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He Won Once. He Won't Win Again.
How do I come to terms with the fact that a man did not just shove himself into me? He did so much more. He shoved hatred into the deepest part of what is left of a broken soul. Four months later and every breath I take rattles. I pray that each breath will become the last but it never does. I am forced into a life I am not ready to live. Before he raped me I was someone. I felt like no matter what I was of some microscopic value. I hardly had my life figured out but now everything is fucked up for sure this time. He gets to go on and live a life free of panic attacks and suicidal thoughts. He gets to feel comfortable around his family. He gets to feel like someone believes him. I am made to feel like a fucking manic wreck which is exactly what I've come to be. I did not ask for this. I did not ask to bay at the moon with my soul shattering at my feet as if the sky could fix my sorrow. I did not ask to watch my nails bleed as I puncture the dirt with my fragile fingers searching for my normality. Liquor slides down my throat so smooth I could almost taste my freedom but it's sad when liquor is the only time I'm free. Only I'm not. I am a prisoner to his face. His spiked hair slicked up. I'd love to spit in his face only I'd never have the courage. A man broke me which is something I never wanted to say again. Only this time I think no man will ever have the chance to do so again. You see when he entered me that night my whole perspective changed. I no longer long for the sun to be against a diamond that compliments my finger. I no longer wonder what the kicks of my child will feel like in my womb. At this rate there is no point of me having a womb. I am no longer a woman. I am a statistic. Every 98 seconds a soul is shattered beyond belief. Only six out of a thousand of these monsters will sink behind the bars they so belong in. My heart screams for the me I was before my vagina repulsed me. My heart longs for the time I loved freely. My life is a movie. It's a horror film and I am the star. I am a monster fighting a monster. One out of every six women has been the victim of an attempted or a completed fucking rape. That is one too many. We are taught to “cover up” or “stop asking for it” when in reality if my nipple was a friend to the breeze no man should ever touch me without my consent. So many rapes go unreported because we are viewed as sluts who beg for a dick to be launched inside us against our will. A mini skirt is cause for a touch or a feel. When in reality, if I strip down to nothing with every intent of sleeping with a man, the minute I say no that is exactly what I mean. The night of my rape I said no a million times but those no's where silenced by the sound of my cries. When did he stop? When he was finished. When he was pleasured. Not once did he stop and think that what he was doing was the most vile thing any human could possibly do to another. My life is over. And I won't rest until the system evens the score.
By The Darkest Sunrise8 years ago in Viva
How Does This Grab You?
I have written and re-written … re-thought this article over and over again. I've been trying to figure out how to dive in and more importantly unravel the feelings that a man who crossed the line on a date caused. As a victim/survivor of sexual assault I don’t know if how I feel and felt about the moment he went in for a grab is a “normal” feeling. I feel a sense of frustration at not knowing how my reaction and feeling would have been different had I never been victimized; I guess I will have to tackle this article on two fronts.
By Marnie Grundman8 years ago in Viva
Ode to a Time When Justice Looks Different, We Listen to Women and Survivors, and Blackness Is Not Used as a Means to Support Serial Rapists. Top Story - April 2018.
All over social media, Cosby rape apologists are passionately decrying his conviction. It doesn’t seem to matter that he admitted to putting Quaaludes in the drinks of the 62 women he violated. He framed drugging the women in a cavalier manner because apparently everyone used to do ‘ludes in the 60s. You know, no big deal. He just forgot that really essential part of allowing the women to consent to drugs and sex before chemically rendering them immobile and unable to say yes or no. He even joked about slipping mickeys in women’s drinks in a 1969 comedy routine. He clearly felt an unquestioned entitlement to these women’s bodies. And somehow, the voices of 62 women are eclipsed to many by the perspectives of one powerful man who wanted to drug women and assault them, but not have any consequences for those actions.
By Richard Wright, MA8 years ago in Viva
Life After Rape
I remember when I used to feel normal and adequately balanced. There was a time where my life was at least partially decent. To be honest, right now I'm not exactly sure how I even get out of bed most days. I remember when my life seemed a lot less complicated. I didn't feel anything weighing me down at all. Now, every day I am held captive by the thoughts that ding inside my head like an obnoxious microwave of depression. I'm longing to be cool and pretty and happy. These days all of these things feel substantially out of my reach. Pain and shame have taken over what used to be a pretty okay me.
By The Darkest Sunrise8 years ago in Viva
Coffee & Crime
I couldn’t figure out where to place the million jumbled thoughts I have. They swarm in my head like bees that, unlike real ones, refuse to become endangered. One voice in my head told me to write poetry, the jagged kind that doesn’t have to make too much sense or rhyme. Another voice told me to write a book, but that requires telling more of what you would call the “story.”
By Clarisse Guevarra8 years ago in Viva
Unexpected Friendship Final Chapter
So yes, I went back. After all of that I went back. I was afraid of what life might be like if I left, afraid of what he might do. I stayed for another year and half. I went through more abuse, physical and emotional. The fights would get to the point of no return each time ending in me in tears and trying to leave but he would block my way out. I contemplated jumping off our three-story patio on more than one occasion just to escape him.
By RaeAnna Mercado8 years ago in Viva
