July
21
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Finding Fault
**TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE, ASSAULT, VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN**
Seventeen is different for everyone. In a perfect world, it is a successful last year of high school, fun with friends, planning a future.
I am quite sure no one ever envisions having a part of their soul stolen. Lost, never to be found.
photo credit: Silvia Sala via photopin cc edited
My mother had accepted a job in Birmingham, Alabama. I was seventeen years old and all of our belongings from the home I had lived in since I was four years old were packed into a truck, I said tearful goodbyes to all of my friends from the town I had lived in my entire life, I reluctantly and tearfully tore myself away from the boyfriend who I had no idea how I would live without, and we moved.
Having skipped the first grade, something to do with a 148 IQ, I was already out of high school. If I had been more than a party girl and had done what I was supposed to, I would have been in college working on that law degree I had dreamed of as a child and not drinking Jim Beam out of a bottle at parties off of dirt roads and snorting cocaine at hot tub parties.
I would never have set foot in Alabama.
I’m sure part of the reason my mother accepted the job was in hopes of changing the trajectory of my life. It wasn’t too late for me yet. I was only an alcoholic and addict in training. I was still having fun. Mostly.
My heart didn’t stop beating once we crossed the state line. We moved into a lovely suburban house and life continued. I got a job, thought about college in Alabama for a moment, and even made a few friends. But my heart never left Florida and I knew it was only a matter of time before I went back.
I would call my boyfriend and get his sister. He was never home. He had moved on with his life. He still had all of our friends and I knew he was seeing other girls. He was hopeless but you couldn’t tell me that. I was seventeen. I loved him.
One afternoon while my mom was at work, my brother and I had a huge argument. Truth be told, it wasn’t an argument, it was a physical fight. I was afraid of my brother and his darker side so I left the house. I didn’t have a car so I walked to a convenience store just outside our neighborhood and used a payphone to call my mother. After I spoke to her, I sat down on a bench and at that moment decided it was time for me to leave. I wasn’t going to give Alabama a chance. I wanted to go home. What I considered my real life was leaving me further behind every moment.
Desperation will lead you to make very bad choices.
As I sat on the bench, eyes wet from crying, mascara no doubt trailing my cheeks, a car drove up to the gas pumps. It was a souped up Camaro I think, the details aren’t very clear anymore. I just know it was a cool car…for the 80s. I took notice. The driver took notice of me. He pumped his gas, walked in and paid for it and upon exiting the store, made his way over to me. He sweetly asked if I was all right and only God knows the reason I broke down and told this stranger how I just had to get back to Florida. The words just poured out in a flood and I couldn’t stop them. My state of mind shut down all my warning lights.
The stranger, in his late twenties to early thirties and who gave me a name I just can’t remember, told me that he and a couple of his friends had a job in Florida and were leaving the next day. They would be driving down and if I wanted to hitch a ride, I could.
I never gave it a second thought.
I got in his car.
Please forgive me, the last bit of this tale will be a little hazy on the details for reasons you will soon understand.
He drove me to his house down a long dirt road. There was an actual house down the road. I could see it. There were also more cars and I could see a few people outside.
The stranger pulled up introduced me to a few of the others. It was a party, just like I was used to at home. A small crowd of friendly folks, having a few beers, laughing, talking. It felt almost like home.
Someone handed me a beer. And then another. I was pleasantly buzzed but not drunk by the time evening rolled around and the crowd started to thin. As the last few stragglers were headed out, an older man came up to me and whispered to me that since everyone else was leaving, it would be a good idea if I did too.
I didn’t see it as the warning he meant it to be. I stayed.
The stranger had explained to me that his girlfriend would be coming home later so somehow I felt better knowing there would be another woman around. It never, ever occurred to me that he was lying.
A 148 IQ does not provide for common sense.
It got darker outside. He made me something to eat and for some reason I remember bologna. When it got late, he offered me his room to sleep in, he and his girlfriend would sleep in the living room. We would leave in the morning. I will admit to feeling a little uncomfortable since the ‘girlfriend’ hadn’t shown up yet but I was buzzed and tired and still wanted to get back to Florida more than I wanted to take my next breath so I squashed the tiny voice in my head. It was already too late anyway. I just didn’t realize it yet.
