You always think that it’s something that will never happen to you. You will not allow anyone to treat you like that. It just will not happen.
I thought so, too, and then I learned better.
I already knew that life was not a fairytale, that it wasn’t suppose to be. Being a victim/survivor of rape is a testament to that point. Life is just not a rosy, warm fuzzy, happily ever after. LIFE HAPPENS.
So let’s take you back a bit in time to before I met the JERK. I was in a 6 year relationship. Four of those years I was engaged. That relationship fizzled out after there was a lack of communication, lying, deceit, and, well, pretty much I found out that the man I fell in love with never existed. He was fake. It was time to end it. Don’t worry, even though as much as it hurt me it was all good. I found out recently that he is married now, to a girl he met whilst we were still engaged. They were married less than a year after our engagement was called off.
So let’s fast forward from that to about 8 months later, give or take. I was in the mindset that I wasn’t ready for a relationship. My trust, the little bit I had left from the rape, was gone. I needed time. I was not looking for a relationship. Of course, this means that’s when I met one of my brother’s friends. He seemed perfect.
Things started off good. Sweet and simple. Girl meets boy. Boy likes girl, and asks for her number. Girl gives number. We talked about the past and present as well as dreams for the future. Past relationships came up. Well, in particular, my past relationships, as I wasn’t allowed to ask about his (I should have taken the warning, but I didn’t see as that, just that he was interested in me). He wanted to know about my ex-fiancé. How things went wrong, what was good, and any other little item he could get out of me. The most I ever got from him was that he was slapped for kissing his girlfriend once. Odd.
I had also told him a bit about my past personally. That up until that point I had not told anyone else. I told him how I was raped, yet I still viewed myself as a virgin for I had not given myself to that creature. He had taken a huge part of me, my innocence, with him. He said he believed me, and that he understood and was okay with it. This made me fall for him even more. I didn’t think anyone would. There always seems to be a stigma attached to rape.
Things gradually progressed into a relationship. He kept saying things to me about how he was not like my ex, would never be like him, and that I would be important in his life. Blah, blah blah. Yes, really, blah, blah, blah. It just all started to become a routine. He’d find out something about the ex, then promise to not be like that, though he would never share much about his past. (There’s a problem I have. When I trust, I trust completely. It’s hard to earn, but once you have I feel you have my life in your hands, and I will share everything with you. After all, in my head, that is what you do with someone you trust and respect.) I thought things were going good. We talked all the time. We seemed happy together. We’d do little things. Get gifts for each other. Nothing big, just something to show how we cared. I remember I had gotten him a stuffed dog because he said he had wanted a dog, but wasn’t allowed to get one.
Then things got a little strange. I’d get random extravagant gifts, and if I didn’t do something of equal value I’d be on the outs for the day or the week, depending on his mood. Then something new would happen. He didn’t like someone I talked to so I was no longer allowed to talk to them. Or if I did, I couldn’t talk to him. Strange. (You’d think I would start noticing that this wasn’t right at this point wouldn’t you?) Then he started having issues with my job. I was a waitress at the time, working until close, but to him…oh my goodness, you’d think I was fornicating with every guy that walked into that place. (You would think he would know better. Sex is special to me, and, except for the rape, I had not had sex with anyone to date.)
Then there was a new twist on everything. I found out he had a temper. And that temper, no matter what, seemed to come out on me. (No, not violence.) If something did not go his way it was my fault. If I was working and couldn’t make time for him when he was wanting to spend time (I never had a say in this), then it was my fault, or my job’s fault. I was told that I needed to quit my job. It was in the way of him spending time with me, as well as he didn’t trust me where I was working. Then if I was tired and didn’t have time to talk about something, it was my fault. I didn’t care. I didn’t love him anymore. (Yes, I was an evil, vile person because I was on 4 hours of sleep and had to be back up in 4 more hours for another double. I’m evil for not hearing how you don’t like your boss because he made you stay until 10:30, not 10, even though I don’t complain to you that I was working from 10am until 3am.)
Things like that just kept continuing. Then the controlling started. It started oddly. I always have had short hair, pixie style, then one day decided to grow it long. I actually made it to half way down my back before I cut it off again. He told me if I ever cut it I would be unattractive, more than I was already. I would look like a man, therefore he would no longer be able to date me. He kept trying to make me choose between him and my job. When I was looking for a new job, after I quit when I was having panic attacks and flashbacks nonstop in regards to the rape, he told me we couldn’t talk if I took a job that kept me out until past 4pm. The job that I was waiting to hear back on at the time, was an overnight help desk shift. I really wanted that job, I was used to being up until 4am working. Just add a few more hours to it. No problem. He hated that. He won anyways as the job that threw in the offer first was the job that was with Fred.
Then there was the pressure to have sex from him. I thought he would understand when I told him I was raped, that I wasn’t into sex right now. I was scared of it. I’m already having all of these flashbacks, and panic attacks. Triggers were everywhere, why would I want to have sex where I could be thrown into a new one? He kept pushing and pushing though. Telling me I didn’t love him, that if I did, I would show him by having sex with him. That it wasn’t sex, it was love-making. That he had to show me how much he cared, and that was the only way he could. He pushed and pushed and pushed until I finally gave him what he wanted.
Things went from bad to worse after that. I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone if he didn’t give me permission to. I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere unless he approved it and was there to go with me. He even had yelled and argued with me because I talked to my brother and, at another time, my parents instead of being with him. They’re my family, and my brother is as close as a twin to me, and yet this was an arguable offense. It meant I was on the wrong side of his temper again, and so I had to go on with him being mad at me. Not speaking to me. Or if he was, he was belittling me, telling me that it was a favor that he was with me as no one else would want me. In essence, he was telling me that no one would love me but him. I was trapped.
