Speaking up.
Feb. 27th, 2007 10:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sroniAbout a year ago, a man that I respect and love told me a statistic: one out of four girls will have been sexually abused by the time they are eight. That means that in every third grade class, there will be at least one girl that has dealt with it. That's if the class is lucky. If the class is unlucky, the ratio is a lot higher. The numbers only go up the older they get.
In my experiance, that makes sense. I can believe those numbers. It's bone chilling, isn't it? In my family, the four females that I consider friends (my mom, grandmom, and two cousins)have gone through it.
This is my story. When I was about eight, my mom took me and my brother grocery shopping. A regular occurance. The store was across the street from where I went to school. I had to use the bathroom, so, after telling my mom where I was going, and that I'd be in the book section when I was done, I went. When I came out of the stall, a man was standing there with his pants around his ankles. He told me to be a good girl, and be quiet. I screamed. I'm sure that it was a word, like "no", but honestly? I don't know. All I know is that I screamed as loud as I could for as long as I could, long after he left. I was lucky that nothing more happened to me. I didn't tell anyone, because I was ashamed. My dad had been teaching me self defense for years, and when push came to shove, I couldn't do anything. I went over the scene in my head again and again and again, trying to think of what I could have done different. One scenario had me climbing out of the stall and jumping over him, to the door In another, I kicked him and ran. Another time, I did a shoulder throw, and ran. None of them, not a single one, involved him putting his hands on my shoulders and telling me to be a good girl, and be quiet. I'd failed. I hadn't done what I'd been taught to do in that situation. I'd been too afraid. All I'd been able to do was scream.
For over a year, I kept it a secret. I finally told my mom. She asked me to repeat it that night for my dad and a police officer. As far as I know, the man has never been caught.
To this day, I have a hard time using grocery store bathrooms. Any other kind, I'm fine. If I have to use one, I have something with me that I can use as a weapon, even if it's only a pencil, and there's a little voice in the back of my head repeating, "Go for the eyes. Go for the eyes. Go for the eyes. Go for the eyes." When I walk by myself at night, I thread keys between my knuckles. I used to have a set of keys for only that purpose. If all I have is a water bottle, I shift my grip on it to make it useful. I'll pick up four rocks, two for throwing, and two to stay in my fists to give them weight for when I punch. Paranoid? Perhaps. I don't really care. As people are fond of quoting, "Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean nobody is out to get you."
When I was in seventh grade, I was walking home from the bus stop after school, when a guy threatened to rape me and kill my little brother if I ever told anyone. So I kept quiet, for about two weeks. Turns out he'd threatened two of my friends, as well. Seventh grade was my year from hell. I was depressed. I stopped eating. I stayed in my room all the time. I contemplated killing myself. My grades dropped from eight years of straight A's to a bunch of F's and three A's. I don't know what I would have done without those three teachers. Wait, that's not true. I do know what would have happened: I'd be dead. This was not the only thing that made that year miserable, but it for damn sure didn't help. I didn't walk through that part of the neighborhood anymore.
I've been lucky. I've only been touched by fear and threats. Other girls haven't been. Some people say that those girls "asked for it". Let me ask you. Would you ask to be grabbed? Would you ask to be treated like something less than human? Would you ask for that feeling of helplessness? If you say yes, than please, for the love of mike, go see a psychiatrist. Same goes if you think you know someone who would. Because you're delusional. Nobody in their right mind asks for it.
If you're a victim, please, if you don't hear anything else I've said, please, hear this. It's not your fault. You didn't do anything. No is a very simple word, and it's meaning has remained clear for years. No is no, and that's as far as it goes. It doesn't mean "Yes" sometimes and not others. It always, always means NO. If you know someone who's been sexually molested, (and you probably do) help them to feel safe talking. Please speak up. That's the best way to make sure it doesn't happen again. Speak up. Otherwise, it could be your daughter, your neice, your sister, your wife, your mother who's affected next. It could be you. Speak up.
In my experiance, that makes sense. I can believe those numbers. It's bone chilling, isn't it? In my family, the four females that I consider friends (my mom, grandmom, and two cousins)have gone through it.
This is my story. When I was about eight, my mom took me and my brother grocery shopping. A regular occurance. The store was across the street from where I went to school. I had to use the bathroom, so, after telling my mom where I was going, and that I'd be in the book section when I was done, I went. When I came out of the stall, a man was standing there with his pants around his ankles. He told me to be a good girl, and be quiet. I screamed. I'm sure that it was a word, like "no", but honestly? I don't know. All I know is that I screamed as loud as I could for as long as I could, long after he left. I was lucky that nothing more happened to me. I didn't tell anyone, because I was ashamed. My dad had been teaching me self defense for years, and when push came to shove, I couldn't do anything. I went over the scene in my head again and again and again, trying to think of what I could have done different. One scenario had me climbing out of the stall and jumping over him, to the door In another, I kicked him and ran. Another time, I did a shoulder throw, and ran. None of them, not a single one, involved him putting his hands on my shoulders and telling me to be a good girl, and be quiet. I'd failed. I hadn't done what I'd been taught to do in that situation. I'd been too afraid. All I'd been able to do was scream.
For over a year, I kept it a secret. I finally told my mom. She asked me to repeat it that night for my dad and a police officer. As far as I know, the man has never been caught.
To this day, I have a hard time using grocery store bathrooms. Any other kind, I'm fine. If I have to use one, I have something with me that I can use as a weapon, even if it's only a pencil, and there's a little voice in the back of my head repeating, "Go for the eyes. Go for the eyes. Go for the eyes. Go for the eyes." When I walk by myself at night, I thread keys between my knuckles. I used to have a set of keys for only that purpose. If all I have is a water bottle, I shift my grip on it to make it useful. I'll pick up four rocks, two for throwing, and two to stay in my fists to give them weight for when I punch. Paranoid? Perhaps. I don't really care. As people are fond of quoting, "Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean nobody is out to get you."
When I was in seventh grade, I was walking home from the bus stop after school, when a guy threatened to rape me and kill my little brother if I ever told anyone. So I kept quiet, for about two weeks. Turns out he'd threatened two of my friends, as well. Seventh grade was my year from hell. I was depressed. I stopped eating. I stayed in my room all the time. I contemplated killing myself. My grades dropped from eight years of straight A's to a bunch of F's and three A's. I don't know what I would have done without those three teachers. Wait, that's not true. I do know what would have happened: I'd be dead. This was not the only thing that made that year miserable, but it for damn sure didn't help. I didn't walk through that part of the neighborhood anymore.
I've been lucky. I've only been touched by fear and threats. Other girls haven't been. Some people say that those girls "asked for it". Let me ask you. Would you ask to be grabbed? Would you ask to be treated like something less than human? Would you ask for that feeling of helplessness? If you say yes, than please, for the love of mike, go see a psychiatrist. Same goes if you think you know someone who would. Because you're delusional. Nobody in their right mind asks for it.
If you're a victim, please, if you don't hear anything else I've said, please, hear this. It's not your fault. You didn't do anything. No is a very simple word, and it's meaning has remained clear for years. No is no, and that's as far as it goes. It doesn't mean "Yes" sometimes and not others. It always, always means NO. If you know someone who's been sexually molested, (and you probably do) help them to feel safe talking. Please speak up. That's the best way to make sure it doesn't happen again. Speak up. Otherwise, it could be your daughter, your neice, your sister, your wife, your mother who's affected next. It could be you. Speak up.