Aside from that, the plans for the trip to Florida were explained in such detail, among them the job he was driving down for, the fact that I was seventeen and the only thing he would ask was that I get out of the car and walk across the state line so he couldn’t be arrested for kidnapping should the plan go to hell. His girlfriend would be coming too. So many details that convinced me none of it was a lie. I felt like I was halfway home.
Perhaps you’re wondering about my parents at this point. Where were they? Were they worried about me? Wonder where I was? My dad was in Florida. He was tying up a few things, dealing with the renting of the house we left behind and by this time my mother had stopped worrying about my absences and late night hours. This was the days before cell phones so there was no way for her to reach me. Or for me to reach her.
I sensed him before I saw him. I felt his weight on the edge of the bed. Without a word or a sound he simply turned me over and I saw that he wasn’t wearing any clothes. I remember that it didn’t register right away. I was so confused. These things don’t really happen. Do they?
They do.
I begged. I said no. I cried. As he pulled the clothes from the bottom half of my body and positioned his body over mine my panicked mind reached for anything. I told him I was pregnant. That was why I had to go back to Florida. I begged him not to hurt the baby.
I begged. I said no. Again and again. I cried.
He never said a word. He held both hands over my head with one of his hands. And he raped me.
It was too late. There was no more begging, only shocked and silent tears. My mission now: stay alive.
I was alone with this person (I refuse to call him a man) at his house, in the woods. No one was there to hear me if I screamed for help.
When he was done he quietly left the room. When he came back in he told me there was no trip to Florida. There never was. He told me to get up and he would take me home.
Is it appropriate to consider myself ‘lucky’ that he had no interest in killing me?
He drove me back to the store where it all began. It was late and the place was closed down. As he drove he told me that it wouldn’t do me any good to tell anyone. I got in his car. I went to his house. I was drinking and I got in his bed. It was my fault.
I believed him.
I got out of the car and I walked home.
Before I eventually got on a Greyhound bus and came home to Florida, I would see him again. I was riding in a car with some friends when another car, a Mustang, pulled up beside us. I looked over and it was him. He was in the passenger seat and a woman I suppose was his girlfriend was driving. He saw me, gave me a half smile and a wink, and when the light changed, they drove away.
Until today, I have never told this story. I spent a decade of my life believing it was my fault. His words were always in my head. I got in his car. I went to his house. I was drinking. I got in his bed. It was my fault.
It was my fault.
It was my fault.
IT WAS NOT MY FAULT.
The SisterWives 
It was not your fault.
Thank you for speaking up about something so awful. Sending hugs and support your way…I’ve been in the bad decisions made as a teenage girl before. It was so not your fault. I am glad you survived and he didn’t do anything …else.
Hugs.
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Thank you for such kind words. It took me a solid decade but I finally figured it out. It wasn’t my fault. I don’t think those words can be repeated enough today for anyone who might see this and need to hear them.
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It was not your fault.
It never is.
I have done the unspeakable in “payment” for the unspeakable.
I am sorry on behalf of my gender.
I am sorry…
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You are right. No matter the circumstances, it isn’t the survivor’s fault. I let it take quite a few years of my life away but those days are long over. I appreciate the apology on behalf of your gender but really, most of you are pretty cool. Thank you for being so sweet.
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So much not your fault. I wish that I could take this away. I think of my younger years and my questionable behavior. I can’t tell you how many times I woke up in a strange place on a couch or a floor and it was just luck that I’m not telling the same story.
Thank you for telling your story, I am sure there are many other women who can relate. Not feeling alone is a good thing.
I wish you peace.
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Oh, Michelle! Thank you for saying that…that you wish you could take it away. I have wished that many, many times over the years. A majority of us did some pretty foolish things in our youth and you are lucky. I think this kind of thing happens more than we will ever know. I didn’t say a word to anyone. I meant it when I said I never told this story until today. It is my hope that there is someone who reads this and will know that they are not the only one. If I didn’t think that might happen here, on this blog, where our purpose is to open our hearts and hold each other up, this story would remain untold.
It wasn’t easy to relive it and write it but the sharp edges have dulled over the years and I have found my peace.
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Sandy. This is absolutely not your fault, but I hope you know that in your heart by now. This was gripping and scary to read. At the end there was just silence in my head. A white noise of fear and just….disgust that this happened to you. I’m still trying to find words.
I hate that there are so many stories like this. It’s fucking tragic. I’m so sorry this happened to you.