Then things got so much more fun. I was told in an argument why I was no good for anyone – because I was a liar. (Note… remember the ex-fiancé, yes that bastage, and how much he lied and manipulated me? I hated it. So why would I turn around and do the same? What you see is what you get with me.) I didn’t lie about anything. He told me otherwise. I was liar. I lied about being a virgin. Not only was I not a virgin, but I was ASKING to be raped. I had WANTED it to happen. It was MY FAULT that I was raped. Nowhere did I tell him I was a virgin. If I recall… Yup, here it is: “I told him how I was raped, yet I still viewed myself as a virgin, for I had not given myself to that creature. He had taken a huge part of me, my innocence with him. He said he believed me, and that he understood and was okay with it.” Apparently he had forgotten about that part from the start of our relationship, where he said that it was okay and that he understood. Apparently, he only heard the part about being a virgin. Not the part about the rape.
I couldn’t believe that he thought I was asking to be raped. As if I’m walking around wearing a sign that said, “Please Rape Me. I Am Begging You To.” He was the first person I had told about the rape. The ex-fiancé didn’t know, but respected my want and need to wait until marriage at that time to have sex. He didn’t question it. I had thought that telling JERK about the rape that he would be understanding and caring, which he seemed to be at first. Instead, it seems that it was all a veneer. He cared, but not about me. Just about him and what he could get from me. He is Iraqi. I know, I should have mentioned that before, but here it is now. I could see him treating me the way we see his country. He would have me walking 3 steps in front of him, so I could make sure that he didn’t get blown up by a land mine, I would instead.
He didn’t respect me. I was an object to him. An object for him to yell at, isolate from others, boss around, destroy any self-esteem, humiliate in front of others, and not pay attention to unless it suited his needs. He held my life in his hands. I was so depressed that I didn’t know which way was up or down. I cut myself again. I burned myself. I added new scars. Then, he told me that it was over. I felt like the world had imploded on me. That my life was over. Funny, no matter how badly he treated me, I needed him to exist and be worthy of love. His love, that little tiny bit he gave me, was my air. It kept me going, and now I was without it. I cried for days. Felt as if I was dying. I hurt myself more. I was a shell of myself.
Then something happened. I realized something. Someone wasn’t there berating me for things I didn’t do. Telling me that no one but him would be able to love me. Treating me as if I was nonexistent, or lower than the dirt under his feet. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. I didn’t have to feel numb, didn’t have to feel as if life wasn’t worth living. I could make it. I could try to live. See how that goes.
I learned about something in my PTSD therapy (I call it my living after rape therapy). There are people out there that fit into a category called Antisocial Behavior Disorder.
It is characterized by at least 3 of the following:
- Callous unconcern for the feelings of others;
- Gross and persistent attitude of irresponsibility and disregard for social norms, rules, and obligations;
- Incapacity to maintain enduring relationships, though having no difficulty in establishing them;
- Very low tolerance to frustration and a low threshold for discharge of aggression, including violence;
- Incapacity to experience guilt or to profit from experience, particularly punishment;
- Marked readiness to blame others or to offer plausible rationalizations for the behavior that has brought the person into conflict with society.
Sound familiar? Yes, I know, JERK to a T. There is a lot more to it than that, but that’s him. He became everything my former fiancé was and more. He put on that front that he was the most caring, charming, and respectful person when in reality he was god-awful. He was a monster. It was good to move on.
I was finally feeling like I was standing on my own, as shaky as could be, but I was starting to do it. I was trying to. I took one step out of my huge depression that I was in. Then, he came back. Apparently since I had finally decided that I was done with him he came back, and like that I was ready to go back to him. Despite knowing how I felt with him and how he treated me, I was ready to go back. He had conditions. Of course he had conditions. I had to learn to speak Aramaic, his native language (Sure, no problem, I love learning languages as it is.) Next, I had to love his mom (Why wouldn’t I?). The next ones were odd and made me think. I couldn’t work. And if I did it could only be one job and I had to be back home by 4pm so I could cook for him (What the Frak?). And then there was this one… I had to have an elective plastic surgery to have my hymen repaired so I could be a physical virgin again. I have a hard enough time going to the lady doctor and having her hands all in my business, why would I want some doctor with a needle and scalpel down there? Let’s just throw me into some more nightmares, panic attacks, and flash backs.
That remark threw me out of running back to him. It was that little prick, like a pinch that you give to yourself to make sure that you are not dreaming, that I needed to feel. He didn’t care. He would never care. I told him no. He didn’t respect me. He told me that he could fix things. He said that this time it would work. I just had to go along with his terms. I already tried that. Things didn’t work out so well.
It wasn’t too long ago that I got another text from him. He was lonely. He needed company. I tried to be his friend before and it didn’t work. He still didn’t respect me or love me. How can you respect someone that you told that the RAPE you went through was your own fault? That you had it coming to you, and that you were asking for it to happen? I shiver at that thought. Does he have any feelings for anyone other than himself? I am shivering at it right now just thinking about it because it makes me think of Monster, and I realize that, I was so close to falling into a situation that was close to being so much worse than what he did to me, if I had stayed.
About the Author
Depression as a sidekick can make life interesting. Why not talk about it. Any other random things that seem to always be popping up into my head. So here I am, letting it spill. I’m nothing more than me, a random girl who is into Star Wars, cartoons, Sci-fi, all things geek, art, making up things, steampunk, and octopi.