this happened to me and i didn't know it

[thishappenedtomeandididntknowit]

Whenever I saw rape portrayed in the media it was usually something brutal and bloody leaving the victim with bruises, only paralyzing the person in that moment, never showing the aftermath. I later learned that it’s more than what just happened in that given moment; the scars that are invisible to others get left behind. And most importantly I learned that rape happens in different ways, and isn’t always the bruised bloody kind.   

I thought the summer of 2012 was one of the best summers of my life. I was back home from my first year of college at a beautiful school where I met the most amazing individuals. During that summer I went out more than I ever had, and I felt like my circle was growing; I never felt more carefree. One night that changed, and I didn’t want to accept it until recently.

It was like any other night, some girlfriends and I were going to a house party. On the way there we picked up the driver’s brother, Luke, and some of his friends. I offered to sit in the trunk because I knew it would be snug but he said that wasn’t necessary.

I wasn’t really feeling the party, and neither was he, so we stayed outside and talked for what seemed like a majority of the party. When it came time to go we all decided to stay at the driver’s house, which happened to be Luke’s. While we approached the house we were sitting in the back of the car and holding hands, he whispered in my ear, “don’t worry, I won’t rape you”.

That was a lie.

It didn’t happen at night, but in the morning. I was in the living room on the futon when I got a text from an unfamiliar number suggesting that their bed was more comfortable. I was intoxicated, and we did flirt back and forth, I didn’t really see an issue with going down to his room to spend the night.

We made out a bit, but due to him having to work early (5am), and me having to work at 7, we eventually just went to bed after I expressed to him that I really didn’t want to have sex.

I woke up to him on top of me, kissing me. I kissed him back. I still didn’t want to have sex. He soon had my pants off, and he knew, I still didn’t want to have sex.

He was then inside of me. I asked what he was doing. He then pulled out, put on a condom, and went back inside of me.

That day he texted me like everything was normal, like what happened was normal. And I thought it was. I began interested in him, and willingly slept with him after.

When I got back to the school I loved, or thought I did, it wasn’t the same. The friends I grew closest to transferred to different schools, I thought maybe that could be it. I was a residential advisor (loved it) and kept occupied by it, but I still called my mom every morning asking if this was the right decision. I’ve never second-guessed myself more than I did then. I wasn’t paying attention in classes and I became a robot. I had no motivation, and really no desire to learn.

I ended up leaving after 3 weeks, and I continued talking to Luke in that time. He had no idea I took time off until he found out I was home.

During the same time a very close family friend was in a car accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. At one point I expressed to my mother how I wish that was me, because I felt so empty inside that I had nothing else to hope for, and that someone like him, with a will to live, doesn’t deserve what happened to him. I can look back now and understand why I was feeling so distressed.

Things with Luke eventually ended, and I transferred to a school closer to home.

My roommate was also a transfer student, and she already knew some of the people in our dorm because of high school. On of those being Jack. We would all hangout and drink together, and I thought Jack was a pretty cool guy. He knew I was interested in him, and we hooked up a couple of times, but nothing more than oral sex.

I was only there for a semester until I was raped again, this time by Jack, and this time I knew it was happening.

I shoved him off of me screaming and crying. Some of our friends were outside of the door in the suite and saw me run out upset.

When I explained to them that I had been raped (by their friend), some didn’t want to believe it. Saying that “Jacks such a nice person, he couldn’t do that.”

Well they were wrong. He did it, and it numbed me.

I moved back home soon after it happened (it was at the end of the semester) and my mother soon noticed my detachment. One day, after I stormed off with no explanation, she followed me up to my room to confront me. I couldn’t hold it in any longer and told her “someone had sex with me and I didn’t want them to.” I couldn’t even say I was raped. That may be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Knowing my mother will forever look at me in a different light is something I don’t think I’ll ever get over.