You needed to write about it, but on your own time. Now was that time. In this safe place where you’re wrapped with understanding, love, and support.
and I know. I KNOW this will help somebody.
Love you Sandy. xoxo
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Yes, sweet Beth, I do know it wasn’t my fault. It is a difficult story and even after all these years I broke into a cold sweat while writing it. Now you can understand why I was in that strange place last week!
Fucking tragic is almost an understatement. I didn’t think after all this time it would be so difficult but I do feel better now having told it. I am still trying to wrap my head around the amazing amount of love and support I am getting here.
This WILL help someone. This helped me.
I’m free.
Love you too, Beth! Thank you! XX
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That is just horrible. And by no way was it your fault! (Hugs)
I am seriously agry that stuff like this happens, happens all the time. Thank you for speaking up.
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Thank you for taking the time to read it and for your support. I needed to speak up…someone needs to hear this.
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Thank you, my brave Sisterwife, for reminding ALL of us that it’s not our fault.
After I read this, I had a moment where I couldn’t breathe. Because I still feel sometimes that I’m to blame, for some of the things that happen to me. But I’m NOT. And this morning, I swear to you, reading this just reminded me that IT’S NOT OUR FAULT. And I’m grateful to you, Sandy.
Sharing this was not easy for you to do. Thank you for your selfless act of courage, which I know will reach others and help them. I hope that by telling it here, you expel this toxin from your system forever.
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It’s hard enough to know that I went through it and I find so many others who have a shared experience and it makes me sad and angry. For a moment. Then I am so glad that I decided to share it because I hear others telling me that they needed to hear it and I feel the emotion and the support and know that there will be a moment when someone reads this and perhaps the comment thread and they realize they shouldn’t be ashamed. They shouldn’t keep it inside and let it eat away at them.
IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT!!
I want to scream this from the rooftops.
Sharing it wasn’t easy but I’m beginning to see it was necessary. Thank you for being here for me and I hope you know I am here for you. XX
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Not your fault! So glad you are alive and with us today!
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I really do believe it wasn’t my fault. I, too, am grateful to be here today. There are too many stories with no survivor to tell them.
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It could not have been easy to share this. I’ve been through sexual abuse and have blamed myself for years. Talking about it brought me peace, as I hope is the case with you. It was not your fault. You KNOW that, right?
Hugs.
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You know, this happened almost thirty years ago and when I thought to write it, I didn’t think it would have too much of an affect on me. I was wrong. So no, it was not easy to share but I knew in the end, if ONE person felt less alone because of it, it would be worth it. I do know, from the bottom of my soul, that it was not my fault.
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Sometimes it’s also a matter of age and experience. It took me years to really believe it wasn’t my fault, and I’m glad you’ve found your peace too. Stay strong and continue to share. We are all a little less alone because we found each other.
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No, Sandy, it was not your fault. Never was and never will be. I don’t know what else to say right now, so just (hugs).
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You don’t need to say anything else at all. I appreciate these words right here. They are enough and I will gratefully accept the hugs as well. Thank you, TD.
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ahhhhhh… being a man here is not going to be easy, is it? I already despise too much about my fellow males of this species. I can’t defend so much of what men do. Hell, I can’t even understand so much of what they do. When I was young, I violently assaulted a guy who raped a friend of mine. Now I am older, with two daughters, and I can’t go around doing that. But I want to… I really, really want to…
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Don’t be silly! Men are wonderful. I haven’t always thought so but I do today. Thank you for reading my story and showing support. I’m not sure if it’s right or wrong to say ‘Good for you!!’ for defending your friend. I don’t generally approve of violence. However….and I will leave that open to you for interpretation.
We have three daughters and I hear what you are saying. Loud and clear.
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I have mixed feelings about it too… I am not proud of it… but I sure the heck ain’t ashamed of it either. Thank you for sharing. People need to hear these things even if it isn’t easy.
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Art, please read what I have to say.
It’s not a gender issue. It’s simply this: rape, abuse, and violence is WRONG. Women can be perpetrators, too. Don’t believe anyone who says they can’t be, because they can. Why do I say this? Because it happened to me. I was abused, harassed, and sometimes even battered by women. Sometimes, it was by men, but most of the time, it happened to be women.
