The Hidden Body Count
Content Warning: This post discusses sexual assault, victim-blaming, and betrayal in detail. Please take care while reading.
When I published my first blog pre-MeToo, publicly announcing that I had been drugged and raped, I made a vow that as long as I’m alive, I will never stop helping my fellow survivors and fighting to be a voice for those that feel they have none. I’ve been doing this for ten plus years, and to say I’m exhausted would be a gross understatement, but I’m also furious because I recently discovered how much work there is still to be done. I have a little girl who doesn’t deserve to ever go through what I have, and no matter how exhausted I become, I will fight with everything I have to ensure she grows up in a world where rape and rape culture are not as prevalent as they were when I first came forward in 2015. As I recently learned, things are just as bad (if not worse) in a lot of ways—they’ve just morphed into subtler forms, like victim-blaming disguised as skepticism.
In February, I was raped again by someone I had considered a best friend for many years. I dissociated that night, my brain unable to comprehend how someone I was so close to that I considered him an adopted sibling, referred to him as my “chosen family,” and had trusted so implicitly, could do this to me. In the weeks that followed, I struggled to process the assault, initially downplaying it as "he made a pass at me” before finally admitting the truth to a very select few people, including my mother. But even as I began to open up, I faced a new betrayal that showed me how deeply rape culture persists.
A couple of weeks ago, a different friend who was once a massive part of my life sent me one of the most hurtful texts I’ve ever received. This particular friend was someone I told almost every detail of my life to; he was aware I have experienced sexual assault and rape more than once, which was why it was so jarring to read where his text stated I am the “common denominator” in all my assaults and made it clear he believed the former friend who raped me over me. I never told this friend about my most recent rape, I was trying to avoid drama in our friend group—this friend learned about the rape in February from the rapist, who, unsurprisingly, didn’t tell the truth about the crime he had committed.
Initially, my ex-husband believed my most recent rapist as well, which, as a mother, sent every maternal instinct in my body on red alert—how could I trust that my daughter would be safe around a rapist during her father’s parent time? Thankfully, the truth has a way of getting out, and after I and a few others pointed out discrepancies in the rapist’s story, my ex realized something was not right and has since apologized to me for not trusting my truth.
My former friend’s words reflect dangerous myths: that survivors are the “common denominator” in their assaults and that repeated rape doesn’t happen. It does, and these misguided beliefs blame victims instead of perpetrators, perpetuating a victim blaming mentality which strengthens the grasp rape culture holds on society.
As someone who built her platform on extreme vulnerability, I’m going to be even more vulnerable for a moment: starting at age 16, I have been raped by six men in my lifetime—a number that shatters the myth that “no one gets raped more than once.” I’m here to dispel that lie and shed light on how rape culture continues to silence survivors, as I recently experienced firsthand with both my former friend’s betrayals. (during a 2005-2014 study, it was found that 15.8% of rape or sexual assault victims experienced two or more rapes) My number of rapes is a painful reminder of how vulnerable survivors can be to repeated trauma, especially when society refuses to believe us. While the wounds of these betrayals are still extremely raw, my reality has only deepened my resolve to keep fighting, because no one should have to endure what I have.
I’m dead tired from taking the most horrible, vulnerable moments of my life and offering them up to help my fellow survivors so they can know they’re not alone, but I feel the urgent need to encourage healthy discourse, and dispel dangerous myths about rape. Even in my exhaustion, I know I can heal again, just as I have before 2014—because I’ve seen firsthand the strength of survivors, including myself, time and time again.
My fellow survivors: I am not done fighting for us; at the end of this post, I have listed links to credible sources that further dispel additional myths about rape, rape culture, and repeated rapes.
If you are lucky enough to have never known rape, from the bottom of my soul, I am so happy for you; your experience is the one I am hoping to help make the common collective experience and not what I and others have had to accept as our “normal.” For the sake of your friends and family members who are survivors (and believe me, you have some, even if they haven’t yet felt comfortable sharing this with you), please also take the time to read through the links and learn about what we go through.
For my Utah-based survivors: I’m excited about my latest project, which will enable you to share your own story and discover commonalities and healing within our community (DM me for more information). This is just the first of many more actions I will be taking in this area: I allowed myself to become distracted, and life gave me an extremely harsh reminder to refocus. This is not a comeback, this is (and I, am) a revolution.
Links:
The Repetition Compulsion: Why Rape Victims Are More Likely To Be Assaulted Again
Telling Loved Ones About Sexual Assault
Impact of Sexual Violence on Mental Health
Tonic Immobility During Sexual Assault
Having an Orgasm During Rape: I Believed the Myth and Sought Violent Sex