It wasn’t until my junior year when I began to reflect and think about what has happened to me. One sociology class that I was taking touched on rape and rape culture. It was there I learned that rape doesn’t have to be violent, if you’re not saying yes, you’re saying no. That the aftermath will follow you longer than what the night will last. It then hit me that I was raped by Luke.

As I was learning more about the incidents and myself, I started talking to Aaron. Aaron and I had a class together and became friends. It was the last weekend of school, about a year after Jack, and Aaron and I decided to go on a walk around campus. He had been drinking while I wasn’t drinking because I was driving friends to and from the bar. We got to the football field and he started to kiss me. I didn’t mind and soon we were on the ground, and that’s when I knew it was going to far. I expressed several times that I didn’t think it was a good idea to have sex, and that I didn’t want to, because he was in a bad on again off again relationship. That didn’t stop him. I just gave up, and started to cry. He then stopped, and began to apologize. We ended the night there.

We communicated minimally throughout the summer, but I soon realized that I shouldn’t. This person raped me. Violated me. And I was giving him my time? When I came to my realization I told him what he did was something unforgettable and to leave me alone.

Once I learned that rape affects the survivor more than just physically I began looking into the aftermath. I found that PTSD could occur, explaining my constant anxieties and the second-guessing of what I did. My moods are still up and down, triggered sometimes by something as small as literally spilling milk. I avoided friends and family, making my circle very small. I learned that my last weeks at my first college where I was feeling disconnected, and my mind constantly in other places was dissociation. I felt sorry for myself, and blamed myself for a lot. 

I look back at when I wanted to leave my life behind, and understand that those feelings are normal. What happened to me was traumatic, but it doesn’t define me. I won’t let it. Part of me feeling sorry for myself was when I chose to take the victim identity. But I’m not a victim; I’m a survivor. Terrible things happened to me, and I’ve come out stronger than I did before I endeavored them. By taking the victim label and blaming myself I am letting the attacker win. Because of what’s happened I now know what I deserve; I know that I am stronger than I ever thought I could be. I’m able to stick up for myself. I’ve come out on top as a survivor, not a victim.

My only hope from posting this is that someone somewhere will read this, and will be able to see that things do, and they will get better. Think survivor. 

[thishappenedtomeandididntknowit]

Whenever I saw rape portrayed in the media it was usually something brutal and bloody leaving the victim with bruises, only paralyzing the person in that moment, never showing the aftermath. I later learned that it’s more than what just happened in that given moment; the scars that are invisible to others get left behind. And most importantly I learned that rape happens in different ways, and isn’t always the bruised bloody kind.   

I thought the summer of 2012 was one of the best summers of my life. I was back home from my first year of college at a beautiful school where I met the most amazing individuals. During that summer I went out more than I ever had, and I felt like my circle was growing; I never felt more carefree. One night that changed, and I didn’t want to accept it until recently.

It was like any other night, some girlfriends and I were going to a house party. On the way there we picked up the driver’s brother, Luke, and some of his friends. I offered to sit in the trunk because I knew it would be snug but he said that wasn’t necessary.

I wasn’t really feeling the party, and neither was he, so we stayed outside and talked for what seemed like a majority of the party. When it came time to go we all decided to stay at the driver’s house, which happened to be Luke’s. While we approached the house we were sitting in the back of the car and holding hands, he whispered in my ear, “don’t worry, I won’t rape you”.

That was a lie.

It didn’t happen at night, but in the morning. I was in the living room on the futon when I got a text from an unfamiliar number suggesting that their bed was more comfortable. I was intoxicated, and we did flirt back and forth, I didn’t really see an issue with going down to his room to spend the night.

We made out a bit, but due to him having to work early (5am), and me having to work at 7, we eventually just went to bed after I expressed to him that I really didn’t want to have sex.

I woke up to him on top of me, kissing me. I kissed him back. I still didn’t want to have sex. He soon had my pants off, and he knew, I still didn’t want to have sex.

