One Bad Night

Last Therapy Session

My last of 12 free sessions at the DC Rape Crisis Center is this afternoon, and I’m feeling confident about that. My next decision is to determine whether or not I’d like to continue therapy with someone else immediately, in a little while, or not at all (at least for now).

Perhaps this blog can turn into one more based on submissions again? I’d like that. I’d like to connect with you all and have you connect with each other through stories and questions and anecdotes and feelings. We share so much.

You are all loved, and I hope to hear from some of you so that we can work together to feel good after the bad things. (See my blog’s sidebar for submission options.)

<3

J 

I’m sorry for neglecting this blog!

I truly am. I guess I shouldn’t have been so quick to turn this into a blog based on submissions when I didn’t really have enough to write about for myself. Well, I do have enough to write about, but I go to therapy still and talk about it with friends, and I guess lately I just haven’t wanted to write about this stuff.

Anyways, I know the blog has died down a bit, but if you’re still following and have a story or questions or anything at all, send them along. Or if you’d just like to message with my privately, that is welcome too. 

I am doing pretty well. New sexual things have come up in my life that have been pretty triggering, so that has been my biggest struggle lately. 

You are all loved and deserve to know it, 

J

HIV Testing & My Mother

I don’t have a good relationship with my mother. I’m home for spring break, and while I’m here I want to get tested for HIV so that I don’t have to do it at school and can forget about it once I’m back. I was tested when I had my rape kit done, but you’re supposed to get tested a few months after and then again like half a year after because it can show up up to a year after if you were exposed to it. 

I’m fine to go have it done by myself, but wouldn’t it be nice if my mother could be there to support me as I get HIV tested again after having been sexually assaulted months ago?

I just think that’d feel better. Of course, if I asked her to take me she would, but that’s not what this is about. It’s about her reaching out and showing that she’s still concerned for me. And she hasn’t reached out. 

I just had the most intense, useful therapy session I think I’ve ever had. Thank goodness for the DC Rape Crisis Center.

I apologize for not posting recently. I will write a longer post soon.

Remember to please submit any stories, comments, questions, or even links to other sexual assault stories or sites. Everything and everyone is welcome here.

You are loved,
J

Men can get raped too. Let’s not forget that.

(via myths-setstraight)

Anonymous asked: I dated a boy who I wanted to be with so badly that it hurt for 3 years. When we finally started dating, I was the absolute happiest person. My parents agreed to allow him to come on vacation with us, with the promise that we wouldn't have sex. I had no intention to. But...one bad night...he forced himself upon me. At 6'2" 250 lbs, he was much larger than me and stronger. That night though, has made me stronger as a person. It's made me think twice about the situations that I get myself into.

Anonymous asked: I was raped around five months ago. Halfway through it, I shut out all of the feelings and my brain switched on. I thought about what the fastest way to end it was. If I screamed, no one would hear and it would make him mad. He was strong and huge, I couldn't fight. He said he wouldn't stop until we had both cum, so just lying there would take too long. I decided I had to fake my own orgasm and try and make him finish so that it could just be over. I feel like I made it not rape. Did I?

worst night of my life

This happend 3 yrs ago but i cant sem to move on. i know it sounds stupid i mean it happend so long ago and i still cant say it. anyway i was a junior in high school and i was dating what i thought was a sweet guy he played football and i played soccer so we met in the weight room and hit it off, after awhile tho i started to notice that his moods would go from happy and easy going to crazed phsyco in seconds i would never know what i’d done to piss him off untill it was to late he was already comming after me it started with just grabing my arm tightly then that wasent enought i guess and he started hitting. it took me months to get up the courage to leave him my only mistake was dumpiing him in frton of the whole school he was so humiliated. i just had a bad feeling that if i had triedto ended it in private that he would have hurt me. my mistake, later that day i was sent to get labtops from the library by my teacher, at my school they were kept in cabnets with wheels so that the could be moved from class to class. anyway  on my way to the library i ran into him he pullled me into a corner with his arm around my neck and said that he was gonna take something from me that i could never get back something that i wouldnt give him.. i never slept with him i always found an excuse not to and yea he would lose his temper for a but but i was a virgian i wasent ready and at that time i would take a few punches than give him the satisfaction of being my first. not that it mattered. we had a socer game that night and coach always split up the pre game set up between players well it was min and collen’s turn to fill the water coolers only it was taking to long casue we goffed of alot when we where together and she was trying to cheer me up. but she needed to warm up she was starting goalie i didnt start so i told her to go i turned up my music and went back to filling the cooler up i was almost done when i though i heard someone come in the locker room. i went to turn around it was to late someone grabed my hair form behind and pulled me down then my memory gets a little hazze i remember waking up to someone on tome of me wispering in my ear that this was my fault that meex sent them as payback when i realized what was going on i tryewd to fight but he was to strong and the mor i fought the more his friend standing watch laughed and eventually i stoped it hurt less that way anyway i stared at the wal next to me for the longest time, and just when i thought it was over and they were gonna leave the first guy starts telling his friend that he should take a turn i wanted to scream but i couldnt make myself i couldnt even move they argued for a min i dont think the secon guy wanted to do it but his friend insisted and the next thing i new he was walking towards me saying that he was sorry and that he didnt have a choice what kind of crap is that.. i still here his voice sometimes its been 3yrs and i cant get it outof my head. no mater what i try for a year after it happend i used so many different drugs to try and shut it all out but nothing helped thankfully i found the military and it gave me a reason to leave my home town and get clean but unfortunatly the nightmares and flashbacks wont go away…..

