The Rabbit Hole

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THE RABBIT HOLE

Chapter 1 ••• Intuition

I was an intuitive person. Always quick to read the room, the situation, and determine what the possible outcomes were. Perhaps predictable and boring to some of you, but I found comfort in it back then, because let’s just be honest here....

The Unknown is f-ing scary. But for 7 years now, since that night, I’ve only known one thing for certain.

Nothing is Certain..Everything is Unknown.

I was an intuitive person.

Until I wasn’t.

Until I was so very, very wrong.

So wrong that I found myself facing a fatal outcome that I never imagined, never saw. It was so surreal. As if I were sitting there in the driver’s seat of my car that night, but watching a movie, totally shocked at the face on the screen. Did I have a twin? A doppelgänger? Was I in a very lucid and real dream? Or maybe I was already dead. I can tell you one thing for sure and one thing only.

I should be.

That was his intention for me.

Now I can’t give you one particular reason why I am alive now, writing for the first time on this cool site that I’ve just come across on Instagram, but I can tell you that something special happened the night that I was meant to die that I can’t explain. Something that I can only call a miracle. I could call it Strength..but that’s far too simplistic. I could call it coincidence, or fate, or “intuition”. But I know better now.

Chapter 2 •••Choices

May 6th, 2014, in a small town on Vancouver Island. That was the day. Just a normal day where normal shit happened. It was also the day that changed all of my future days forever. Even this one right now as I write this. It’s hard for me to explain what I mean but please just know this. I am no Victim...I mean yes technically I was his victim, but I will never live like one. Admittedly I am still affected daily by what he did to me that night.

But I have a choice....and so do all of you reading this now.

The unknown is certain, but YOU decide what you’re made of.

So I chose to become empowered, and let victimization leave me. So let’s just get that out of the way before you dive further into my Rabbit Hole, because it’s a dark one...and only strength should enter.

I would be lying if I told you I believed this from the start. Because I didn’t. Especially when I would lay there awake at night watching the clock...for hours...like watching water boil on the stove. Unwanted images of a wire around my neck, my teeth flying at the windshield, or his hand up my skirt. Memories so real I could taste the blood in my mouth, smell the metal, his cologne. It was torture. Think for a moment of the longest you’ve stayed awake, and I mean after your party years when being awake all night is not enjoyable and impossible to even do.

Take that number of hours and multiply it a few times. Then a few more. What would that be like?

Well I can tell you.

And that sucks.

Because lack of sleep can induce absolute insanity.

That’s what I thought I was for awhile. Totally insane. Now I know it was extreme PTSD as I’m sure most of you have already concluded, but I had too much pride for that. I was too resilient to be that affected because I had already been through so much and was so strong.

But I was not in control. He was.

Those first few months, while he rotted in the jail cell where he belonged, he still strangled me every moment. I could not catch my breath, or even close in on reality. My left eye was still swollen and closed shut. My face still bruised and battered. My neck was wrapped in a gruesome red line that made it appear my head had been cut off then sewed back on. My reflection in the mirror was not familiar, nor was the scared little girl inside of me who didn’t belong and wouldn’t leave. Simply put, i was afraid. Everything was uncertain now and the self doubt was so fucking glaring that I completely lost touch with who I was.

How could this happen??? To me!? Not freaking likely. I was too smart to get myself into a situation like this. Too “intuitive” if you will. But there was another part of me that had always lingered around, causing problems, showing it’s face....I tried too damn hard. A people pleaser to the core and this my friends, is never a good thing. It’s a defect through and through and it almost cost me my life. Made me trust too easily. Who knows, if not for this maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe it’s exactly why I am that way. Maybe I was meant for this...this was my purpose. Because if not for my trust that night he would still be out there. Raping and killing innocent women. So maybe.

Chapter 3 •••The Way It Was

Pretty sure I’m not alone when I fall victim to that feeling. You know which one I mean. It’s warm, it’s intoxicating...maybe even addictive, and only one thing, one single action, could possibly give it to you. Helping people.

I totally hear your thoughts. You’re quietly asking me if maybe I’m being too analytical? Possibly. But as adults in 2021 I think we can all agree that what we think we know...maybe we don’t. The world has changed, and I don’t know about you, but I didn’t even notice until I was totally screwed.

For the readers in their mid-late 30’s or older, and who knows maybe even some of the 20’s, I want you to do something with me. Think back to your childhood, maybe about the age of 10 or 11 or whichever gives you a warm feeling. Find a fun summer memory with your friends, one without worry or fear. Without the need for cell phones to call Mom or Dad for a “safety check-in”. Maybe you were out riding bikes all day or walking the train tracks, playing games with friends, tubing down the river...you know, all of those fun things that we did before electronics. Before extreme fear of humanity.

Now look at our youth today. WTF.