He was then inside of me. I asked what he was doing. He then pulled out, put on a condom, and went back inside of me.

That day he texted me like everything was normal, like what happened was normal. And I thought it was. I began interested in him, and willingly slept with him after.

When I got back to the school I loved, or thought I did, it wasn’t the same. The friends I grew closest to transferred to different schools, I thought maybe that could be it. I was a residential advisor (loved it) and kept occupied by it, but I still called my mom every morning asking if this was the right decision. I’ve never second-guessed myself more than I did then. I wasn’t paying attention in classes and I became a robot. I had no motivation, and really no desire to learn.

I ended up leaving after 3 weeks, and I continued talking to Luke in that time. He had no idea I took time off until he found out I was home.

During the same time a very close family friend was in a car accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. At one point I expressed to my mother how I wish that was me, because I felt so empty inside that I had nothing else to hope for, and that someone like him, with a will to live, doesn’t deserve what happened to him. I can look back now and understand why I was feeling so distressed.

Things with Luke eventually ended, and I transferred to a school closer to home.

My roommate was also a transfer student, and she already knew some of the people in our dorm because of high school. On of those being Jack. We would all hangout and drink together, and I thought Jack was a pretty cool guy. He knew I was interested in him, and we hooked up a couple of times, but nothing more than oral sex.

I was only there for a semester until I was raped again, this time by Jack, and this time I knew it was happening.

I shoved him off of me screaming and crying. Some of our friends were outside of the door in the suite and saw me run out upset.

When I explained to them that I had been raped (by their friend), some didn’t want to believe it. Saying that “Jacks such a nice person, he couldn’t do that.”

Well they were wrong. He did it, and it numbed me.

I moved back home soon after it happened (it was at the end of the semester) and my mother soon noticed my detachment. One day, after I stormed off with no explanation, she followed me up to my room to confront me. I couldn’t hold it in any longer and told her “someone had sex with me and I didn’t want them to.” I couldn’t even say I was raped. That may be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Knowing my mother will forever look at me in a different light is something I don’t think I’ll ever get over.

It wasn’t until my junior year when I began to reflect and think about what has happened to me. One sociology class that I was taking touched on rape and rape culture. It was there I learned that rape doesn’t have to be violent, if you’re not saying yes, you’re saying no. That the aftermath will follow you longer than what the night will last. It then hit me that I was raped by Luke.

As I was learning more about the incidents and myself, I started talking to Aaron. Aaron and I had a class together and became friends. It was the last weekend of school, about a year after Jack, and Aaron and I decided to go on a walk around campus. He had been drinking while I wasn’t drinking because I was driving friends to and from the bar. We got to the football field and he started to kiss me. I didn’t mind and soon we were on the ground, and that’s when I knew it was going to far. I expressed several times that I didn’t think it was a good idea to have sex, and that I didn’t want to, because he was in a bad on again off again relationship. That didn’t stop him. I just gave up, and started to cry. He then stopped, and began to apologize. We ended the night there.

We communicated minimally throughout the summer, but I soon realized that I shouldn’t. This person raped me. Violated me. And I was giving him my time? When I came to my realization I told him what he did was something unforgettable and to leave me alone.

Once I learned that rape affects the survivor more than just physically I began looking into the aftermath. I found that PTSD could occur, explaining my constant anxieties and the second-guessing of what I did. My moods are still up and down, triggered sometimes by something as small as literally spilling milk. I avoided friends and family, making my circle very small. I learned that my last weeks at my first college where I was feeling disconnected, and my mind constantly in other places was dissociation. I felt sorry for myself, and blamed myself for a lot. 

I look back at when I wanted to leave my life behind, and understand that those feelings are normal. What happened to me was traumatic, but it doesn’t define me. I won’t let it. Part of me feeling sorry for myself was when I chose to take the victim identity. But I’m not a victim; I’m a survivor. Terrible things happened to me, and I’ve come out stronger than I did before I endeavored them. By taking the victim label and blaming myself I am letting the attacker win. Because of what’s happened I now know what I deserve; I know that I am stronger than I ever thought I could be. I’m able to stick up for myself. I’ve come out on top as a survivor, not a victim.

