Why it's not my fault.
By: Aniceé L. Cochran
In just over a month from the time of this writing it will be the 2 year anniversary of the incident. I always think it's done, I've dealt with it, it's in the past. So far, I have always been wrong. In advance, I would like to tell you that while this is being written for beneficial reasons, it's the hardest thing I have ever done.
There are two reasons I am writing this. The most important reason would be to clear my head about it. I keep hearing it's therapeutic to get it out in the open. I know so many people, and on occasion a topic comes forth in conversation with someone. I force myself to tell it, but I hate myself for it afterward. I know that most of them believe me, but the first time I saw the look of disbelief in someone's eyes, it felt almost worse than the act itself. I have yet to meet someone that understands when I say it. They believe me and support me, but they've never been in the situation or something to that effect. I figure by writing it and possibly publishing it (I haven't decided if I am going to submit this to anyone yet) I can get the truth out without the glare of disbelief or the feeling of emptiness that comes when my words fall on deaf ears.
The second reason is to advocate the awareness of the particular type of situation mine is. The crime is wide spread and media of all formats have covered it, but when I went searching on the Internet for information on the type that took place in my life, nothing applied to me (at least nothing I saw personally).
Still don't know what I am getting at? (This is the hardest part for me) I was raped! Even reading the words brings forth feelings of stupidity, regret and shame. I have become such a great liar when it comes to this subject though. When I try and open up to people about it, if they do believe me, they are so concerned by the time I am at the end of the story, that I always smile and say "But I'm ok now, I learned a lot from the experience, and I am grateful for that"....talk about bullshit. Yes, I did learn from it, and I was forced to deal with emotions and thoughts that are far more mature than I could ever claim to be, but "grateful"? I don't think so. I just feel so bad for the people that I speak to, they don't know how to respond or act. Usually the scenario plays out that I become a shard of glass to them. They're afraid I'll break or something. I don't appreciate pity, but respect the empathy of others. I just want them to know. I don't really know why, I just do. If someone asked, I don't care if it was a complete stranger, I would force myself to tell them. It's not a secret, but then again it's not something that I am proud of so telling it frequently isn't at the top of my "to-do list".
The second reason I stated for writing this, "...to advocate the awareness of the particular type of situation..." is because I was raped by my fiance. In most of the literature and propaganda on rape issues they repeatedly say that the most common instances are acquaintance rapes. Primarily date rapes apparently, but that seems so foreign to me in regard to my experience. We were engaged for almost 2 years and just over 3 months away from actually being married. Unfortunately, he meant more to me than I seemingly meant to myself at that time. The signs were all there, but my feelings for him overshadowed them. Not to say 'signs of rape', but signs of something incredibly off balance. I saw them, but I ignored them, so for the longest time (and sometimes I think still to this day) I never spoke a word of it because I blamed myself for not leaving or reacting to those 'signs'.
At the time it took place, he'd just moved back to Oregon, and we were staying with my mom. It was a pretty full house because my brother, his fiance and their daughter were all in the home as well. It happened when they were all home. I cried in the pillow, and just waited for it to be over. He was very angry. The sick part is that he was angry with himself, not me, but I paid the consequences just the same. I have no intention of graphically describing the event, but not for your benefit, for mine. It was as if my life was slowly being taken from me. Not in a mortal sense, but that of my spirit. He was stronger than me, so there was no way to fight. I couldn't breathe enough to even speak it seems like it happened so fast. Afterward I held my knees and lay in the fetal position with my eyes closed....I am a rather realistic person (at least I think so) but I was taking every bit of energy I had to wish myself away. He tried to talk to me, and apologize. I know now that he did that specifically to rid himself of guilt, but I believed him then. I chalked it up to a mistake, an accident, whatever I could to get past it. I was a coward. I didn't say a word.
I almost had to ask to be taken to the doctor two days later because I was still bleeding, but kept quiet. I could have created so many health problems for myself, but all I could do is think about how the people around me would see things. I didn't want to deal with it. A week later he left. I am not an incredibly religious person, but I can tell you that I thank God pretty regularly now for ending a situation that could have become more damaging than it already was.
Something that everyone reading this must understand is that I have always been incredibly in control of myself before this happened. I never allowed myself to be put in a scenario that I thought would cause harm or discomfort of any kind. In that one night I lost everything. Trust, respect for others, self respect, but by far the biggest loss was my loss of control. I couldn't control it. In the months to follow I fell just short of a nervous breakdown. It finally came out one night when I was just chatting with everyone in the house. It was at that very moment that I actually looked past all of the ridiculous excuses I had created to call it anything else, and realized that it was, in fact, rape. I was sick. "How could I let this happen? I know I'm smarter than that. What does this say about me?" These thoughts went through my mind repeatedly. My family was angry because they felt they should have been there for me I guess. Honestly I think they were more upset that I didn't speak up sooner.
Almost a year later I was having frequent panic attacks and couldn't hold a job because I was an emotional basket case. I finally broke down and called on a friend of mine who happened to be a therapist. She helped me to put things into perspective, and honestly she is the only reason that I found my balance.
In closing, I am more stable now than ever, but I still think about it, have nightmares about it, and fear that it will happen again. It changed me in so many ways. However, I do have self respect now. I believe I have a new strength due to my attempt to understand it. I have moved on, but it will be with me forever.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story.