The Sister Wives have been very supportive of me talking about this, because I’ve not talked about it very much at all. They’ve shown nothing but compassion and caring for my story. So of course when they say they aren’t mad at all men, I think they believe me when I say I’m not mad at all women. Again, this is about the action being wrong, not being a particular gender. And I know the other side, too, trying to stay strong when women I love and appreciate have been wronged this way. Cimmorene most certainly has.
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I by no means mean to imply women aren’t capable of rape or sexual assault or violence. But statistically, they are not in the same league as men.
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I’m aware of that, Art. I’ve paid attention to the statistics. They’ve been backed up numerous, numerous times. And I know quite a number of women that have been affected. I just told you one of them is my wife… several are women I dated. So believe me, I know. I appreciate you saying that, but I need to you to understand, I already know.
But that does not make my story ANY less valid. Not at all. Not at all, okay?
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No, violence and abuse is never right, never acceptable. It can happen to anyone. It is all wrong.
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It wasn’t my fault, Art.
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I ask you if you would please consider rephrasing what you just said, Art, because I take it to mean I should still be ashamed as a man because men have done it in far greater numbers than women did it to men. Well, Art, it still happened to me. By my own mother, even. Statistics don’t heal the flashbacks and NIGHTMARES I have about my experience. It doesn’t, Art. Feeling ashamed because my gender does this way more often does not take any of my pain away. None. None at all.
Even if we stopped all men from abusing women, this would not erase women abusing men, no matter how comparatively smaller it may be. It won’t. Society needs to understand this is more than just a man’s burden. Humans should not rape, abuse, or beat, whether they be man or woman. Period.
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You are exactly right. Statistics are meaningless. You are more likely to die in a car crash than a plane crash. Planes are safer than cars. But that statistic means nothing to a person who drove their whole life and then got in a plane crash the first time they flew. I am not saying that any form of abuse is not as bad as another. But I can’t edit my comments on someone else’s blog. Sorry.
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It’s fine now, Art.
Because I am coming to understand how I’ve been impacted, and my friends and family have been impacted… well, I say this: this issue affects everyone, whether directly or indirectly. I felt the pain as a loved one of survivors as well as feeling the pain as a survivor myself. That’s why I truly hope people will come together on this issue. It has a broader swath of damage than many openly admit; and I think if more would open up, more healing could begin. It won’t erase the scars, but maybe it might soothe their soreness, or fade them a little.
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Oh, my heart aches and breaks for you. This truly brought tears to my eyes. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to come out with this. It was definitely not your fault.
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I thought it would be a little easier than it was since it was almost thirty years ago and long ago dealt with. Funny how feelings can bubble back up to the surface. I just needed to remind myself that it is something that happened to me. It doesn’t define me and no, it was not my fault. It played a role in the more destructive years of my life but thankfully, those are over too. Do you know the old saying ‘What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger’?
Believe it.
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Gah, I hate this. I hate this for you and for every other woman it’s happened to, and I’m sure it’s more than any of us cares to believe. You were so young, so even though your instincts were trying to tell you something was wrong, 17 year olds are stubborn. But for the grace of God, more of us would have our own horror stories to share about a time we were that age. Kudos to you for growing into such a great woman. PS, law school sucks.
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Thanks for hating it, Don. That means more than you know. I hate it too and not just for myself…for anyone and everyone this has ever happened to. We do think we know just about everything there is to know at 17. I certainly did and I was one of those people who were naive enough to believe that nothing bad would ever happen to me. It only happened to other people.
Thank you for the kind words and for the laugh! I’m going to take you at your word about law school!
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(((((It. Was. Not. Your. Fault.)))))))
It was the Rapist’s fault–because he’s a RAPIST & a Soul Taker.
Thank you for sharing this story, Sandy. I know it must have brought
back horrible memories for you….
but by you sharing it, you are helping others who stay silent out of shame.
I have learned that “Silence is a Killer.”
LOVE and Hugs from Minnesota. xxoo
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Thank you so much, Kim. I truly appreciate your words. I probably should have told this story long ago but after a decade of self destruction and digging my way out, I felt that I was done. I had made my peace with it. I think that this is exactly where I was supposed to tell this story. This platform, if it does what we want it to do, will bring this story to someone who desperately needs to hear it. And they will be saved.