this has ruind so many of my relationships and i know that it wont stop untill i cna move on but everyone i talk to says that in order to move on you have to forgive and i cant do that! i’ve never told anyone the whole story theres even alot im leaving out here. i’ve heard tho that the more you tell your story the easier it is to move on so i thought id give it a try.

An Update on My Story

Below is an update on my personal story. I haven’t received a submission in a while, so if you are considering submitting, I encourage you to—not just for the sake of my blog but for the sake of the readers, and most importantly, for the sake of yourself.

See the sidebar of the blog for instructions.

Love,
J

I had planned on writing about my third therapy appointment, which went actually very well, before going to my fourth appointment tomorrow, but something happened last week that is more important and pivotal in my recovery. 

I heard from the detective of my case for the first time since our interview in late October, just a few days after the incident. 

I knew that “these things take a long time,” and was even told that the rape kits can take from 6-9 months to process, as the SANE nurse had told me, but hearing back in late January seemed like a pretty absurd amount of time just for the police to tell me they would not be going forward with the case. 

Don’t get me wrong though; I am relieved and glad they are not going forward with the case, and that is what I was expecting. 

After I filed the report and spoke with the nurses and police, I eventually came to realize that, despite how simple and obvious the story seemed in my head, it would be far from simple legally. To me, it seemed easy at first! I woke up naked in an unknown place with an unknown person, with an open condom wrapper under me, and was told my the SANE nurse that she saw “trauma and fresh blood” during the gynecological exam. To me, that all seemed to lead to a logical answer—I was probably raped. 

To the police though, and to a potential lawyer in defense of the man who assaulted me, it would be easy to refute any of that. I had been drinking, underage, was found by this man, who apparently could not find out my address to send me home in a taxi, so he instead took me home, and even took me to the metro the next morning and paid for me. As sad as it seems, the guy would have a pretty easy case against me, especially considering it would be his words against mine, and I don’t even remember what actually happened. So, with all of that, I eventually came to realize that a court case is not something that would be helpful. It would be impossible to get the true story, or to prove him guilty, and it would probably only make all of this much more traumatic, and potentially public, for me—and none of that is anything I want or need. 

Despite my understanding of this, the phone call this past Thursday was very hard to handle for me. The police officer told me the following: 

• He’s been busy with other cases and is sorry for the delay in getting back to me 
• They will not be going forward with the case. 
• The DNA and toxicology tests came back negative. 
• They interviewed the man (the police officer said his name which made me feel pretty nauseous—I hadn’t heard it since October or November) for three hours, and according to the detective, worked very hard to break him/to get him to say something. 
• The man’s story was as follows: He found me sitting on a curb near the Chinatown metro stop. He tried to call a cab for me but when it arrived I didn’t know my address and “gave them the address of the metro we were at,” (because I definitely have an extensive directory of all metro station addresses memorized…) so the man decided to take me back to his house, where he lived with his aunt and uncle. The man told the detective he has lived here for two years (he told me 3 months). Anyways, as the detective put it, he “took me back to his place, took my clothes off, and we went to sleep.” There is apparently no proof of sex, which is the main reason they could not move forward with the case. The man also told the detective that he is a devout Muslim, and therefore does not drink or do drugs. I was apparently the first intoxicated person he had ever encountered, which sparked his desire and interest in helping me. 

