My name is Lis. I was raped by a person I thought I could trust. Read the story of how I was raped and the impact the rape had.
My name is Lis and I am currently finishing law school. I will be twenty-nine in December of 2008 and I will be thirteen in June of 2008. I say this because my life ended and began over eight years ago, on the night just before my high school freshman year was finished. I was raped by a person I thought I could trust.
Those of you who have been raped probably can relate with figurative death. You are no longer the person you were before you were raped - that person is gone. You are transformed into the person who was raped - the person who is afraid of the dark, has nightmares and flashbacks and battles depression.
Understanding the person I was before I was raped is a very difficult task for me. She is a shadowy figure, transformed not only by time, but by the scarring of rape. When I look back on her now, my first instinct is to be angry with her - for being naive, for being young, for trusting so quickly. There were many times during the past four years that I hated her - I blamed her for being raped and I cursed her for the problems I encountered after I was sexually assaulted. But when I'm being fair with myself, I can catch a glimpse of who she was.
The "before" me
I have lived in a very small town south of Boston for my entire life. I am the oldest child of three, with a younger brother and sister. Growing up, I was always on the younger side of my peers. When they were interested in boys, I was still interested in horses and make-believe games. By the time ninth grade rolled around, I had only a vague interest in the opposite sex and spent most of my time with my best friend, doing art projects and continuing to live in the world of a kid.
At the end of ninth grade, I developed a crush on a junior, who was a popular football player. After awhile, we began talking on the phone - stupid stuff. I can't even remember now what was said, but he would chat with me and I was flattered.
One night, around midnight, he asked if I would like to go for a walk with him (he lived only three streets down). I was thrilled that he wanted to do something with me, so I climbed out of my window (it was past my curfew and my parents wouldn't have let me leave, so I had to sneak out) and walked to the end of my street, where he met me. He suggested that we walk to the elementary school's playground and "talk." Off we went.
The playground was specially designed to look like a ship. It had two large sections for the boat, both with two floors, slides, ropes, etc. We climbed to the second floor of one of the sections and sat down by the orange tube slide to talk. I don't remember what was said.
Horribly out of control
After awhile, he leaned over and began kissing me. I accepted this, but when he began to shift his weight on top of me, I pulled away and tried to start up the conversation again. He started kissing me again and this time pushed me onto my back. I began telling him that I wanted to stop - and it was from there that things began spinning horribly out of control.
He didn't stop and although I said "no" many times and tried to fight him, he raped me. I don't remember how he got my shorts off, and sometimes I still am angry at myself for not being strong enough to fight him off, but he won.
After it was over, he threw my clothes at me and told me to get dressed. He had ejaculated on my stomach and I can still remember what he said, "That stuff sticks to everything. Use your shorts to clean yourself off."
He told me to stop crying several times. Then he said that he wanted to "hold me," and he didn't let me go until he had "held me" for what seemed like an eternity. Then he said that he needed to go home and he left.
He told everybody it was consentual
And so did I. I made up this alternate reality for myself, in which I had some control and I made myself believe that it was consensual. I don't think the word "rape" was in my vocabulary at the time. It certainly didn't occur to me that a crime had been committed when I was walking home, or when I was taking a shower, or the next day when I stayed home from school and laid in bed crying. I was so ashamed and felt like I had done something bad - and I was afraid to tell my parents because I had been doing something wrong at the time - sneaking out. So I told no one. I kept it a secret and didn't say a word about it for three years.
He, on the other hand, told people that we had consensual sex. When I think about it now, that in itself was a dumb move, because by law he had also committed statutory rape - I was underage at the time and he was nineteen. But nobody thought about that - they just branded me a slut and tormented me for several years.
People told me that he said, "f*cking her is like f*cking a bean bag." I'm still not sure what that little simile means, but at the time it hurt. Kids I didn't get along with would use him against me - all it took was a mention of his name and I would have no other choice but to leave the room. School became hell.