Love and hugs from Florida! Right back atcha! XX
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There is always hope for sexual assault and sometimes even the strangers who may seem kind, can do these sort of horrible things to you. Writing these stories are very brave and it makes you a better and stronger person cause it’s the sort of stories that can be hard to put into words and you want to keep it all in. I applaud you for telling this story to the world and I am proud of you, keep up the good work.
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It was not at all your fault.
Thank you for sharing your story today. For yourself, and for all those women out there who are still wondering if it was their fault (it wasn’t) and can’t yet tell their own stories.
Sending you lots of love today.
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Sandy,
It *definitely* was *NOT* your fault.
You were not stupid, nor did you “ask for it.” It was not your punishment for not going to school. You did not “get what you deserved.”
You are so very much more than what that piece of shit reduced you to.
I hope you can *feel* that, and not just know it logically.
It’s not easy. Hugs.
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I find your last sentence interesting. I believe you have a great point. I do know logically that it wasn’t my fault but did I really FEEL it? I can’t answer yes to that honestly. I do now. This telling of the story and the support I feel have brought that to me.
Thank you for that!
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I hate that you have this story to tell, Sandy. But I hope that in telling it you believe the words you ended with – it’s not your fault. It never is the victim’s fault. Thank you for baring your soul here, and for sharing something painful that may just make another woman feel less alone.
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I do know, Dana. It is certainly my hope that this helps someone. Feeling alone is the worst of it, I believe.
Thank you so much for your kind words!
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It’s so easy to blame ourselves, to believe that it was our fault and we shouldn’t say anything, we shouldn’t speak up, but we should. Thanks for sharing.
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I blamed myself for a very long time and this (among other things) led me further down my self-destructive road. I was convinced it was my fault and that is why I never said a word. I’m saying them now, writing them, so that someone else might read them and know that the fault is not theirs and there is no shame in speaking up.
Thanks for reading.
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Good for you. I blamed myself for a long time, too.
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Ahhh my DA, you know this utterly shook me when I read it first, and reading it again is no less chilling. I’m just glad that he didn’t treat you worse. Or take you prisoner rather than take you home. Or, as you said, just do away with you entirely. Those are some incredibly tough silver linings, but I think they count. Kinda.
But really, I think that the HUGE amazing silver lining to take from this is that you got past it (eventually, because whoa!); you still developed into the amazing, wonderful, lovely person I know today, and whose friendship I cherish; and you’ve arrived at a point where you feel safe enough to write this up and use that incredibly deep hurt to help others – by reinforcing the message that rape is NEVER EVER EVER the victim’s fault.
So…I have huge, huge *heartsqueeze* reading this, and it makes me want to hunt him down and beat ten bells outta him, and also to crawl through the internet and hug you, but it also makes me want to tip my hat, in respect for the incredible person you are, your strength and bravery, and the courage of this post.
That last one I *can* do.
*tips hat*
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Thank you, EG. Thank you for being there for me when I needed the push and for being here now to support me on the jump!
Those things you listed are all huge silver linings. It chills me to the bone to think that I might not be here to tell this story. Thank you for thinking so highly of me and yes, our friendship is huge and important and fated.
I feel stronger having written this and I hope the message is clear. I hope someone, somewhere hears me and knows what I (no, WE) say is true….IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT!! I feel like I cant say it enough.
I wouldn’t mind beating the ten bells outta him (ha!) myself and I like to imagine he got some of the hell he deserved but truly, he doesn’t deserve a moment of my time. That is reserved for the people I have in my life today. The people I love and who love me. (Yes, that includes you!!)
*tips hat right back*
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A thoroughly good attitude to have, my dear. And YES that includes me (I was gonna tweet you again earlier but then didn’t, so I’ll let you know here (maybe I’ll tweet you as well for the fun of it!) – I found a tiny, glitterypink heart in the SHOWER with me earlier…)
I’m glad-glad you’re here. And of COURSE I think highly of you 🙂 I’m glad you feel stronger and your message is definitely clear. I think it will resonate with (sadly too) many people. BUT – it’s a good message to reinforce.
*hugs*
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Wow Sandy. This was sad, scary, and painfully honest. I’m glad you have finally been able to voice it and come to the understanding that it most definitely wasn’t your fault. Hugs to you and a high five for your bravery in sharing it with us.
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Thank you! I really appreciate the hugs and the high five!
