I Hope You Don't Mind If I Piss You Off

A few posts back I wrote about how there are so many women out there who are the strength behind my voice. They're the reason I won't shut up about having been sexually assaulted; because as long as we're cloaked in silence about it, nothing will ever fucking change. That inspired some of you to share with me. Again. And I can't tell you how honored I am that you'd do that. Seriously.

I'd like to say right now that if there is ANYONE out there who just wants to FUCKING TELL IT, I'm all ears (and eyes). Nothing feels better than getting that shit out. Believe me, I know. I'm nearly on the verge of okay because I've told it over and over and over again. It helps. It really, really does. So, please. Don't be scared. I won't breath a word of it, unless you're cool with that. Which leads me to..

One writer, whom we'll call "Fabulous Gal," or FG for short, e-mailed me her story. It so touched me that I asked her if I could post it. With her permission, here it is...

I know I commented before, after I read your 'my story' page. But after reading what you wrote today, I felt alot better about sharing my story. I hope you don't mind; i've never written about it on my blog and frankly, I don't know if I ever could. But I think it would feel better to get it out here, because you're right - carrying it alone is an absolutely humongous bundle of shit.

I was raped 5 years ago, next week. I had gone to a nightclub with my girlfriends, and some random guy offered to buy me a drink. He had laced it with rohypnol. Within 45 minutes I was a walking, talking blank. The lights were on, but no one was home.

He wound up carrying me out of the club a couple hours later, thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He dug my wallet out of my purse and drove me to my apartment and raped me in my own bed. Many hours later I woke to find vomit from one end of my apartment to the other.My bathtub was filled with puke. It's utterly amazing that I didn't choke on my vomit and die in my sleep.

I went to the ER the next morning, where a rape kit was done by our local sexual assault crisis agency. The rape kit thing will haunt me for the rest of my life - all I could think of when I layed on that table having pubic hairs pulled out, fingernails scraped, and then the removal of what was on the inside- was that this is what they do to dead women in a morgue. But I was alive and there.

Photographs were taken of the bruises all over my body - there was one on my back the size of a grapefruit. They held a ruler up to it before snapping the photos- to show how large it was. 7 inches.

The guy apparently dragged me up the carpeted stairs to my bedroom because the entire front of my legs, top to bottom, were covered with rugburn. The end result - the investigation was botched and my assailant got away. The rape kit was sent to a pathology lab out of state only to be declared lost, a month later. Oh, and the photos mysteriously 'didn't come out' and then the negatives were allegedly destroyed. The police department said oops.. sans apology.. and dropped the case; citing that without any forensic evidence/proof I was drugged, I had no case.

I was too fucking scared to go back to my apartment so I stayed with an ex who took care of me for weeks while I remained in a catatonic state.. unable to tend to my kids. I don't know what snapped me out of it, but I eventually did and found the apartment where I am now.. isolated, yet safe.

I hadn't given much thought to all of this in a few years.. until I started reading your blog. It's hard to. It's hard enough to wake up and breathe every day and raise kids alone and survive college. I've barely been allowed to feel anything, or get through this in my own head.

My friends always said, that scumbag must have been 'hooked up', and indeed.. I just recently learned that he was.

Three nights ago I was watching the news and I saw a man - an investigator for a local police department - giving a press conference. His face scared me out of my skin - he looked exactly like the man that raped me. His name flashed at the bottom of the screen... Same last name. It had to be his brother. Or cousin, who the fuck knows. But this area is small, it was not a common last name - and I just KNOW. They've got to be related.

Now I'm feeling more rattled, more pissed off, more fucked over than I did years ago. I wish there was something I could do to prove this happened to me. Just for the sake of my own sanity - and just for others to know so they could protect themselves.

FG

Would y'all do me a favor and drown this girl in some love? Please? What a fucking courageous person. She deserves nothing less than all the props in the world, especially right now. Those anniversaries are fucking hard. For real.

To have done the right thing only to get doubly fucked over in the end...there are no words.

Thank you. You all rock with the props thing. Pass 'em on.

Didn't mean to get you all pissed off on a holiday, but nothing'll change if we don't get all angry and shit,no matter what day of the year it is.

I hope you have a wonderful New Year. May the World be a better place this year because of people like FG and you.

Dear FG,

You are nothing short of amazing. Your kids are lucky to have a Mom like you. And that fucker'll rot in hell. Don't you worry about that. Karma's a bitch.

Love,

Zube