As I’m sure you can imagine, the hardest part about this was hearing a detective who has dealt with sexual assault cases in the past use the man’s action of taking my clothes off in the man’s defense. That just really frightens me and makes me worry about the police system and legal system and the status and understanding of sexual assault in this country. 

It was also sickening to hear the police tell me about the man’s devout religion. There’s a reason that if I were to ask the police if he knows my religion from my interview with him that he would say no: because I didn’t tell him. Why? Because it is absolutely irrelevant in both cases. I guess perhaps the detective was trying to comfort me and to try to help me believe that the guy was probably decent, but that was just absolutely uncalled for. 

I give people the benefit of the doubt, and I believe in the inherent goodness of most people. Thankfully, the man did seem decent in many ways. I don’t even want to think about all of the horrible things he could have done to me; he had me at his disposal. I am alive, and for that I am eternally and inexplicably thankful. But just because someone walked me to the metro and gave me $5 for my fare doesn’t mean I stop there. When I wake up naked in a bed, my body stuck to an empty condom wrapper, with a stranger, and he can’t give a straight answer about whether or not we had “sex,” and I remember nothing, I become skeptical. 

I have my next therapy appointment tomorrow afternoon, where I will tell my therapist this story and probably discuss it for the whole session, I would guess. The phone call’s immediate affect on me was this gut feeling of “I’ve been trying to ‘recover’ from something that never happened,” and that is a feeling I can’t live with. 

In general, things are good. I won’t have to deal with a court case, and I just pray with everything in me that the man is indeed decent and that he won’t ever hurt someone again. This phone call just shook me up, and now I have a skewed, confused outlook to deal with, but I will get through this. 

One Group of Bad Friends. One Bad Threat. One Bad Decision. One Bad Afternoon. Years and years of pain.

***MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING ! IN DEPTH STORY !***
My story isn’t like most. Some may even look at this and say, “Who does this girl think she’s kidding ? Sounds consensual to me.” … and I don’t blame you for thinking that way. Anyways, I figured I would tell it anyway. To help me, if no one else.

November 10th. 2005. 11 years old. She though she was really cool because she had a new ‘boyfriend.’ The gorgeous ‘bad boy,’ who was two years older than her and all the girls wanted him. He was hers. She didn’t even like him that much… to be honest, she didn’t even want a boyfriend to begin with, but he wanted her, and that was all that mattered. 
It started out like any other day. She was headed over to his appartment to ‘hang out.’  You know, watch movies and stuff. Right ? She got there. He wasn’t alone. Her ‘friend’ was there, with her boyfriend. They all sat down to watch a movie. The other couple started kissing, so naturally he tried to kiss her. It was just a kiss… and if it made him happy, why not ? They kissed. and kissed. and kissed. and kissed. and kissed… until she realized that the other couple had relocated to the bedroom. He kissed her again. and again. and again. His hands started to wander. Down to her breasts. She began to feel uncomfortable, but still she did not dare protest. His hands left her body and she heard his buckle come undone. He was unzipping his pants.
“Will you give me head ?” She heard, as she looked down to see his revealed penis. “What ? NO ! Put that away ! Stop !” They argued. He pleaded, she denied. Her mom came to pick her up. She goes home. The phone rings.
“Hello ?” “So I heard you pruded out on *him today ?” It was her ‘friend.’ “What ?” “I know all about it. How he asked you for a simple thing, and you denied.” “I don’t want to do that sort of thing.” “Why I do it all the time.” “… and your also a lot older than me.” “So. I started doing it when I was your age. Stop being a prude.” “I just don’t want to do it.” “You do know the only reason he’s dating you is because he thinks you’ll put out right. He talks to me all the time about it. How he doesn’t even like you. You’re just a fat, ugly, 6th grader who he can get some action from. I mean come on do you actually think *he would date you if you didn’t put out ? Do you honestly think anyone would ?” “Why are you saying all of this ? Why is it such a big deal if I don’t do it ?” “Because *he is my boy, and I told him I would convince you to do it. I promised. He’s practically my brother. I’m not breaking that promise… one way or another, you will do it.” “Stop it. I’m not doing it. I don’t know what to tell you…” “Let me break it down for you, either you do it, or I’ll come after you. Don’t think I won’t. Have you ever seen me back down from a fight ? Clear ?”
She hangs up the phone and thinks back to the numerous fights she’s seen her ‘friend’ in. She recalls the one where the bathroom was filled with blood because she bashed another girls face into the sink. She thinks about that time at the birthday party. She got upset with another girl and started walking to her house with a knife. She remembers hearing about how she got kicked out of her other school because she pulled a pocket knife on someone at school. She remembers meeting her friends ‘boyfriend’ how he told her he was in the blood gang. She remembers the chunk of hair she saw laying on the hallway floor from a fight she was in. She tries to distract herself.
At her locker the next day. “Hey. Come over after school. My mom is working until 7. No one will be home.” He said to her with a slimy smile and a wink. Her stomach drops. She doesn’t want to go. Every part of her is screaming DON’T GO OVER THERE ! She goes anyway, and like she predicted he asks again. She says no again. He gets mad. He yells. He calls her names. He stomps away into his bedroom leaving her on the couch. “RUN AWAY ! GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE !” Her body is screaming at her, but she stays. Sitting on that couch. 
Her pocket vibrates. Restricted number. “Hello ?” “Hey. Hey Bitch. Is that the girl ? etc. ” She hears numerous voices on the other line. “Hey bitch. You’re really starting to get me pissed. I thought we had a deal ?” “Why are you doing this,” she starts to cry, “I don’t want this. Why is it such a big deal ?” They laugh. “You’re crying ? Grow a pair. Listen. I’m giving you one more chance. I’m in *the city with my girls right now. They know the situation. If you don’t, we’ll be making a special trip to your house tonight. Don’t.test.me.” Silence on the other end of the phone. 
*He walks back out. Grabs her hand. Sticks it down his pants. Undoes them. Pushes her to her knees. Pushing on her head. She’s crying. He doesn’t care.
“See. I knew you would like it.” “Yeah, that’s my girl.” “Baby you’re the best.” “You love doing this don’t you ?” “Yeah, let out your inner slut.” “You love my huge **** in your mouth don’t you ?”

