"You may think he took everything from you. But you still have your voice." Sixteen years ago I worked as a Nurse Oncologist. I did exceptional work and even had statewide recognition for this. Then one February morning, on the way home from a night shift, my car slid off the rode. A man stopped and helped push it back onto the shoulder. Then he commented that I had damaged the front. After he just had helped me so graciously, I let down my defenses and jumped out of the car to inspect it. I had no reservations or fears. I trusted him.
As I look back on it now, I realize that he went out that morning as a hunter. In his pockets he carried the tools of his trade; mouth gag, knife, rope. I just happened to drive into his hunting preserve at the wrong moment. My story is not nearly as horrendous as yours. I too thought I was going to die. My attacker jammed a rag down my throat and I couldn't stop retching. I panicked as I struggled to keep from inhaling my own vomit-maybe drowning. When I'd shudder as I gagged and tried not to vomit, he'd punish me (down below) by sticking the knife inside. It was very sadistic.
We were right on the Interstate 90-- it was 7am on a bright Sunday morning. I could occasionally hear cars driving by but no one slowed or stopped. My assailant probably looked like a man bending into a car. His overcoat shielded him well. When he left me, he stole my purse and wallet. It had my address, SS number, Driver's License and kids pictures. He told me not to move or he'd kill me. I heard him drive away but I didn't move. I'd never seen a gun and had no reason to think he had one. But still, I felt like if I sat up he'd be waiting to blow my head off. I'm not sure how long I lay paralyzed afraid to move.
Finally, I mustered enough courage to get out of there. I drove immediately home. I knew he had my address and was worried about my children. I was afraid to pull in my own driveway because he might be watching; might realize that I had left the crime scene where he'd told me to stay. So I parked on the street behind my house and sneaked in through the back door.
I used tampons to stop the bleeding and didn't go to the hospital. I didn't want to tell a soul. Besides that, I was terrified to leave my kids at home. I kept calling in sick from work because I was afraid to go outside. I had burn marks on my wrists from working them free of the ropes. There were some small lacerations on my hands from his knife. A co-worker stopped by and saw me. She asked about what had happened and I finally told her. It had been almost a week by the time I showed themess to my doctor. I had to be hospitalized for re-constructive vaginal surgery. The police came to speak to me and I did agree to file a report. But to this day, they've never found anyone. Once I went to a line up in Painesville City but, unfortunately, it wasn't him. That part is still hard for me. I have nightmares that he shows up with the knife and screams in my face, "I told you not to move!" I'd give anything to know he was in prison. Or dead. The unknowing is at times incapacitating.
Anyhow, I couldn't work -- but was a single parent with three daughters. I felt paralyzed by what happened to me and couldn'tfunction at any level. You can imagine the level of comfort I'd have walking around the hospital hallways on night shift. Taking care of half dressed strangers in dark rooms. I just couldn't do it. I quit a job I'd held for fifteen years and took another. But I couldn't concentrate and my work was mediocre at best. I stopped working and moved to a new house. I moved even though I loved the house and have lived there for 17 years. The rape took everything I had worked for. My home. My job. My success. I didn't feel safe anywhere.
My real downfall in the attack was the "element of surprise." The ultimate vulnerability of knowing that it can happen to anyone. To me. Or my kids. That really hit home. My friends and family (like yours), rallied round me. But they were so "needy." Like you, I found myself reassuring them that I was OK. I had to take care of them when I was least able to do it. I'm not complaining. I'm just saying how difficult it is for each of us in those circumstances. The ripple effect of secondary victims makes us have little opportunity to begin to heal.
Initially they were there all the time. But as the days passed, it became "uncomfortable" for them to be near me." I couldn't just "get over it" quickly enough to please everyone. We saw each other less and less. Six months after the fact, my issues were just beginning. And I felt so terribly alone.
Two months after the rape, I started seeing a counselor. Every Thursday for seven years I dragged myself into her office and spent an hour. Sometimes we talked about the rape. Often we talked of nothing. But regardless, we kept talking. It was almost 3 years before I noticed that it was starting to help. At times it was very difficult. It became uncomfortable and I wanted to quit. But I told myself that I couldn't. I owed it to my past to make a future. It took me over seven years before I felt comfortable about myself again. Some things will always bother me; that's who I am. But I accept that as a part of the total picture.
None of us really can return to who we were. But I'm proud of who I am today.
Well, who am I today?? Well, I presently am Director of Homesafe Rape Crisis Center. I started work here on February 3rd-- exactly 16 years (to the day) of the rape that changed my life. There could have been any of 365 days chosen for me to start. But they offered my February 3rd. The job had come as a fluke -- I wasn't looking for work. Who would have thought that all along I was tumbling in this direction??
If I had to say anything to survivors in the aftermath of rape it would be this: Never surrender. Don't give up. You may think he took everything from you. But you still have your voice. Use it!
- - - - - Anonymous
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