Category Archives: domestic violence

When Rape Becomes Funny

I have been blogging for five years. I have shared the triumphs and tribulations of many bloggers during this time. There have been posts that make me laugh out loud. Some have even moved me to tears. Rarely there is anything that leaves me speechless…until now.

On October 28th, a 15 year old child was gang raped by a group of five very disgusting men. This occured while a crowd of minimally 20 people stood idly by and watched this crime being committed. It is an utter disgrace and a tragic statement about our society and the lack of willingness to get involved. As far as I am concerned, the people sho stood there watching as this child was violated repeatedly are just as guilty as the offenders themselves.

Of course, I am talking from a personal stance.

Back to blogging. My dear friend, Avitable wrote about this situation. However, his take on it was one of a humorous perspective in his blogpost titled Gang Rape: Looking Deeper Basically, what he was attempting to do was make a statement about the onlookers and what could have possibly possessed them to just stand there and do nothing.

You will have to read the post to understand what I am referring to.

Anyway, if you read through the comments, you will find that many women were hurt by the post. Some accused him of making fun of the victim. He wasn’t doing that at all. Rather, he was making commentary on the pathetic onlookers and their lack of vigilance when it came to helping this poor girl.

I get that. And, in some comments, I even stood up for him.

However, it doesn’t negate the fact that making light of rape is never a funny issue, regardless of attempting to use humor to assuage the pain. I have to admit, as a survivor of a gang rape, I didn’t find the post amusing. My ex-boyfriend, Tony, who I have written about countless times, passed me around to a few of his buddies. I was spit on. I was violated. I had my hair pulled. I was hit and battered. I was bit. And, this occurred while a few other people sat in my living room, not partaking…but rather, observing. No one stopped this. No one stepped in. Only ONE person “suggested” that they go get something to eat instead of continuing. It was said very passively and not for my benefit at all. I was left on the floor to rot. To cry. To curl up in a fetal position, wishing that the floor would suddenly open and my battered body would fall away freeing me from the utter pain and despair that I was feeling.

Last night, Avitable’s post brought that all back to me. I read his post when he first put it up. I didn’t fall asleep until several hours later. I was crying. I was shaken. I let him know that in a comment; that while I understood his intent, that he was sending me to bed in tears. Several other women expressed their pain upon reading his post. While I defend his freedom to write as he sees fit, I can’t deny that I felt anger and disgust toward what he had chose to blog about. I posed the question if this had happened to his wife, would he still be able to bring himself to form a humorous post about it?

He didn’t reply to that particular question…and that’s okay. There would be no need for him to state the obvious.

Having said all this, I get the intent of his post. I know he wasn’t out to hurt his female readers (though I must admit that the most angry comment that I read was from a man). However, he did pick open the scabs of old wounds for many of us.

I have been thinking about his post all day long. I can’t shake it from my head.

There are some things in this life that should never be made light of and rape is one of them. It destroys lives. It shatters and demeans people. It is a crime that stays with you for the rest of your life. It strips you of your ability to trust human beings. It steals your faith in God. It rips you of your dignity. It is heinous and ruthless. In my eyes, it is worse than murder. You are left to live your life dead inside; a heap of damage and ruin.

Women have died at their own hand for being unable to live after being raped.

I love Adam. He is one of my dearest friends, online and off. I treasure his candor and his comedy. He is always out to find the humor in any situation and funny, for him, is the end all/be all. Anything for the laugh. I would never suggest to him that he censor his words. I wouldn’t want anyone to tell me what I can and cannot write about. These are our blogs, our outlets. And, for Adam, humor was the way to deal with the pain of the situation. At least, that was his reasoning.

I choose to believe that because I trust him.

I can only hope that other women who have been his longtime readers can reach a place of understanding. I hope they don’t hurt from his words. I hope that they can forgive him for this particular blogpost and that they know what is actually in his heart.

Most of all, I hope that he is NEVER put in the position of knowing that type of pain when it comes to the women in his life.

It would render him speechless.

Long time since the last time…

It’s been 52 days since I relapsed. It sure feels like a lot longer. Not really sure why. I thought, when I checked the dates that it would surely be past 60 days by now. For some reason, addicts use 60 days as a target goal. So, I guess that’s the direction I am heading in.

Admittedly, it’s been hard. Talking so much about Tony has been a huge trigger for me. I have a hard time talking about him without wanting to use. I told my counselor this. When we did the EMDR (see last post) it had me completely frazzled. I was able to hear him, feel him…like I could feel his breath on my skin all over again.

