I should avoid Facebook today. In fact, I should avoid the internet all together. The reason is that today is Trump 2.0. Today the Senate will vote to decide who the newest Supreme Court Justice will be. I am not going to write about Brett Kavanaugh, or what my political views are. One thing I have learned in my 33 years, is that the internet is not the place to educate anyone on your stance. People go from barely open minded to defensive faster than you can blink.
I am writing this blog because I AM her. I have stood in her shoes. I know what it's like... BUT I do NOT stand with her. Stick with me here. If you don't read this entire post, you will likely make some assumptions about why I stand where I do that aren't correct.
It was 2001. It was cold outside. I was 16, and everything about me was dictated by peer pressure. Every move that I made was decided for me by other people because I let their opinions about me drive who I was. I had some "friends", and I use that term loosely. These people never really had my best interest at heart and were horrible influences on me, but I continued to run with them just the same. I had one of my first jobs. I was a hostess at a restaurant in Greensboro, NC, and I was a terrible employee! Not only was peer pressure my biggest weakness, but I challenged authority at every single moment of the day. The restaurant that I worked at, was called Mahi's. It not longer exists today, but in it's Glory Days, you could go there and crush some crab legs. It wasn't cheap to eat there, so the clientele was older and more established. I had to dress more professional than I was used to doing previously, and the only people who were remotely close to me in age worked in the kitchen.
I was young and stupid, and when one of the cooks, let's call him Brandon, started flirting with me, I thought I was special. We didn't hang out outside of work, but when I was at work, I made every attempt I could to talk to him. Keep in mind, a hostess shouldn't be in the kitchen of a restaurant very often, but I never seemed to be at the front door.
It wasn't too much longer that my home situation exploded. The woman whom my dad was married too made my life a living hell, but that is a story for a different blog! I was miserable, and when it all reached a peak for me, I ran away from home.
At the time, I didn't see the offer from this 18 year old guy as being preyed on. I needed a place to stay until I could decide what I wanted to do. I needed that place to be one that my parents would never look for me at. I needed to hide, to go off the grid, and I liked him. Crashing on his couch wasn't glamorous, but I would make it work for a little bit, so off to Brandon's house I went.
It was easier to go off the grid in 2001. I had a cell phone, but with no text plan and data plans not existing, all you had to do was turn the phone off!
I was there for 2 days. 2 days before it happened. The third night that I stayed there, Brandon didn't work. I was excited to hang out with him, and when he provided a little booze, I was totally game. I trusted this person, for no real reason. I knew I shouldn't be there. I knew because there were red flags everywhere. The kind of red flags that they teach you about in D.A.R.E. when you are in the 5th grade. The kind of red flags that your parents scare you with over and over again. The kind of red flags that land pictures of missing girls on the news. But like I said, I was 16 and stupid. When you are a teenager you have a hard time believing that anything bad could happen to you. You start to believe that you are invincible.
I actually believed that I was, until the 3rd night. I remember drinking, and I remember laughing. I remember music, and I remember the cold breeze every time the sliding glass door by the couch would open. I remember talking about getting food, but never actually getting any. I can remember the layout of that apartment. I know where the bathroom was, the kitchen, and the only bedroom which I never went in. I barely knew Brandon's roommate, and being that Brandon was kind of crashing with him, I remember trying to stay out of his way.
I have been through years of therapy to deal with the things I felt next. This experience no longer defines who I am, but this is the first time I am going to describe it in graphic detail.
It was dark out, and the only light on in the room was the flickering light of the tv. I couldn't make out much because my vision was very blurred, but the pain of what was happening was not dulled in any way. It hurt. His silhouette was all I could make out. I knew what was happening, but I couldn't speak words or fight back. It was as if I was paralyzed. My body wanted to pass out, but it was fighting against the drugs I had been given. Fighting back, but not hard enough to defend myself. Awake enough to know that I was being raped.
Realizing that I was powerless at this point, I did what I think anyone would do, and prayed it was almost over. I was in and out of consciousness, but it seemed like it would never end. I would close my eyes and try to sleep like I wanted too so badly, but the pain of what he was doing to me was too much. I wanted to cry, but I was lifeless. Unable to see, hear, or move. Just able to feel.