She leaves. Showers. again. and again. and again. and again. Until she’s shivering from the ice water falling on her. She brushes her teeth. again. and again. and again. and again. Until the taste of blood starts to make the other taste. That awful, disgusting taste, go away. She hates herself. Cuts herself. Destroys herself.
She’s broken. She’s dirty. She’s no longer a child. No longer innocent. She’s confused. She’s scared. She’s hurt. She’s disgusting. She wants to die. 

Submit!

You deserve to be heard.

Therapy Session 2 

Hello lovely followers. 

I’m going to write a short post about my second therapy session with my assigned counselor from the DC Rape Crisis Center. This is a free service and so I will get 12 appointments for free, which I think is absolutely fabulous. At the end of each post I’m going to start posing questions for you guys to reply to to make this interactive. So, if you don’t feel like reading about me, skip to the bottom! Also, don’t forget to submit your story if you have one! See sidebar of blog for details.

I had my second therapy appointment with my therapist from DCRCC, who we will call T. The first session, as to be expected, was a bit uncomfortable, because I was spilling so much personal information to someone I’d just met. I was worried she might be too reserved and quiet for us to accomplish anything, but my second session proved that wrong. I think we both already feel comfortable around each other and understand each other’s viewpoints and personalities quite well. I also learned that I really love her style, especially compared to my previous therapist (who I went to for a few months a while back for other reasons). 

T asks way more pointed questions than my last therapist Dr. E did, which is really nice for me. I guess this is probably because I am there for a very specific reason and she is trained to deal with people like me who have been sexually assaulted, but I really like this method. She usually asks a question and I talk for a while and then we discuss what I talk about, and then sometimes she’ll ask how I’m feeling about what we’re talking about. We actually got a lot done, because we talked a lot about how I’ve told people about my incident in real life in the past and worked on figuring out how I want to tell the next person that I want to tell, and I actually have a pretty solid plan in my head now. 

Towards the end of the appointment we started discussing this type of therapy (I forget the name) where you think about your body in the moment of therapy and what it’s doing (ex. butterflies in stomach) and work on associating that with an emotion that you are feeling in order to better understand your body and your emotions and how they work together. Although I told her the idea of this therapy makes me feel kind of vulnerable, it sounds important and I look forward to it. 

