Of Scars and Stories

Seven months, two weeks, and three days.

I think I'm making good progress.

I'm back in school. I'm being more active. I'm meeting new people. I'm learning new languages. I'm planning to go overseas.

And yet...

The movie theatre. How poetic. So very perfect a place for my wounds to reopen.

I wrote a story with a friend once. A novel about a group of friends going through life. One of the main characters worked at a movie theatre. He was kidnapped from that movie theatre and raped.

I've been thinking a lot about what happened to me in January lately. My Human Sexuality class discussed sexual assault this week. I shared my experience with them. The teacher told me I was brave.

I thought I was brave. I felt like I'm heaps better than I was in January.

I went to the movies with my boyfriend and his family last night. We enjoyed each others' company and talked outside the theatre for a long while.

Anthony was at that theatre. I saw him walk out with two other people. I heard his voice. I felt my entire body revolt.

He didn't approach us. He didn't acknowledge us. He just walked by.

And my heart raced. My body put up all its defenses.

I kept my composure until I parted ways with the group. As I walked to my car, I feared Anthony would meet me there. That he would want to talk. Or worst.

He didn't.

I sobbed the entire way home.

I sobbed when Peter got home. I told him my fears and I sobbed. And I felt sick. And my heart raced for three more hours.

Seven months, two weeks, and three days.

I thought I'd made more progress than this...

Of Rants and Residual Hurt

I was supposed to have a romantic evening with my lovely tonight.

He had something planned that was akin to one of our first dates almost five years ago.

Alas, this didn't happened.

We opted for a night in, playing MMOs and eating leftover pizza.

I've lost count now how many times I've tried to connect with him on either a romantic or intimate level recently. Every time I clamor almost desperately for his affection, I'm either met with the weary sighs of "I'm exhausted" and "I have to work in the morning" or the vaguely annoyed grunts of "I'm busy" and "Not right now".

I feel alone.

I feel more alone than I have been in years.

And it's not that I am actually alone. I'm surrounded every day by people who love and care about me. I go to my job that is filled with wonderful folks who brighten my day. I come home to spend time with friends and loved ones who make me smile and laugh. I have many meaningful people filling up my life. I have multitudes of opportunities to immerse myself in society.

But, I feel helplessly, horrendously alone.

I had an argument with my lovely tonight. I contested that he never apologizes when he's feeling vindictive and snarky towards me. In fact, I argued, I was the one who most often apologized for his grumpy demeanor. Most of his apologies sound forced and sarcastic because at the time he says them, he feels he's in the right, even when he's not. It leads to a very bitter ending to an evening most of the time.

It should be known that I will tend to get moody and snap at people from time to time. And I have a very lengthy cooldown time.

Compared to Peter, my cooldown time seems like seconds.

Back to the topic at hand:

I expressed to him that I felt frustrated because we were supposed to have "Us" time and that didn't happen. It didn't happen because he assumed that I didn't want to do anything when I returned home from work because I immediately went and sat on the couch.

I've been working at my job for almost five years.

I've been living with Peter for nearly two years.

It is my natural order by this point to come in after work, plop down on the couch, and chill out for a little bit to enjoy the feeling of being home after a long day.

Never in this time has it been established that I will not do something after said chill out time.

In my frustration, during this conversation, I stated that the fact that we didn't do anything really put me in an off mood, mostly because we hadn't done anything romantic, coupley, or intimate in months. As I continued on about how I was striving to tear down the giant wall that blocked the two of us from being close to one another, I inadvertently dug up quite possibly the main reason I've been feeling so vastly alone in these past few months.

The last person that was intimate with me did not have my permission.

I spoke about this in my last update. But, the fact still stands.

It has been five months since Anthony took advantage of me.

Since then, the most intimacy I've gotten from my love is the occasional comment on my appearance and the random grope when I'm near.

And every time these things happen, I feel more and more isolated.

I feel like nothing more than a piece of meat. Something to be fondled, both visually and physically, whenever the mood strikes, but not something to be cared for and loved.

In fact, a majority of the time the only love I am shown is a strange sort of "familial" love that one would show a child or parent or even a close friend.

I feel broken. Damaged. Like some unwanted goods because I've been sullied by another. As if I were a refreshing lemonade that someone spit in, rendering me undrinkable because I am not fresh anymore.

I feel alone.

And upon this realization, I began to cry. I did not know where any of these thoughts were coming from. I did not know that my simple irritation at a lack of apology would lead to an earth-shattering surfacing of emotions of which I did not know I was in possession.

The response?

A delayed hug and a tender "I'm sorry".

Both of which were cut short because my elbow just happened to be uncomfortably digging into his leg as we sat upon the bed. And rather than readjust so that the comforting could continue, both just ended as quickly as they had come. Although, my tears did not.

I tried to quell them as quickly as I could because I did not want to lose all my control this evening, but even now I find them welling up in my eyes, threatening to betray my outward calm.

Him: "So...are you going to come back to bed then?" 

Me: "Yeah...I just need to blow my nose..."

Him: "Okay."

And without further word, he laid back down in the bed and promptly closed his eyes.

After I climbed in bed, I half-expected him to cuddle up against me and hold me close as he had done in times past.

No. He just lay silently on his bed, drifting into a seemingly easy sleep as I tried to quietly soothe myself next to him.

And when I sat up in bed to contemplate my thoughts, the only response I got was a "What's wrong?"

I told him I was just thinking about what I was feeling. He merely said "okay" and went back to sleep.

I felt my loneliness and emptiness grow immensely at that moment.

The words were resonating in my head. They still are.