Is it insane to think that there is a part of me that misses him? I guess that sounds nuts to many people. But, there were good things about him, when I wasn’t so scared of him. He made me feel protected for a long time. Ironic, because the one person I didn’t feel safe from was him. It’s crazy the way the mind works. I don’t discuss this with anyone, except here, in the safety of my blog. I know people would think I was nuts if I revealed this. I don’t mind you guys thinking I’m nuts.

I have 5 years worth of documentation on this site to prove that I am.

I can’t help but think of him though, especially lately. I have to admit…I do wonder where he is and how he is. Not necessarily in a good way, the way we wonder about old friends we haven’t seen in a long time. More in a curiousity sort of way. Is he still beating other women? Is he in prison? Has he learned his lesson finally? Did some woman finally reign him in? Has she learned how to control his temper?

And mostly, what did I do wrong that I wasn’t the one to be able to “fix” him?

I am a bit of a drama queen. This is nothing that people don’t know about me. I thrive on the adrenaline of the moment. With Tony, there was nothing but drama…and after awhile, it defined me. I couldn’t live without it, but I couldn’t live with it either.

People tell me to get over it. After all, it was 1991 when that baseball bat made contact with my head. It should be over now. I am in a better place. Much better. I am with a man who loves me, adores me, in fact. My children are safe. They are protected and secure. They have a father who loves them and a stepfather who worships them as though they were his own. I am a fortunate woman, no doubt.

But, there’s always those times. Those times I can smell that cologne…and it takes me away. Takes me back. And I dream. No nightmares. Just dreaming.

And I wonder…

Reopening the wound.

None of this is going to make sense to you if you don’t read these first:

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five

I have a hard time reading these posts without recalling the absolute anguish I felt while writing them. And, I can’t help dying a little everytime I think about that part of my life. It seems like I am a million miles away from that point of my life. I am so happy with my husband, my family and my life in general. Sure, it has it’s ups and downs. A lot of hard times. But, that’s part of living.

This portion of my life reflects a time when I was dying. Not just physically, but emotionally. I lost a huge part of me during this time. It’s time I can never recapture. I feel a great deal of loss when I read these posts…like a part of me was stolen. And tomorrow, I get to pick that scab back open.

My therapist wants us to “explore” this part of my life. I am not sure how open I am to this exploration. The way I have coped with all the physical and mental abuse inflicted upon me during that time was to vomit it all up on my blog. To have the words there, in black and white, forevermore. If I want to revisit it, I know where to find it. I literally bled on the pages of my blog. I revealed the worst part of my life to people. Basically, I handled it the best way I could…the only way I could see to cope. I supressed a lot of emotion for a long time, let it fester under the surface of my skin.

I feel I have done a lot of suffering at the hands of this man. I don’t want it to continue by revisiting it every so often. However, I know if I don’t deal with it in a more constructive manner, it will continue to own me…to define me.

I can’t have that.

So, tomorrow, in therapy, we are going to start peeling back the layers. I am dreading this session. Literally squirming at the thought of having to tell this story yet again. But, he seems convinced that a lot of the self-destruction I have caused myself as of late is in direct correlation with the abuse I suffered at the hands of this man. His theory is that I became addicted to the pain and the drama, ergo, I am always seeking to replace it in my life.

I disagree…but, on some levels, he may have a valid point.

I never really handled what happened between Tony and myself. Never really dealt with it. I packed it neatly away as just another chapter in my life. I take it out when I feel the need to examine it, but that doesn’t happen often. And, as of late, it hasn’t happened at all.

But it’s always there, just below the surface. And, I do get in touch with it in different ways. Sometimes, a voice, a certain place, a scent…it will transport me back to that time. There is music I can’t listen to because it reminds me of Tony and those years of abuse. There is a certain actor who I can’t bear to look at because he looks so much like Tony. I am very quick tempered when I see a man even get remotely angry with a woman. It makes me insane, fires me up like a rocket. I have no control over it. I have no tolerance for it.

I understand that I was left damaged. The strong woman in me doesn’t care to admit that…but the frail and frightened girl in me knows that I need help in dealing with the monster in my head.

Tomorrow will open up the wound all over again. More than likely, I will cry, which will infuriate me. I will become angry. I know I will become defensive and will probably argue with my therapist at some point. He will try to keep me calm and in my mind, I will feel like I am being manipulated by yet another man. I don’t do very well with men because I always feel they have ulterior motives in everything they say and do. Tony did that to me.

And I hate that after all these years, he still has the power to make me cry.