I was
raped on a high school field trip. I was not drunk or drugged. I simply chose
the wrong door. I went into a room to chaperon a friend and her boyfriend, and
flirt and spend time with some guys I thought I knew and liked. As soon as the
door opened my heart sank and I wanted to run. It was dark and they’d
rearranged the beds. They grabbed me by the hands and immediately started
undressing me and no matter how I tried to reason with them, they insisted that I
wanted it and would enjoy it. I don’t know how long it lasted but I remember
nearly every moment of it. It was my body being played with like a toy and they
knew all the buttons to push. My poor friend was also being pushed beyond her
limits by her boyfriend and there was nothing I could do to help her. I was
pinned down and raped as I cried, “No!” I whispered into his ear, “You are raping me.” He laughed.
Not a
day goes by in my life that it doesn’t haunt me. Decades have passed. Therapy sessions spent. I’m still working on forgiveness, working on
taking care of my tender self that was stolen that day. I’ll never know what possessed me to knock on
that door. I’ll never be able to trust myself completely. It is what it is.
This
happened a few years before the idea of “date rape” was made into television
specials. So, I didn’t know I had an outlet. The teachers preferred the boys,
and it was clear would not accept my experience as real. I began to realize that there were lies all
around me about my value. There was no one to talk to about it when I was afraid I was pregnant. The rest of my senior year is a blur. I didn’t
know what the rumors were. My story changed a half dozen times depending on how
I felt that day. I put on weight and hid
away as much as a school leader could.
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| Wading, Oil Pastels on Gray Paper, 8"x 10" 2013 (c) Amanda Morris Johnson |
The
boys were not bad or evil boys. They were creeps and were raised to be that way
by a society that congratulates them for this kind of conquering. They’ve gone
on to create good stable lives for themselves, and may even have the
opportunity to make a difference. But, they really never got it. They never got
what horrors they’d done to my mind, to my self-confidence, to my ability to
make choices with anything other than impulsiveness because for me every door
has the potential of disaster no matter how much I like whatever is behind it.
How can I trust myself? How can I knock, knowing that who and whatever answers
might wound me for life?
I
encourage you to watch this video and give it some thought….