My only hope from posting this is that someone somewhere will read this, and will be able to see that things do, and they will get better. Think survivor. 

[thishappenedtomeandididntknowit]

Whenever I saw rape portrayed in the media it was usually something brutal and bloody leaving the victim with bruises, only paralyzing the person in that moment, never showing the aftermath. I later learned that it's more than what just happened in that given moment; the scars that are invisible to others get left behind. And most importantly I learned that rape happens in different ways, and isn’t always the bruised bloody kind.   

I thought the summer of 2012 was one of the best summers of my life. I was back home from my first year of college at a beautiful school where I met the most amazing individuals. During that summer I went out more than I ever had, and I felt like my circle was growing; I never felt more carefree. One night that changed, and I didn't want to accept it until recently.

It was like any other night, some girlfriends and I were going to a house party. On the way there we picked up the driver’s brother, Luke, and some of his friends. I offered to sit in the trunk because I knew it would be snug but he said that wasn't necessary.

I wasn't really feeling the party, and neither was he, so we stayed outside and talked for what seemed like a majority of the party. When it came time to go we all decided to stay at the driver's house, which happened to be Luke's. While we approached the house we were sitting in the back of the car and holding hands, he whispered in my ear, "don't worry, I won't rape you".

That was a lie.

It didn't happen at night, but in the morning. I was in the living room on the futon when I got a text from an unfamiliar number suggesting that their bed was more comfortable. I was intoxicated, and we did flirt back and forth, I didn't really see an issue with going down to his room to spend the night.

We made out a bit, but due to him having to work early (5am), and me having to work at 7, we eventually just went to bed after I expressed to him that I really didn't want to have sex.

I woke up to him on top of me, kissing me. I kissed him back. I still didn't want to have sex. He soon had my pants off, and he knew, I still didn't want to have sex.

He was then inside of me. I asked what he was doing. He then pulled out, put on a condom, and went back inside of me.

That day he texted me like everything was normal, like what happened was normal. And I thought it was. I began interested in him, and willingly slept with him after.

When I got back to the school I loved, or thought I did, it wasn't the same. The friends I grew closest to transferred to different schools, I thought maybe that could be it. I was a residential advisor (loved it) and kept occupied by it, but I still called my mom every morning asking if this was the right decision. I've never second-guessed myself more than I did then. I wasn't paying attention in classes and I became a robot. I had no motivation, and really no desire to learn.

I ended up leaving after 3 weeks, and I continued talking to Luke in that time. He had no idea I took time off until he found out I was home.

During the same time a very close family friend was in a car accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. At one point I expressed to my mother how I wish that was me, because I felt so empty inside that I had nothing else to hope for, and that someone like him, with a will to live, doesn't deserve what happened to him. I can look back now and understand why I was feeling so distressed.

Things with Luke eventually ended, and I transferred to a school closer to home.

My roommate was also a transfer student, and she already knew some of the people in our dorm because of high school. On of those being Jack. We would all hangout and drink together, and I thought Jack was a pretty cool guy. He knew I was interested in him, and we hooked up a couple of times, but nothing more than oral sex.

I was only there for a semester until I was raped again, this time by Jack, and this time I knew it was happening.

I shoved him off of me screaming and crying. Some of our friends were outside of the door in the suite and saw me run out upset.

 When I explained to them that I had been raped (by their friend), some didn't want to believe it. Saying that "Jacks such a nice person, he couldn't do that."

 Well they were wrong. He did it, and it numbed me.

I moved back home soon after it happened (it was at the end of the semester) and my mother soon noticed my detachment. One day, after I stormed off with no explanation, she followed me up to my room to confront me. I couldn't hold it in any longer and told her "someone had sex with me and I didn't want them to." I couldn't even say I was raped. That may be one of the hardest things I've ever done. Knowing my mother will forever look at me in a different light is something I don't think I'll ever get over.