I used to leave home on a summer morning early. Play with my friends all day long, right till the sun had set. I had a great mom who loved me and it was expected of me to check in periodically so I did..as most kids back then. Now I’m not saying that crime did not exist. That would be absurd. However, nobody could honestly say that our kids are growing up the same as we did. As carefree. As worry free. As safely.

Our fear of humanity has grown so large, and so revolting, that it’s almost easy to say, “Sure, you can sit on that tablet all day long while I’m at work, because at the end of the day..you’re safer at home.” At home, the serial killers, kidnappers, and rapists cannot get you. When these crimes took place in my childhood, people felt widespread shock. It was so incredibly shocking and disturbing that it would remain a topic for months. Now, most don’t even hit the news. Now maybe I’m freaking nuts...probably.. but chew on this for a minute.

Our real Global Pandemic is the fact that humanity has become numb to the horror caused by humanity.

Now I ask you again, am I being too analytical? Do you still help others as freely as you used to? Or are you colder now? More careful?

When I agreed to give a ride home to a happily married co-worker, who had three beautiful children, I had no idea that helping him would cause me to view our lives on this planet so differently. I suppose coming face to face with a successful serial rapist will do that to you. Especially when your so called “amazing intuition” was so wrong.

Now I don’t want you to think that I am absolving this man of his crimes against me and other women. I am not claiming full responsibility for what he did to me simply because I chose to give him a ride home that night. But I have learned that where there is resentment, the best way to find acceptance, and maybe one day even forgiveness, is to find your part.

Just a tiny one...a little piece of the puzzle.

Then you own the fuck out of it.

Chapter 4 ••• The World is F-ing Sick

When I was a girl, a friend who was very close to me, with my exact age of 11, and even shared my name, was murdered. It was violent, twisted, disturbing, and not only shocked our little town but literally shocked the world. Who could possibly have the evil inside of them to actually do these things to this beautiful little girl. This child. Someone’s baby.

It changed our parents.

It changed my Mom, my Dad, my Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, my Friends.

It certainly changed our Freedom. I didn’t know it then, but that day was sort of the beginning. The beginning to the end of life as I knew it. The new somber truth about my surroundings.

The world is F-ing Sick.

Obviously at the age of 29, when I was violently attacked so many years later, I knew this. Between the ages of 11 and 29 I had witnessed disgusting crimes completely lacking in humanity, both personally and as a seemingly unaffected bystander in front of the News Report on TV. I had become too numb like the rest of the world, and less shocked by things that had become all too common. But am I alone when I admit that never in a million years, definitely not in this lifetime, did I think it would or could happen to me?

We watch fictional movies all the time that show us what I’m talking about. Literally what I went through. But it’s not real. We hear about it in the news, and sure it’s sad. Sure, it hurts. But then we turn it off and go to work and forget. Not ever imagining that the horror we just heard of could ever become our personal fate.

I guess that’s the best way I can describe what it felt like in that moment. The moment when I realized that I was going to die. But how could it be? This just doesn’t happen to people like me.

It couldn’t. It wouldn’t.

But it wasn’t a maybe. It was a fact. I quickly understood that if I didn’t do something big...something huge and strong and smart...that I was going to be raped and murdered.

I knew it.

He knew it.

The way that he planned it so thoughtfully and carried it out with near perfection told me that. He had no intention of me going home to my daughter that night, who laid peacefully sleeping in her bed. I was not to be a Mother anymore, a Daughter or a Sister. He would be questioned, and simply say, “Sorry Officer, I haven’t seen Jessica since she dropped me off at home last night after work.” His wife even knew I was driving him home. It was planned. He thought he had crossed all of his T’s...dotted all of his I’s. But he failed to consider one thing.

A Mother’s Love for her Kids.

The Instinct that only a Mom can have. To be there for her children and protect them. I had to escape. I refused to leave this Earth while my little girl laid sleeping, only for her to wake up wondering where Mommy was and why wasn’t she home. Ever again.

Hannah doesn’t know this, as she is only 12. I have never openly discussed specific details of this night with her.

But she saved my Life.

Like I said, my Life is a Miracle, my survival unexplainable, but if I had to place tangible credit...it would be her. In my head I repeated over an over, “I will not let her wake up without a Mom. I will not let her wake up without a Mom.” Almost like a Mantra. She kept me fighting all the way to the 911 call that I made. All the way to her.

Chapter Five•• Fight, Flight, or Flee?

I never understood the term “Fight or Flight.” Yes, in theory, I understood what it meant. But when I thought of situations where it could be relevant, to me, “flight” sounded like, Escape! Run! Survive! Which was also a sort of Fight. Now I’m not a Trauma Therapist, not even close. I don’t claim to have a huge armoury filled with knowledge on Trauma. But I’ve lived it. Experienced it first hand. The word “Flight” means something else now. When Law Enforcement made the very first connection to another victim, and I heard her story, I thought that she had Fled, and I had Fought.