BLACK OUT
When I opened my eyes the next day, it took a few minutes to realize that the nightmare I thought I had last night was real. I was lying naked on a couch. My clothes laid on the floor beside me, and blood was on my leg. I started replaying the night in my mind trying to figure out how I managed to land on my back with this guy on top me. I don't remember going to sleep, what time is it? I was fully dressed, and it was cold, so I had on more clothes than usual. Now I was stark naked, how did this happen? No one was in the apartment, but I was scared to move. I remained where I was in fear that perhaps my death was next. Who rapes someone and let's them live to talk about it? After an hour or so of playing back what happened and deciding the coast most be clear to leave, I grabbed my clothes and took them to the kitchen. I didn't dare go near the bathroom, because I wasn't sure if someone was in the bedroom. I quietly cleaned myself up with paper towels, and got dressed. My body ached, and I felt so beyond dirty. I grabbed everything I could find of mine and put it in my bag, and bolted for the door.
I was holding my phone and my car keys in my hand thinking, how am I getting out of this so easily?
I climbed into my car, threw my bag into the passenger side seat, and locked the door as fast as I could. Sunglasses on, and I was in reverse and running away. I went to a Food Lion close by, and parked in the back of the parking lot. I needed to catch my breath. Where am I going to go?
That is the moment that I chose to look at myself in my rear view mirror. I hated who I saw. I hated everything about that piece of trash looking back at me. I called myself a whore. I called myself nasty. I called myself everything. I yelled at myself, and cried until the already smeared make up from yesterday was half down my face.
I took a few things into the Food Lion and headed for the bathroom. I tried to clean up my face as best as I could, and headed back to my car. It was at least a week before I could really look at myself in the mirror again. I blamed myself for all of it. I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have put myself in that position. The worst part was, I had to call my parents and go back home. I was grounded from everything, so I now had to spend days on end alone with my thoughts and myself... whom I now hated more than ever.
It took me some time before I admitted to anyone what had happened, and when I did decide to tell them, no one believed me. I never went back to work at Mahi's. I couldn't imagine having to look him in the eyes ever again. What I didn't know at the time is that this would haunt me for years. I should have filed a police report, but I was just grateful to be alive. He didn't know where I lived, and I needed to just fly under the radar for a while. Besides, no one believed me anyway, why would the police be any different?
As an adult, I occasionally have come across his picture. Facebook suggested we be friends once, and I almost deleted my account. I cried, and I felt anger like I have never felt anger before. Seeing his smiling face in his profile picture made me want to throw my computer across the room.
It has been 17 years, and while I no longer give him the energy it takes to hate someone, I wouldn't stop to help him if he was burning alive on the side of the road.
As someone who could be labeled a victim, I refuse to categorize myself in that way. I won't let this define me. This is why I still haven't reported it to authorities and why I will not do so ever. 17 years later, this was still a crime. What he did to me is horrible. It is illegal, but ruining his life as an adult for something he did 17 years ago is NOT going to make me feel any better. It is simply going to make me relive all of the horror that I have spent so many years getting over.
I could report it though. I could try to serve justice to a man that left such a horrible mark on me. The difference in me and Mrs. Ford, is that this man is not days away from confirmation as a Supreme Court Justice. This would not serve as a political agenda. There would be no ulterior motives. There would be no benefit to anyone else. There would be no power struggle for the court system. There would be no senators yelling and screaming at each other. There would be no divide made worse for our country.
It would simply be me serving justice, and I still do NOT believe that is what I should do.
I moved on.
Yes, there are still scars, but I can talk about all of it now.
Everyone deals with grief differently, and I do not think that she should deal with it the same way I do. I fully believed every single person who stood up about Bill Cosby. I believed the ones who came forward about Kevin Spacey, Harvey Weinstein, and Dr. Luke. I believe them because there was nothing to gain, and everything to lose. I stand with them. I am with them.
But her... I am NOT with her.
Ps... Brandon, I hope you spend the rest of your life suffering from erectile dysfunction.
