Things you might not know, but you will in a moment...
I'm reposting this because whenever the subject comes up, I'm reminded that as more people are reading this journal, more people have no idea what I'm talking about. (And it keeps me from having to retell the story several times in a cluster if I end up posting something relating to it.) Unfortunately, it appears that all trace of the original post on the subject of survivors choosing to out themselves (the origin of the "No pity, no shame, no silence" line) is gone, but I think it's still important.
In December 2001, I was raped in my sleep by an ex-boyfriend. I was incredibly sick, it was the middle of finals, and I'd taken sleeping pills. He worked nights, and came to my dorm room at sometime after he got off of work (around 8 AM or so) to "check on me" because I hadn't answered the phone (I never heard it ring and still don't believe he ever called -- he knew how deep of a sleeper I was... my mother used to say that I'd sleep through the end of the world). He asked if he could come in because he was worried about me, and I said that I didn't care; I was going back to sleep. I fell back to sleep almost immediately, and the next thing I knew it was happening (I'll spare the gruesome details for the benefit of those who might find it triggering). I couldn't manage to get out of bed until about 4 pm. I agonized over what had happened for hours. For a while I actually wasn't sure what had happened, but then I found the condom he used, still in my bed. I spoke to two good friends about it; one is no longer a friend (we'll get to why in a minute). I decided to wait to do anything until I could speak to him; I wanted to make sure he knew what he'd done. I talked to him online, and he admitted what he did (and in writing at that). Then he called me, and he offered me $500 to not go to the police. I hung up on him, and he started calling. And calling. When the phone wouldn't stop ringing, I went to the good friend's room, and I called the police. I was at the hospital for 4 hours getting the rape kit done. It was traumatizing too, but I thought it was important to do. I got home at 5 AM. The police took all of my bedding as evidence (along with many other things from my room). I didn't get it back for about a year. I spent hours testifying in court on multiple occasions. I spent hours upon hours testifying to university officials to try and make sure that he couldn't go near that college campus again. He was expelled from school. The trial wasn't until the next summer; it lasted (as I recall) 4 days, and the jury acquitted him after 3 hours of deliberation. I think it's important to note that his confession to me was admitted as evidence. I can't imagine how, faced with that, he wasn't found guilty. He should be in prison, and he's a free man. As to that friend who no longer is one? She testified for the defense as a witness against my character. She'd only even known me for less than a year at the time of the trial... and to this day I don't know exactly what she said, and no one will tell me (I wasn't allowed in the courtroom aside from when I was testifying because I was a witness -- my family and a friend, however, were there). After the trial, the university elected to give him a special set of appeals and they started the entire process over again. It didn't end until the summer of 2003; I had to retell the story to a new set of university officials, and he used every new appeal he could get. Money and expensive lawyers talk, apparently. I can't go back to school, at least not there (as much as I've tried), and I have post traumatic stress disorder resulting from the assault. But every time I say this, I get a little stronger, a little healthier. And I hope that it inspires others to break their silence, because the shame is not yours. It's on the head of every person who has perpetrated this violence.
And you know, in all the time I've ranted about this, one comment I made has stuck in my head, and it always cheers me up a little. "At least, unlike his parents, he had good enough sense to use a condom."
I'm Stacey. I'm a survivor of sexual violence.
No Pity. No Shame. No Silence.
In December 2001, I was raped in my sleep by an ex-boyfriend. I was incredibly sick, it was the middle of finals, and I'd taken sleeping pills. He worked nights, and came to my dorm room at sometime after he got off of work (around 8 AM or so) to "check on me" because I hadn't answered the phone (I never heard it ring and still don't believe he ever called -- he knew how deep of a sleeper I was... my mother used to say that I'd sleep through the end of the world). He asked if he could come in because he was worried about me, and I said that I didn't care; I was going back to sleep. I fell back to sleep almost immediately, and the next thing I knew it was happening (I'll spare the gruesome details for the benefit of those who might find it triggering). I couldn't manage to get out of bed until about 4 pm. I agonized over what had happened for hours. For a while I actually wasn't sure what had happened, but then I found the condom he used, still in my bed. I spoke to two good friends about it; one is no longer a friend (we'll get to why in a minute). I decided to wait to do anything until I could speak to him; I wanted to make sure he knew what he'd done. I talked to him online, and he admitted what he did (and in writing at that). Then he called me, and he offered me $500 to not go to the police. I hung up on him, and he started calling. And calling. When the phone wouldn't stop ringing, I went to the good friend's room, and I called the police. I was at the hospital for 4 hours getting the rape kit done. It was traumatizing too, but I thought it was important to do. I got home at 5 AM. The police took all of my bedding as evidence (along with many other things from my room). I didn't get it back for about a year. I spent hours testifying in court on multiple occasions. I spent hours upon hours testifying to university officials to try and make sure that he couldn't go near that college campus again. He was expelled from school. The trial wasn't until the next summer; it lasted (as I recall) 4 days, and the jury acquitted him after 3 hours of deliberation. I think it's important to note that his confession to me was admitted as evidence. I can't imagine how, faced with that, he wasn't found guilty. He should be in prison, and he's a free man. As to that friend who no longer is one? She testified for the defense as a witness against my character. She'd only even known me for less than a year at the time of the trial... and to this day I don't know exactly what she said, and no one will tell me (I wasn't allowed in the courtroom aside from when I was testifying because I was a witness -- my family and a friend, however, were there). After the trial, the university elected to give him a special set of appeals and they started the entire process over again. It didn't end until the summer of 2003; I had to retell the story to a new set of university officials, and he used every new appeal he could get. Money and expensive lawyers talk, apparently. I can't go back to school, at least not there (as much as I've tried), and I have post traumatic stress disorder resulting from the assault. But every time I say this, I get a little stronger, a little healthier. And I hope that it inspires others to break their silence, because the shame is not yours. It's on the head of every person who has perpetrated this violence.
And you know, in all the time I've ranted about this, one comment I made has stuck in my head, and it always cheers me up a little. "At least, unlike his parents, he had good enough sense to use a condom."
I'm Stacey. I'm a survivor of sexual violence.
No Pity. No Shame. No Silence.