DISCLAIMER: This entry involves experiences of bullying, sexual misconduct and/or assault, and self-hate and could possibly trigger a reader who may have (or is still) struggling with any of those issues. Please be cautious.
As with all of my entries and stories, each piece of writing I post here is from my personal perspective, experience, logic, and truth. I do not, and nor will I ever claim, that I know best, or all there is to know, about any topic or experience another individual may have experience(d). These are my words, my thoughts, my feelings, my truth.
Rape is a difficult and confusing thing. It is a crime. It is a violation. It is uncomfortable to talk (or read) about. It is devastating. But, it is a reality. It is an experience. And like all experiences, there is what leads up to it and the aftermath. Both the pre and post-rape experiences are still a part of the rape, and they are vital to a survivor's story.
Rape affects not only those involved directly in the rape but also those involved with the person who was raped. I know my friends and family were affected by what happened to me. They still are. As am I, even though it's been over twenty-five years.
Twenty-five years, and only recently have I felt safe in talking about it, or putting it on paper.
Twenty-five years, and I am still discovering and realizing scars that were formed that day.
Twenty-five years, a marriage, two children, and I am still swimming in an ocean of anger, shame, and resentment for all that took place before, during, and after.
I am sharing my story because I hope it will inspire others to explore their own demons (be they past actions or experiences) and that in doing so, healing can begin, or continue. I would love to think that there isn't another person out there who can relate to my story, my pain, but that's just not realistic. But maybe, just maybe, in reading my story, they'll no longer feel alone.
BEFORE Most people ask "How old were you?". But there have been some who've asked for more specifics. People who are close to me have done so, I think in hopes that it might possibly absolve them of any responsibility. Like they should've known, or been there to protect me. But they don't understand. It's not like that. No one else is responsbile. No one but me, and him.
I don't remember the date. I don't remember what day of the week it was. I think it was early summer. It had to be because I hadn't yet turned 14 and wouldn't until the end of June. Truth is, I barely remember that year. It was so fucked. I'd started at a new school, which is never easy. I'd been bullied at my previous school and I remember my mom telling me I shouldn't tell the kids about my singing and acting at this new onw. She believed it had been the root cause of my being bullied. I wasn't sure, but her explanation made sense, so I agreed.
My family and I had recently moved across the border from Quebec to Ontario. We were still essentially in the same city, just different provinces. I'd been angry at the move. I didn't want to lose my friends, as terrible as they were. But a part of me was excited too. I had always liked change. Still do. It's fresh! It's exciting! And we were moving into a much bigger house where I'd have my own room! I remember my excitement being stronger than my fear or anger.
When I started the eighth grade, I was sure it would be a good year. I was determined to find good friends. Friends that were kind to me, as I hadn't had one of those in a long time. I resolved to be a good student too. In grade seven, I'd slacked off. I'd cared more about being cool than getting good grades. Quickly in the year, I'd made friends with a nice group of girls. They were good students, watched Sailor Moon, and were fun to hang out with. I liked them. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for me to realize they weren't the "cool" kids. And it didn't take me much longer to discern who the "cool" kids were, and I quickly aimed to be one of them.
I don't remember any details, just that all of a sudden, I had a new group of friends. All of the girls wore make-up and cared about their looks, and flirted with boys. In fact, there was a specific group of boys, also popular, that was always involved with these girls. I loved the attention they gave and wanted some. So, I worked at it and suddenly, was one of them.
In the fall of that year, I landed a role on a children's TV show. It was a guest spot in a two-part episode. I was so excited! It felt like the real deal, like the first burst in a dam to get the water really flowing. My mom didn't want me to tell anyone, so I didn't. But then, when the episode was scheduled to air on television, I was bursting. I can't remember if I told them before it aired, or just allowed them to see it and discover it on their own. I just remember going to school wearing a hat from the TV show, beaming with pride. And that's when things changed. There was this girl, Amy. Before I'd filmed the show, though she was a part of the group, we hadn't been that close. But after it aired, suddenly, she was waiting for me after class, linking her arm with mine and pulling me in like we'd been friends since pre-school. As time passed, I felt less and less comfortable with her. I think I'd gathered she was only my best friend because of the show. So, I told her. I reminded her that we hadn't been friends before and I didn't think we'd make good friends now. She seemed a little hurt, but fine. So, I moved on.