It was hard to write but worth it in the end. I feel a little lighter today, especially after reading all of these words and feeling the support.
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Ugh, I could commit acts of violence right now and go off on a rant about how our communities are populated with rapists walking around in polo shirts, but I’ll stop.
I hate that this is part of your story and I HATE that you bought into the same lie that so many women do– it was not your fault, you were never to blame, you did nothing to bring this on yourself and you didn’t deserve it. It takes a lot to share a story like this, but it’s important because there are so many who relate to it and who need to hear that it’s not their fault either.
I wish we could go back in time and burn that guy’s house down.
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A very passionate statement, Aussa. I would expect nothing less from you! I know how you feel, believe me. That’s why I’m here writing these words out loud. Imagine if we all could take all of this anger and disgust, channel it into making right what is REALLY wrong in this situation so there could be no more victims. No more silence.
It is my own hope that Karma did it’s finest work here.
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No, that was most definitely not your fault. Rape is only the fault of the rapist.
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You are so, so right and I do know this. My hope is that others will read and know they are blameless as well.
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Thank you for sharing your story. It makes me feel brave enough to share mine.
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And there you are. You are the one. All of these comments and all of this support and this is the one that brings the tears. I swore to myself when I wrote this there would be one person this would touch and make brave.
May you be the first of many.
Thank you.
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May we both find healing in the writing and sharing of it. ❤
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I don’t have words for this, except that it was not your fault and thank god for brave women like you who are willing to talk about it.
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You don’t need a lot of words here, Laura. It’s enough for me to know that you were here. That means more than you know. Thank you.
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I love you. -Hugs-
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To be honest this is a hard post to respond to because I don’t want to make it all about me, however; I saw his face and heard his voice and I felt how powerless you were and I walked in your footsteps of shame and guilt for as long as you have and I have to say… I am glad you wrote this.
I believe the louder the victims of any type of abuse become the more society will understand IT IS NOT THE VICTIMS FAULT. It seems silly to think anyone would ever think it was, and yet we do…WE DO.
We judge a persons past behavior, who they hang out with socially, how they dress, how flirty they are but too many people don’t look at the predator as having any self control over their actions.
Here is an example:
Recently, a friend went out with her gay friends to a gay strip club for a friends bday. She figured it was safe for her being a female. Her friends bought her a lap dance that took place in a private/curtained room. He went too far and she was horrified and so upset she still gets tears in her eyes talking about it. She called a good friend crying and the first thing they said was, “What do you expect going to a place like that?” She wasn’t raped but she was violated and as far as I am concerned emotionally raped. The stories are endless…
I also hope people who victimize others will see they are becoming part of a society full of silent victims who are fed up and will stop at nothing to uncover their hate crimes. In my opinion more and more of us are standing up for those who feel they have no voice.
How can we prosecute people for wrongdoing when we feel we are to blame? Putting blame where it goes in our society is the first step in fighting abuse. It is the first step in protecting our children.
Sorry…dang…
I couldn’t write today…so many emotions jumbled up in my head and the emotions are hard to reign in.
The very first thing I thought having finished reading this post was THANK GOD YOU SURVIVED!
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Never be sorry for caring, and for wanting a better world, Sunset ❤
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Nothing difficult about it, Hasty. Make it about you, say anything you wish. This was never just about me or to bring attention to myself. I want anyone who comes to this post to feel they can tell their own story. If you finding the passion to share yours helps someone feel the strength and confidence to do that, please, PLEASE….
You are right. We need to be loud. We need to put the passion and anger to good use.
You are correct in saying that there is more than one way to be violated. There are TONS of people, like your friend, who don’t speak up because they don’t realize they were a victim. Then when they do speak up, the judgment and questions surface and all that does is make a person want to crawl in a corner and feel ashamed. Blamed. That is part of the reason I never spoke up.
My story has a relatively happy ending. I survived after years of attempted self destruction, I recovered, and I now have a wonderful life full of gifts. This is what people need to know.
We are not to blame and there is no reason to hide from this. Not everyone will see it as it is. Those people do not matter. It is how WE see it. The people who have been violated. Silence keeps us sick. Stand up and be heard. Others will become strong because of your courage.
I love you for this comment, Hasty. Truly.
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This is just so unfair, it hurts. That people can hurt children and make them feel to blame. It could never be your fault that there is such evil in the world.
