When I was a freshman in college, I was raped. It happened one month before my 18th birthday, Halloween night 1986. I went to a fraternity party dressed as a playboy bunny in a white leotard, tights, a bunny tail and ears. I had some drinks and was having a great time with my friends. The friend who had accompanied me decided to leave before I was ready to go home. I told her I'd be fine. When the party was winding down, one of the fraternity brothers that I considered a friend offered to walk me back to my dorm room.
When we got to my room, he asked if he could use my bathroom. I said, "Sure, my roommate is not here so you won't wake her."
Inside the room he grabbed me from behind and started kissing my neck. I asked him to stop, but instead he pulled me backwards and threw me across the end of my bed against the wall. My head hit the cinderblock wall. I must have passed out for several minutes.
When I came to, I was undressed and he was on top of me trying to force himself inside of me. Through my tears, I asked him to stop. He clutched my throat and said, "If you scream, I'll kill you."
I turned my head away and tried to just pray for it to be over. It hurt so bad because he was being so rough. It felt like it lasted for an eternity. When he finished, he said, "You tell anyone and I've got 30 frat brothers who'll swear you've already done them. Don't even think of calling the cops or I'll come back and do much worse."
I believed him. After he left, I showered for a long time until the water ran cold. I just wanted to get the scent of him off of me. I cried myself to sleep. The physical injuries didn't compare to what the rape did to my soul, to my sense of personal safety or to my self esteem. I tried to pretend nothing had happened but I had nightmares that made the darkness something to continually fear.
In 1986, acquaintance rapes were not really talked about. I thought I had done something to ask for it to happen like the way I was dressed or the fact that I had been drinking. Of course, now I know that the rape wasn't about those things. Rape is about anger, violence and control. I was not the one to blame; my rapist was.
It took me many years to get past the rape and the trust issues that came after. I wish I could say the nightmares are gone but I still have them occasionally. I often wonder if I might have had closure sooner had I reported the rape. That's something I'll never know. All I know is that I did survive and I've lived to tell my story. Hopefully, my sharing this can help other young women who have experienced rape to talk about it.
Rape is never the victim's fault, no matter what she wears or how drunk she might have been. No means no.
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