Two weeks prior to being held captive, sexually assaulted and beaten in my car, there was an encounter at a local bar between two strangers. A ride was offered, and given. Now I don’t want to unintentionally give you any false information here so I am going to keep the details minimal. She deserves that. She deserves that respect. Because when I say that she Fled when I Fought, I am not saying that she doesn’t possess strength and resilience. This woman is still here today, doing the best she can, and after what she’s been through, that’s strong as hell. But our stories are different. They have different endings...for different reasons. And although hers is not mine to tell, I’m going to tell you a little. So that you get it. So that you truly understand.

All I can tell you is that something wrapped around her neck and strangled her. Like me. Fists were driven into her face violently. Like me. A knife was pressed against the tender skin on her neck. Just like me. And his hand was between her thighs. Like it was mine. But that’s where the similarities end people. That’s as far as I can confidently relate. Because when his breath was hot on our faces, and he whispered in our ears, “Drive. Drive somewhere isolated.....Now.” .....we didn’t make the same Choice.

Actually, scratch that. Choice isn’t the right word. We did not have the same Reaction.

I can’t tell you for sure the reason why she drove to an isolated park, and I didn’t. Why she did what this Monster told her to do, and I didn’t. Why I sneakily drove to my own home just blocks away from where my attack begun and slammed on my horn to create a disturbance and escape. Why I shoved my thumb into his eye and landed my elbow firmly between his legs. Why even as he held a knife in his hand that with one swift swipe to my neck could end my life, that I decided to do this...but she didn’t. I’ve already expressed that I partly owe it to being a Mother, however I do not know if she is one...so I really can’t comment on that theory for her or it’s relivency in her story.

I can only give you my personal opinion based on no actual facts whatsoever, only my thoughts..and that’s all. Which is that she might have been thinking if she did what she was told, did not struggle and gave him what he clearly wanted that he would let her go. If she just fled her body and let it happen, just drift away and wait for it to be done, that maybe this night would end with her life still intact.

I don’t know specifics of her escape, but I do know it was an escape. He intended to kill her...and she got away. But first, he raped her. For hours. This was supposed to be my fate as well. Although it ultimately was not, I feel so much pain for her, simply for knowing what it feels like to have someone intend to violate you in that way. Still, I could never understand what she went through, and I think of her often and how strong she must be today to be still standing. Probably a Brick Shithouse of resilience, because that’s the vibe she gave me when I was lucky enough to meet her in person. We didn’t know each other. We were completely different and from different backgrounds. But just one lock of eyes and we had a bond that nobody will ever come to comprehend. Ever.

I really want to mention a key component in her personal story of recovery and I know that she would approve. Because it’s Badass...and that’s who she is :) She chose to legally remove the Publication Ban that was put in place for her protection. Our protection. So that the reporters could not release our names in connection to this man and his crimes. You will still to this day not find my name publicly written anywhere in regards to this event. Although I will not be telling you her name, it is public. Because she chose for it to be. She went on camera, on live news and she bravely told her story. Showed her face and said, “This is what happened to me and this is who did it and it is NOT okay!” Holy Crap I thought. That is Strength. That is Fight. We didn’t fight the same way or at the same time, but she fought too. Boy did she ever.

Chapter Six••• What Now?

So, remember how I said that I wasn’t always this pinnacle of empowerment? Let’s get back to that for a moment because I think it’s important not to give you false impressions here. I don’t want anyone to think that I am depicting the “correct” behavioural response to trauma or conditions it causes, such as PTSD. Because there isn’t one. Not even in the slightest. Everyone responds to the many different faces of trauma in a different way. Right or weong does not live here.

However, what I am saying is that I personally believe there comes a day in every afflicted persons life, when a choice is presented to them. I have no idea what instigates this Choice. It’s probably different for everyone. For me, it was the sudden realization that I did not fight to live, literally fight for my life, just to wither away and die as a victim. I did not scratch and claw and tear my way away from this Monster so that I could spend my remaining days hiding afraid in the shadows, defeated. I did not fight for control, just to give it back to him willingly, and let him rule my future. I had to remember my mission that night. It was to freaking live. To be a good Mom.

Today, upon the process of writing this, I realized that I wanted another purpose. I want to empower other survivors of Trauma, no matter what form it came in. I want to tell You that there is never going to be an excuse, reason or justification for what happened to You, but if you have the courage to look really deep within yourself, down far into your rabbit hole, that you might find Purpose. I believe my Purpose was to fight hard. To make sure that his torture of innocent women ended with me. This is why I am no longer a Victim...but a Soldier. I am strong. I survived. I found my Purpose.

I hope it happens to you too.

Much Love & Healing,

Jessica Rae