The last person who was intimate with me didn't have my permission.

And in that moment, when my heart felt exposed and vulnerable...

Where I was reaching out for someone to take my hand and help me out of the water I'd been treading for so long...

I reached for the wrong person...

Of Evils and Betrayal

This is hard for me...
I don't know how to accurately express my feelings...

So, let me start from the beginning:

Tuesday, January 7th, 2014:
I was hanging out with some friends. Good friends that I have known for several years. And we all decided to go out to a bar for karaoke like typical twenty-somethings.

Over the course of the evening, I had 3 smirnoff ices, 3 applesauce shots, and about two fingers worth of sour apple pucker. Needless to say, I was drunk and did not drive home that evening. I stayed the night at the house of two friends I trusted. One of them was our designated driver and did not have anything to drink that evening.

I'll call him Anthony. His girlfriend I will call Reyna.

We left the bar around last call, went back to the house and played video games. I passed out at about four in the morning, a mixture of alcohol and fatigue effectively knocking me out.

About an hour later (this time frame is a guesstimation based on how drunk I still felt), after Reyna and I had passed out on the bed and our other friend, Ryan, in the other bed next to us, Anthony went to bed.

Rather than climbing into the other bed with Ryan, Anthony climbed into bed between Reyna and I. This woke me up slightly. I remember being in a state that my mind was awake and had thus awoken all my senses, but my body was still heavy and sluggish.

It was shortly after that that Anthony began touching me.

I remember thinking that there was no way this was really happening. And I was scared. I didn't know what to do, didn't know how he would react if I reacted, so I stayed perfectly still. I remained quiet and still because I didn't know what else to do. Couldn't think of anything else to do.

He continued to take advantage of me for several minutes. And every so often, he would stop and lift my hand to check to see if I was awake. And I let it drop every time because I didn't know what else to do.

I kept thinking that if maybe I stayed still and passive, he'd get bored and leave me alone. That he would just turn away and go to sleep.

He did turn away after a while. He turned and decided to mess around with Reyna instead. I don't know how long that was after he started messing with me. I didn't have any concept of time. Just the sound of my heart pounding in my ears and the desire to run away as quickly as I could.

I remember him shaking me at one point, calling my name softly, trying to wake me up.

And I remember him turning my head towards him slightly as he kissed the edge of my mouth.

The next day, I remember him waking me up, telling me that his dad was coming over so I could hang out with them or head home. I told him I'd go home. And I remember him asking me very pointedly how I slept. I just mumbled okay as I gathered my things.

The entire drive home to my house, I kept thinking, "I've trusted these two so many times. I've gotten blackout drunk at their house before. I've passed out and slept through the night in a dreamless, drunken stupor. Has this happened before and I don't remember? How many times had I been taken advantage of? Is this why Anthony always tries to get me to drink excessively?"

I thought a lot about it throughout the following day. I didn't really know how to tell anyone. Mostly because I half feared that everyone would blame me for not stopping it. For not being stronger. And I thought about just acting as if everything was fine and that nothing had happened. So I wouldn't complicate anything, or see anyone hurt or angry.

All of these things played through my mind over and over and over. And it wasn't until my boyfriend got home that night and I shied away from him, when I slipped into the shower to clean myself and hide, that I finally broke. I started sobbing. He heard me and asked me what was wrong. He asked me if I wanted to talk about it.

...it took me at least thirty minutes to actually say aloud that Anthony had molested me.

I haven't had contact with them since. Although, they have tried to contact my boyfriend since then. Specifically Anthony. Desperately trying to salvage his friendship since he'd been caught.

Anthony tried to tell Peter, my boyfriend, that it wasn't intentional. That he had been asleep. That the act of him sexually assaulting a woman had happened before while he was sleeping. Reyna went so far as to say that Anthony had sex with her once while he was asleep.
I was appalled that someone could expect another person to believe that.
I was sick to my stomach about it. I am still.

What's worse is that others took his side. People I knew and trusted decided that, after a couple months (or mere weeks in some cases), it was okay to associate with him again as long as they didn't add me to the mix.
There were some people I thought were being sincere when they looked me straight in the eyes and said "Yes, that's wrong and unacceptable. I won't be dealing with those two anymore."

Those people lied to my face and went behind my back to spend time with Anthony. (Reyna, from what I've been told, is no longer in the picture.)

Why is that acceptable? Why is it alright to absolve someone of something like that? What if it had been the other way? What if the friends who now still associate with him had been in my situation and I lackadaisically pal'd around with their abuser still? Would they be hurt? Would they feel betrayed?

The thing that I find most irritating about this whole situation is the response I'm getting from people.

"You can't pick people's friends, Maddie."

"Now you know that they aren't a friend you can tell your secrets to because they don't see you that way."

Why in the fuck does some shitbag who sexually assaulted me get to keep his friends and get to go on to a job in law enforcement?!
WHY IN THE FUCK IS THAT OKAY WITH PEOPLE?!

Why does it feel like I lost more in this struggle than he did?

...how did he come out on top?

How is that fair?

...the fact that I felt like everyone would blame me for this situation, that I was more afraid of people abandoning me and turning their anger on me because I was afraid and didn't know what to do to stop it, is idiotic and wrong.

That the only people to stand steadfastly by my side were family...is wrong.

Anthony is an abuser. He was verbally abusive to Reyna when they were together. He was sexually abusive to me.
He tried to play the loyal, honest man. The righteous do-gooder. The cop.

He is a wolf in sheep's clothing. And people know it. They just choose the lie. Because it's easier.

I'm sick of people taking the easy way out.