This was originally posted to Facebook by me on . If we’re FBF’s the link will take you there. I have rather inexplicable reservations about making the post public. Primarily, I don’t want to know who shared it, where it was shared or their commentary. I suppose it’s a self-preservation method of sorts. That said, I want to control the narrative of my story and experience, so I’m making the post available in its entirety here on the blog.
I just read a woman’s post about rape and it triggered me. We see and hear stats about it often. I never thought I’d post this on FB but I’m included in the # of women who have been violently assaulted.
But, here we go…..I don’t like to talk about mine, I mention it rarely. My rapist was a coworker at Cracker Barrel back in ‘95. We started hanging out and dating. I soon learned he had some drug and mental health issues. I was so naive at the time, I didn’t believe him when he told me he was crazy (his words, not mine.) He ended up snapping out when I was at his house one evening and decided I wasn’t going home until he got what he wanted. I felt trapped because he hid my car keys and there was a butcher knife propping up the window close to where I was in the living room. He believed in some rituals I wasn’t familiar with, like wrapping me in a white sheet. I think it was some sort of indigenous African religion that involved Oshun, that’s the only name I remember him mentioning. He did his business and violated me. All I really did was lay there and cry because I was afraid he was going to kill me. At one point during the encounter, he said, “I told you I was crazy, didn’t I?” I was thinking about how I was only 19 and how was I so stupid to find myself in a situation like this. There was so much I wanted to do with my life.
After he was done hurting me and acting weird, and doing weird ritual shit he decided to let me go. He got my keys from the kitchen cabinet, threw them at me and told me I could leave. I grabbed my underwear and pants and ran down the stairs as fast as I could hoping he wouldn’t change his mind and come behind me. I got in my car half dressed and drove all the way home. When I got home at like 2 something in the morning, my mom was furious. V. Hurst didn’t play about coming in her house late and not knowing where I was. She was questioning me and I was trying to tell her what happened, but I had been trying her recently. I was hanging out late at the car wash with friends on a regular basis, so she thought I was lying trying to cover it up. But I think she quickly realized that this wasn’t something to lie about. I can’t remember if I went to my room or where in the house but I remember her calling my uncle because she was beside herself. My uncle told her to take me to the hospital to get me checked. So she took me.
I had a rape kit done, they gave me the morning after pills and I went to the police station to file a report the next morning. I don’t remember much about the rape kit, but the morning after pills made me bleed for damn near 3 weeks. I had to go to the Dr. to get some different pills to make the bleeding stop ?.
Anyway, I ended up filing for a PPO against my rapist since we worked together. He had been contacting me after the rape. I can’t remember if they fired him or enforced while at work. I think he was fired, but that’s kinda blurry. Within a couple weeks, I became paranoid that I was going to have to testify in court about what happened after talking to the police. I ended up dropping the case because I was afraid to be embarrassed. I just wanted it to all go away like a bad dream.
Fast forward about 18 months, I got an apartment right after I turned 21. Within a week or so of living there, I got a call from the Genesee county jail. Had no clue who it could be. It was my rapist, telling me not to hang up and calling to apologize. It freaked me out because I had JUST moved out on my own and how did this dude get my #? So at Christmas dinner I asked an attorney who’s a family friend how I could find out what he was in jail for. She said I could call the court and find out what he was charged with and if it was sexual assault or misconduct, I could be a character witness. So I did and he was. I found out which detective was assigned to that case and called to provide a statement. I didn’t hear anything for a few weeks. Then the detective called me and told me he didn’t need me to testify because as soon as he mentioned my name to my rapist he plead guilty to his charges. That time he stayed in jail. But he was already a repeat offender for some other stuff. The detective told me he would make sure I knew when he was getting out.
That ain’t happen. Right before I went off to Army in ‘99, I went to Olive Garden for lunch with a coworker. This dude walked up to the table to be our server. It was like I saw a ghost. I told her we had to move and he couldn’t serve me. I managed to finish that meal without too many issues.
But I learned some things from that experience. Mainly Michigan OTIS. I don’t fool with you unless you pass my OTIS, google, FB and other social, Maryland case search and my intuitive background check now. I take anyone at their word if they tell me they are crazy. I also learned that we give no damns about women when they get raped. The police tell you that the defense will put a search light on every area of your life to discredit you in court. So I gave up. It wasn’t worth it to me. I still had so much of my life ahead of me. So I believe women when they say they were violated and raped. And it really pisses me off when I learn that women lie about that. That shit ain’t nothing to lie about, at all. If you open your legs consensually be woman enough to own it. I guess that’s all I have to say about that.
Please don’t inbox me about this. Thanks!