 It wasn't until my junior year when I began to reflect and think about what has happened to me. One sociology class that I was taking touched on rape and rape culture. It was there I learned that rape doesn't have to be violent, if you're not saying yes, you're saying no. That the aftermath will follow you longer than what the night will last. It then hit me that I was raped by Luke.

 As I was learning more about the incidents and myself, I started talking to Aaron. Aaron and I had a class together and became friends. It was the last weekend of school, about a year after Jack, and Aaron and I decided to go on a walk around campus. He had been drinking while I wasn’t drinking because I was driving friends to and from the bar. We got to the football field and he started to kiss me. I didn’t mind and soon we were on the ground, and that’s when I knew it was going to far. I expressed several times that I didn’t think it was a good idea to have sex, and that I didn’t want to, because he was in a bad on again off again relationship. That didn’t stop him. I just gave up, and started to cry. He then stopped, and began to apologize. We ended the night there.

 We communicated minimally throughout the summer, but I soon realized that I shouldn’t. This person raped me. Violated me. And I was giving him my time? When I came to my realization I told him what he did was something unforgettable and to leave me alone.

 Once I learned that rape affects the survivor more than just physically I began looking into the aftermath. I found that PTSD could occur, explaining my constant anxieties and the second-guessing of what I did. My moods are still up and down, triggered sometimes by something as small as literally spilling milk. I avoided friends and family, making my circle very small. I learned that my last weeks at my first college where I was feeling disconnected, and my mind constantly in other places was dissociation. I felt sorry for myself, and blamed myself for a lot. 

 I look back at when I wanted to leave my life behind, and understand that those feelings are normal. What happened to me was traumatic, but it doesn’t define me. I won’t let it. Part of me feeling sorry for myself was when I chose to take the victim identity. But I’m not a victim; I’m a survivor. Terrible things happened to me, and I’ve come out stronger than I did before I endeavored them. By taking the victim label and blaming myself I am letting the attacker win. Because of what’s happened I now know what I deserve; I know that I am stronger than I ever thought I could be. I’m able to stick up for myself. I’ve come out on top as a survivor, not a victim.

My only hope from posting this is that someone somewhere will read this, and will be able to see that things do, and they will get better. Think survivor. 

[dezibeth-deactivated20230820]

Sandra Bland was not alive in her mugshot. When you are arrested, you are pictured in the clothes you are arrested in, not in prison clothes. When they take your picture, you are told not to tilt your head or lean against the wall. There is a clear shadow where her head touches the background, most likely the floor. Her cell had tan walls and gray floors. Her head is on a gray background. You can clearly see the gray floor in the first photo and in the right corner in the second photo. Her hair is falling towards the background. Gravity is pulling her hair down because she is on the floor. It is impossible to keep your shoulder straight like her right shoulder is while standing. It is likely that she was on the ground with her right arm outstretched when this picture was taken. When they take your picture, you are told to look directly at the camera. Her eyes are lifeless and unfocused. The police department claims she hung herself from a 5-foot platform when Sandra was around 6 feet tall. The photo of her cell has a trash can in it. Trashcans are not allowed in jail cells because they can not be bolted to the floor. Police claim the scene was not tampered with before the photo, but the trash bag they claim she hung herself with has been replaced with a new one. Sandra told her sister on the phone that she thought her shoulder was broken. Someone with a broken shoulder can not lift their arm high enough to hang themself. The dashcam footage from her arrest is clearly edited, as cars appear and disappear in the middle of the road. The officers knew they were wrong in arresting her. They knew she was going to take them to court. She was a strong-spirited activist. She did not go from being a fighter to being suicidal in a matter of days. The police fucking murdered her and their pathetic attempts at hiding it are not fooling anybody.

[mostlycatsmostly]