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Oh, Sandy
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I was so shaken by this post — because I posted a nearly identical story just moments ago. In my case, it was someone I knew, trusted, and dated. And in my case, I was lucky — he passed out before the deed was done. Even as I posted my story, I was able to be lighthearted about the surrounding events — because it was so long ago and so much has happened in my life since. But as you were describing your assault, my heart started pounding and my hands started to shake — the emotions resurfaced and it was like it had just happened yesterday. Dammit — I’m angry for you, and for me, and for every girl and woman that has to deal with something like this.
And you are right — it’s not your fault!
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Just powerful! I’m proud of you for having the courage to write about it. It is not your fault. It’s his problem and will always be. He’s the sick one that took advantage of a struggling child. I can guarantee you that the SOB will have his day.
It was never your fault. Stay strong! Hugs
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Thank you. It is so wonderful to feel so much support for writing a difficult story. It has brought out a lot of compassion in people and I am grateful for that. It has made me feel stronger this has truly ignited a fire within my soul. I want this story to reach the people who need desperately to read it.
I believe, to my core, this was not my fault. That it never was.
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Not. Your. Fault.
Thank you for sharing your story. I hope it helped to let the words free. I hope it helps someone who needed to read them, who needed to understand that it wasn’t their fault either.
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Thank you. It did help.
You and I share this very important hope. So again, thank you. Very much.
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Pingback: NO WORDS | hastywords
It was not you, who did anything wrong.
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Ugh. Oh Sandy I’m sure this wasn’t easy to tell. I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse but I’m sure that was no.comfort at the time. Good for you for speaking up, hopefully if more people do we can teach others from our experience.
HUGS.
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I hate to just leave a link, but my story is in lots of fragmented bits and pieces:
tells some of it.
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Sandy…
Wow. You floored me with this post. I read it while at work yesterday and it struck me to my core. Thank you for being willing and courageous enough to share your story here with us. I had tears in my eyes yesterday from the reminder – it is not my fault. I was fed that lie, too, about other things. I’m exactly with what Samara said; this caught me at my deepest point with that reminder. Not. My. Fault. I needed that.
Thank you – for sharing, for using this to give back in some way, for letting life come out of darkness. I hope it relieves your burden somewhat. Love you, sisterwife.
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Sandy, I wanted to read your post when I had some time. Sorry, I’m getting here so late. I’m so sorry this happened. No, it wasn’t your fault. You said no, bottom line. He put you in a vulnerable position and he knew it. I applaud for telling your story here. Hugs. xox
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It was not your fault. You, many of us, can never hear that too much. You sharing this is brave. It is self-less. You are offering a much needed reprieve to so many that walk through life under the weight of shame. Thank you.
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I’m glad you know that this isn’t your fault…and I hope his dick falls off in karmic fate.
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I still have a hard time reading this. I want to live in a world where nobody I love gets hurt, and to hear that this kind of injustice was done to you makes me sick. I want to hurt him for you. I want to burn down his house. I want to find 17 year old Sandy and tell her to go tell somebody, to go to the police, but I know she wouldn’t listen because she thinks it is her fault, as do so many others. There are so many rapists walking around out there because they’ve managed to manipulate their victims into believing that they asked for what they got. Well, they didn’t. You didn’t. It was not your fault. It never is. No means no.
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This is going to kill me, I know it, so I can’t bring myself to read past you getting into the car. My god, I’m on the verge of crying and I haven’t even read details.
Later – I didn’t have the bravery to read the middle, so I skipped to the end where you get on the Greyhound bus. Fuck no, it was not your fault!
I got into a car once. It was attempted rape. But for weeks after, I blamed myself for not fighting harder and pulling out his eyeballs. I used to imagine him burning in a fire that I set to his car with him in it.
I’m once again having the same vision. This time with the Florida guy in the 80s car.
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Trust me, I have had that same vision many, many times. I know now, at 46, that it wasn’t my fault. I’ve known for some time but it doesn’t make the telling any easier. I’m so sorry for your experience and while I appreciate you reading, I wish it hadn’t caused you pain. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to say thank you for considering vengeance on my behalf, but thank you.
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You are brave Sandy. It must have been so hard to let it all out. By sharing your story, be sure that it’s helping many women around. It’s NOT YOUR FAULT. I hope that now you are certain of it.
Much love from France.
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