated. I asked if I could take off my shirt and have a nap. They said it was totally fine, so I did.
I woke up to Victor on top of me, thrusting inside of me. I realised he was having sex with me and I was very confused. I remember trying to move but not being able to. My arms felt so heavy. I was completely powerless, paralyzed while things were happening to my body.
Then I heard a toilet flush and Dan walked back into the room. I was so relieved to see him, so relieved he hadn't been there the whole time. I looked at him, tried to reach for him. He understood what was happening: he grabbed Victor and threw him out. Then he came back into the bedroom and said “you don’t deserve this”. He seemed really sad. He stayed best friends with Victor.
I went to my gynecologist and learned he had given me an STI. It was gone after a month of treatment, but that was shitty. It made me really angry, angrier than the rape.
It took me 10 years to consider what he did to me rape. I felt guilty for consuming pot and alcohol, guilty that I took off my top when I was overheated, guilty that I was unable to push him off when I woke up and he was inside of me. I thought “he was on drugs too, so maybe we’re both victims”. But now I see things quite differently. He knew I didn’t want to have sex with him. I was unconscious. He was completely in control. Even one of these should have been enough.
I saw Victor a few times after that. He acted like nothing had happened. He never apologised. I stopped dating Dan, stopped going to that pub, and tried to kill myself. I cut my wrist but it wasn’t bleeding enough and I gave up. Three days later the wound was swollen, seeping and painful so I went to the ER. Because it was infected, they couldn’t stitch it back up so I still have a visible scar. Most people can’t see the other scars on my wrist (I can) but this one is much more obvious. It's constant reminder of what he did to me, and how ashamed it made me feel.
I feel like I need to end on a more positive note, so I’ll say that I haven’t tried to kill myself since, and that my current partners have never tried to abuse me in any way. (Past partners have, which is why they're past partners). It’s still difficult for me to trust many men, but on the plus side the people who will never hurt me shine like beacons.
