Tag Archives: rape

Escapade bursts

Been having more nightmares recently. The types that linger even though you’re dog tired daily and forget important details of your everyday waking life regularly.

1) He was raping girls, 2 of which were literally doll sized. 1 was a young adult. They started spilling vomit from their vaginas after he was finished and we went down on them. The older lady tried to push him away, shocked and repulsed but he pushed on. She eventually gave in and engaged in the fellatio as well.

2) I will update this when I remember. A little woozy right now

3) I have been telling myself that I deserve to be treated wonderfully by my future partner. Went to bed with drowsy fever medicine during the afternoon.

I told my friend that I deserve to be treated well. He leaned over, hand on the back of my neck to pull me in to kiss me. I pushed him away. He told me, “For someone who has so many criterias, you should have lower standards.”

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Rape victim, Rape survivor.

How passive, how past tensed. But it remains constant in your life.

It remains when you’re walking home late at night, keys between your fingers, poised to pierce.

It remains with every sip of alcohol, never to leave your hand, maximum two glasses, never again the hard stuff only the sweet easy ones. Only female friends around you making sure you’re safe.

It remains when you masterbate and feel guilty for feeling pleasure, cause you have glimpses of memory where you were drunk and enjoying what he was doing to your body.

It remains when you start to fall in love and want to be intimate, wondering if they might in turn rape you too. 

It remains as your past, present and future because once it has happened, you can never gain back that ease and trust, the lightness that some may treat the word like a punchline.

It remains as nightmares and self-loathing for your love and trust and belief in the fundamental goodness of humans.

It remains, now 7 months in. And it will remain in my wariness and my fear and hesitation and doubts and anxiety and tears and emptiness and blood tests and std tests and money and uncertainty about travelling and being alone and looking under the bed in the daytime and watching the curtains fearing who might be behind and turning my back to the door but also trying to stay still and tucked in on all sides with the blanket to prevent any access.

It remains in my fear and disgust and contempt and hatred and sadness in my libido. Betrayed when it ought to dry up and clamp shut, right? The other woman I was made without permission. Othered for what was done to me.

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The guilt of being raped

I’ve been doing so much searching and reading since I’ve come to the realisation that I was raped. Searching for things like ‘was it rape if I don’t remember’, ‘not remembering my rape’, ‘not remembering my rape and feeling okay’.

All I’ve been able to find are recounts by women who explicitly said no, struggled physically, crawled away, felt pain in their vaginas after, cried, were afraid to say no, had flashes of memories where the men were on top or in them.

My sole memory was of his head between my legs, and I remembered it feeling good.

To know logically and be told by the people I was out with the night before that I was intoxicated, stumbling around drunk with no memories of most of the night; to know that the people I was with told me that I needed to go back cause I was too drunk, and that he offered to send me back cause he wanted to head back anyways; knowing he was completely sober; remembering him telling us about his wife and his promise to keep sober to her. Yet, even knowing all these, to doubt that I was raped and that it was possibly my fault, even asking my friend the next day if I was hitting on him and thus caused the encounter to happen. They all weigh on my mind and heart so deeply and heavily.

I can’t find a single account that would help me feel okay with what happened, to justify that my rape was real, that it happened to me, that I’m not falsely accusing him of taking advantage of me. With each article I read, each forum, each comment, all I feel is guilt that my experience, my memory of what happened, was not ‘good enough’, was not ‘proper’.

As though being a victim of rape needed guidelines:

  • You can’t trust men anymore
  • You can’t feel sexual desire anymore
  • You must have remembered instances of the sexual assault
  • You must have been physically hurting from the encounter
  • You must be psychologically scarred from the encounter
  • You’re never going to want to be alone with men again
  • You’re never going to want to drink in public again

But I barely have any of these, and I feel bad, like I’m a fraud. Like I’m not a ‘good example’ of a rape victim and therefore I might not be… entitled to that label. To proclaim or even mention that I went through a rape.

I’m told by feminist friends to stop drinking so much, to not trust guys so easily, to take better care of myself from now on. I was firmly told by doctors that I should report the rape because I need to do my job and help protect other women out there from being at a risk of him in the future. Sure, they said things like “omg I’m so sorry babe” and was ‘comforted’ by their verbal bashings of him, but at the end of the day, I still feel responsible for what happened. Yes he sucks, but they still give advice on how I can prevent it because “there will always be men out there who are not right in the head and will rape you if they can, so you need to protect yourself.” And I’m left feeling simultaneously guilty for allowing the rape to happen, and potentially not being applicable for the title of rape victim.

So this post is for every person out there who was raped while drunk and couldn’t remember anything. For every person out there who trusted that married, sober guy who promised he would take care of you. For the people who were able to feel pleasure. Who aren’t sure if you were penetrated by his penis. Who feel guilty for not being aware till a week later that you were actually raped.

Your rape experience was real. No one can take that away from you. You deserve to feel hurt and vulnerable. You deserve to feel a plethora of emotions, even if it’s not what you think it should be. There are no rules to being raped, to being a victim or a survivor of rape. It’s okay, I’m here for you, my loves. 

Keep strong, I’m rooting for you.

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Looking out for Number 1

Yes, the rape was not your fault.
You weren’t asking for it.
You were drinking
You were having fun
You did not deserve to be raped.

Yes, the molest was not your fault.
You didn’t ask for it.
You were drunk
You trusted your friend
You did not deserve to be molested.

But, my love
The world is a cruel place.
Your friends won’t always be there
They might not see the drinks as your crutch
They might not see your cry for help
They might wave you off as vicarious and wild

And, my love
People are cruel creatures
Where No means Yes
And trust is but a tool for abuse

So ignore those who tell you
“You should stop drinking”
“You shouldn’t trust guys so easily”
“Don’t drink so much next time”
“Don’t go out drinking in unknown places with unknown people”

But you should take care of yourself.
Because at the end of the day,
The world is a cruel place
Filled with cruel creatures
And no one is around to watch out for you

Only you can care for you.

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