So, I’m very happy with my sessions so far and am so thankful that I have 10 more, for free. Although when I told my Dad about my assault he offered to pay for any therapy I think I need, so I could continue if necessary, I think that it’s great that DCRCC can offer these services, and this isn’t even the only one. 

My recommendation to you: If there is help available, take advantage of it. Even if you feel like you’re “ok” or that you don’t need “help” or that you’ve “moved on,” talking about your feelings and experiences could never hurt. I’d also recommend that if you do see a therapist, try your very hardest to be completely honest. I know from experience that keeping the darkest secrets from your therapist will leave you regretful when you’re done with that session or with that therapist. They are there for you, and you are important. 

So, my question for you (reply below or via ask box or submission): What services have you taken advantage of in your area to deal with any trauma or physical needs associated with your assault?

Here is a link to a lovely piece written by “Words and Turds,” a lovely person and writer who I have been following for a very long time. 

I think many of you might related to it. It is not only beautifully written and very well done, but discusses a very specific aspect of sexual assault as it exists for some survivors. 

I hope you all have a lovely day! 

<3 

J 

Talk to me anytime!

Hi lovely followers!

Sorry for another post that isn’t a story/submission, but I just wanted to extend an offer to all of you. I am always open to messaging with anyone about sexual assault or anything related. You can just:

• send a message to the ask box of this blog, and I will reply directly instead of posting the response
• email onebadnight@gmail.com and let me know you want to chat and aren’t sending a story to be posted 

I just know that there are so many of us who don’t have people to talk to. Even for those of us who do have supportive and helpful friends or family members though, sometimes it feels nice to talk to someone on the internet who is dealing with the same things as you but who doesn’t know you in real life, which can make being completely open about these issues complicated. 

I’m currently  messaging back and forth with one of my followers and just think it’s a great way to let out some of the kept-in memories and thoughts that there really is no other outlet for usually. Just because I’ve started this blog doesn’t mean I’m different than any of you—I’m just as fragile and just as in need of conversation. Although I’m no expert, I just want you all to know that I’m here to talk to. 

Love, 

J 

The Issue of Fault

When it comes to issues of sexual assault, for some reason ‘fault’ always comes into play. 

Actually, when any issue or accident takes place—something unexpected—everyone wants to know whose fault it was. 

In the fall of 2010, I got into a bad car accident. I broke my collar bone and had to get surgery because it was such a bad break. Other than that I was fine, thankfully, and as far as I know the driver of the other car was fine too. For that I am thankful. 

When I came back to school, or to anywhere, really, with a sling on my arm, and told the story of my accident, I was surprised to hear people almost immediately asking after I finished, “whose fault was it?” How could someone look at another person, who is suffering and in pain, and just thankful to be alive after an almost head-on collision, ask whose fault their accident was? What if, technically, according to the insurance companies, it was my fault? Did these people realize how horrible that would make me feel to think about?

I came to realize that it must be part of human nature. People want to know the story straight, and they want to know what happened. I guess, sometimes what comes along with that, is fault. If you know whose fault it is, you might understand the story better. 

I had to learn for myself that it didn’t matter whose fault it was. It would be different if the person whose fault it was did it on purpose, but it wasn’t. It was an accident. Accident means it didn’t happen on purpose. Fault doesn’t matter. What matters is that everyone survived.

So as I read all of these horrible stories of sexual assault, I worry so much about the idea of ‘fault.’ It comes up often. I too, like many of the people who have posted their stories, have trouble realizing that it was not my fault. Emotionally, I am not confident in saying that it was not my fault, although logically I know that it wasn’t. No matter what happened, I did not want what happened to me to happen to me, and he was the one at fault. He did it. He did it on purpose. That makes this different from the car accident. Here, fault is a bit more clear. He did it intentionally; it was his fault.

But I have a new idea, because I do realize how it is probably impossible, nearly, for many people to actually believe it wasn’t their fault:

Even if you think it was your fault, or maybe even just think it was partially your fault, or that you could have stopped it, or anything like that, try instead, to realize, that it doesn’t matter whose fault it was. Something bad happened to you. But you are here. You are a survivor, and you are here to tell your story, and things, with time, will get increasingly better. How could fault matter in this situation? Your body and your mind and your wellbeing are far more important than fault. 

So this is for those of you who are worried it was your fault. If it’s still too hard to decide whose fault it was, or to realize that it was not your fault (because, as hard as it is to believe, it wasn’t), instead, just realize that that doesn’t matter. 

What matters is you.

Love, 
J