I became really close friends with another girl, Missy. We hung out every break and recess. We ate our lunches together and talked about boys. I honestly believed she was my best friend. But suddenly, one day, she hated me. She waited outside the school doors at recess, and Amy was with her. Missy looked angry, and Amy had a smile on her face. It's funny, I don't remember what was said. I can't even remember what logic Missy spewed as her reason for hating me, but she did. A lot. I just remember Amy had told her I had said something mean about her, which was a lie, but Missy believed her.
I was heartbroken and felt utterly betrayed. And to make matters worse, all of the rest of the girls took Missy's side and chose to hate me too. For the next two months, I was constantly bullied. I was called names in the classroom and in the schoolyard, terrible names like "whore", "bitch", and more. I remember getting to my locker and seeing it marked up with hateful things like "I hope you die", or even "slut". I felt so alone. I felt worthless.
One winter day, I went outside for recess, and within minutes, Missy and Amy were yelling threats and calling me names. It didn't take long for the rest of the kids to surround us and join in the taunting. Amy was threatening to kick my ass and I remember telling her I didn't want to fight. But she and Missy kept taunting and teasing me. Pretty soon, the kids surrounding us were pushing Amy into me, and me into her. I was finally thrown hard enough that Amy forcefully pushed me off and hit me. From there, I draw a blank. I don't know who hit who, how many times, or how it ended. I just remember finally getting away at some point and going into the school, into the girls' washroom. I cried in the stall for a few minutes, came out and looked at my reflection in the mirror, and wanted to vomit. I was so disgusted with myself and what my life had become. Their torture had worked its magic. I no longer cared about myself at all. I walked out of the bathroom, out of the school, out of the yard, and all the way home.
I don't remember what I told my mom. I don't remember how she reacted. I remember her trying to work things out at the school with the principal, but they wanted Amy and me to go to mediation and work out our differences. That's when my mom pulled me out. She thought it was shameful and disgusting that any responsibility for what transpired was falling on me. She wanted the school to protect me from this crazy girl, but they wouldn't. They stood strong on the stance that Amy and I had to work out our differences and learn to get along, so my mom decided to homeschool me for the remainder of the year.
I don't remember the rest of that school year. I don't remember being schooled at home, but I know I was. I just remember feeling alone, angry, and not wanting to feel. So, I went back to what I knew. I reached out to an old 'friend' from our previous neighborhood and began meeting up with her downtown to hang out at the mall, go to movies, and try and pick up older guys. For some reason, I was convinced that if I could find a boyfriend, I would no longer feel alone, or unworthy. I was sure finding a boyfriend would solve all of my problems. Bonus points if he was older, good-looking, and cool (translate: a bad boy that would make my parents squirm).
It wasn't long before I found myself alone downtown pretty often. I have no idea what I told my parents because there is no way in hell they would've allowed it. I was stealing make-up, begging or lying to people for money, sneaking into movies, and forming inappropriate friendships (not sexual) with older guys (sixteen and up). I started smoking weed and causing shit everywhere I went. I kind of remember a day when I was hanging out with Kevin, an 18-year-old high school drop-out and drug dealer, where he stole a car (at least that's what he told me) and we drove it to his parents' house 30 minutes outside of the city. They weren't home, so we drank some of their alcohol, made out and I allowed him to fondle and touch me in places I'd never allowed before. I thought I was so mature and grown-up. I even tried to convince myself it was love! Ha! I told my 'friend' about it and she called me a slut and stopped talking to me. I never saw Kevin again. And then I met Maggie...
Stay tuned for PART TWO of BEFORE
Ⓒ February 2022. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.
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