Spring 2000

One Day of My Life

by anonymous

I never thought that I had been sexually abused. Yet, about eight years after one incident took place, I began having difficulty living a normal life. For weeks and then months, I could not sleep, or when I did fall asleep I woke up every hour. Although I forced myself to eat, I had no appetite. I became extremely tired and depressed. Sometimes I would start crying and couldn't stop. I remember one time I went into the bathroom and locked the door and cried and cried. I didn't know what was wrong, I just felt black. I knew then what it felt like to be in a black pit. Even though I prayed to God, the blackness just wouldn't go away. It seemed as though the darkness was stronger than my prayers to God.

When my husband realized that I was so upset, he tried to comfort me by putting his arm around me. This only made the darkness in my head worse. The darkness blinded me. I couldn't see him, but I knew that he was touching me and I couldn't stand that. I panicked and pushed him away. Later, when I had calmed down, we talked abut it. But I could only explain what had happened by trying to tell him about the blackness that seemed to take over.

This went on for several months. During those months, both my husband and I knew there was something wrong with me, but neither of us knew what it was. I knew that I needed help, that I was probably depressed, but I wasn't ready to admit this by asking for help.

During this time, I was trying to help a child who was experiencing abuse in his home. I could only do so much, and I began to feel more and more guilty about this child going home every day and every weekend to that kind of abuse. After many sleepless nights and a lot of struggling, I finally called someone at Salem. I told the counsellor that I was having a hard time dealing with an abusive situation. I didn't mention that I knew that there was more that was bothering me, but I didn't know what.

I went to Salem and within one or two sessions the counsellor asked if I had ever been abused. I said no, I didn't think I had been. He showed me literature on abuse, specifically, sexual abuse. For some reason, seeing a definition of date rape on paper made me see that what I had always thought of as an unpleasant incident was actually sexual assault. One of the reactions to date rape was minimizing. The counsellor explained that this meant that the victim would tell herself that it wasn't really that bad after all. In this way, it would be as though it was just an unpleasant incident. Even though no clothing was removed, I had been violated. Even then, when the counsellor told me that I was a victim, I felt very uncomfortable thinking of myself that way. Not only had I minimized what had happened, I had also told myself that it was my own fault. I thought that if only I hadn't got myself into that situation, nothing would have happened.

What did happen? Years before, I had a crush on John. One night we, with a group of other teenagers, went to a restaurant where alcohol was also served. By the end of the evening, I had eaten very little and John had bought a very strong drink for me. He had been drinking all evening and had noticed that I was interested in him. He began to stand very close to me. A while later we were sitting beside each other. He put his arm around me. By this time, I was very tired because of the drink and the late hour. I didn't feel threatened by John because there were other people close by. I actually felt happy that John was showing an interest in me as well. Then he started to kiss me and at the same time, touched my breast. Then he took my hand and shoved it down on his privates. I pulled my hand away. But he pulled it back and also began to kiss me with his tongue. I did not like this at all, especially because his breath smelled strongly of alcohol. I pulled away from him and then it was over. He walked away and I went home.

That night in bed, all I could think of was that now he was my boyfriend. I hadn't been kissed like that before and I thought that because of what he did, he really liked me too, and wanted to have a relationship with me. After all, I wouldn't have let just anyone touch me like that, but if he was my boyfriend, then it would be okay. That's what I told myself. The next morning I phoned him and went to talk to him. When I talked to him about what had taken place, he said that he barely remembered anything and that he wasn't ready for relationship with anyone at that time. I told him that I was mad at him for what he did but he insisted that he had had too much to drink and didn't know what he was doing. I told him that I was so mad at him that I wanted to slap him in the face (unfortunately, I never did). I went home and wrote a letter to him, knowing that I would never send it but I needed to let out everything I was feeling.

I did not tell my parents or my closest friend. I felt as if they would think it was my fault and that I was a slut because I let that happen. At times I even felt as though God held me responsible. When I thought about what happened, I felt sick and couldn't eat. I lost weight. I couldn't sleep. If I saw John, I ignored him and refused to talk to him. I told my friends that I wasn't ever going to get married. I didn't trust men. I wore loose and baggy clothing so I wouldn't draw their attention to myself. When I met Don, who is now my husband, I made sure that there was a spoken commitment before anything physical happened. When we embraced, I always made sure that I kept some space between us. After we knew each other for about a year, I told him how John had treated me, and that if he wanted to stop seeing me because of that I would understand. I felt like I was used goods, and not good enough for Don. I knew why I felt this way, yet I never considered myself to be the victim, instead, deep down, I always thought that it was my own fault.

I continued to go for counselling. At first, it seemed as though it got worse. For the first time in eight years, I had flashbacks of what had happened that night with John. I was afraid of being intimate with my husband, because of those vivid flashbacks. This time, with the help of my counsellor, I did not push away thoughts and feelings of what happened but instead I tried to deal with them. I began to understand that it wasn't my fault. Looking back, I don't think that I would have been able to deal with what had happened on my own. The Christian counselling I received taught me to look at what had happened in a more accurate and truthful way. Although feelings of guilt or doubt still come up, I now am able to remind myself that I don't have to feel guilty.

My life has turned back to normal. I no longer feel like I'm in a black pit. I can sleep again. I no longer feel depressed. I was amazed that one hurtful incident could have such horrible consequences, but it did. Thankfully, getting help worked.