‘it’s nice to make a story where she gets saved in the end’

and i’m doing my best   PART 3

It’s still weird to me that it took al­most 14 years for me to fi­nal­ly be okay with telling my sto­ry. To think that I was only 16 at the time it hap­pened, well … that just shows how this kind of thing can fuck some­one up.

But the strange thing was, there were YEARS that went by where I just shrugged it off. And I act­ed like it nev­er even hap­pened. Even when I thought about it though, for some rea­son, it didn’t up­set me.

But I re­al­ize now that it’s only be­cause I was forc­ing my­self not to even ac­cept that it did in fact happen.

I re­mem­ber watch­ing Law & Or­der: Spe­cial Vic­tims Unit. It be­came one of my fa­vorite shows.

I’m pret­ty sure I’d watched it be­fore my at­tack, but af­ter, it was some­thing I’d watch for hours on end. Some­times I’d even watch the re­peats, rather than see­ing if there was any­thing dif­fer­ent on. You’d think that would have been a hint that I should prob­a­bly seek help.

And I did go to ther­a­py even­tu­al­ly, but it was a group thing, and I nev­er kept up with it. Af­ter a few months, I just quit go­ing. Look­ing back I know that was a bad idea, but at the time I was just so shut off about the whole thing that I just didn’t want to talk about it, AT ALL.

And be­fore I for­get, my mom did seek le­gal ad­vice, but they said noth­ing could be done with­out my con­sent, and I just want­ed to for­get about all of it. So we nev­er did.

But … what good would that have done any­way? I didn’t even know the names of these guys! Not to men­tion I al­ready knew that half the school thought I had want­ed it. How was I go­ing to be able to ex­plain myself?

Though, a bet­ter ques­tion would be: Why should I have had to?

Why is so much of the pres­sure put on the vic­tim when they are in their ut­most vul­ner­a­ble moment?

I know it doesn’t make sense … it’s just …

I guess what I’m try­ing to say is … why didn’t my friends do any­thing to help me? Why didn’t any of them speak out on my behalf?

Did they re­al­ly all just ac­cept the fact that I had want­ed to be fucked while I was un­con­scious?! Is that how lit­tle they ever thought about me?

Hah. Well, screw those fuck­ers. They can all burn in hell with my rapists for all I care.

Uh oh, did I of­fend some­one? Was I not sup­posed to say that? TOO BAD.

I’ve had to live with this hor­ror for al­most half of my life.

 

It has af­fect­ed me in more ways than I can even de­scribe. It changed me. That night, Kait­lyn died. The hap­py, care­free, trust­ing and loy­al girl that only want­ed to be­long to a group of peo­ple who cared about her and ac­cept­ed her crum­bled to ash­es on that cum stained mattress.

I re­al­ized that night that you can nev­er trust any­one out­side of your fam­i­ly, and that’s only if you got a family.

 

No. Peo­ple are shit. At least the vast ma­jor­i­ty of us are. Maybe that’s an­oth­er rea­son why I pulled away from the real world and start­ed to ‘in­ter­act’ with my fa­vorite char­ac­ters more.

At least I knew I could trust them.

And if you want to laugh at me then go ahead, do it. Prove to me that you’re an­oth­er shit­head that judges oth­er peo­ple be­cause you’re too in­se­cure of your own im­per­fec­tions. That’s on you, booboo.

Any­way, what was I say­ing? OH YEAH!

So get this. I’ve al­ways been a pret­ty cre­ative person.

Heck, I was writ­ing pic­ture books even be­fore I knew HOW to write! Okay well, my mom would be the one writ­ing, but I was the one who drew the pic­tures and then told her how to cap­tion them! It was ac­tu­al­ly pret­ty cool.

And I’ve al­ways loved to draw char­ac­ters! Some­times my own, and some­times the char­ac­ters from my fa­vorite shows! In fact, I even got a T‑shirt de­sign sold at Hot Top­ic for a while, now THAT was a doozy!

 

But yeah. I was pret­ty good at com­ing up with sto­ries, mak­ing my own char­ac­ters, or act­ing like my fa­vorite characters.

So it wasn’t long be­fore I was writ­ing small fanfics about In­vad­er Zim or Drag­onball Z. Some­times I’d even in­sert my own orig­i­nal char­ac­ters into the sto­ries as well.

And that’s where it all started.

I hadn’t even in­tend­ed for it to hap­pen but, pret­ty soon I was writ­ing about my rape, only … it was dis­guised as a fic­tion­al story.

The girl be­ing at­tacked wasn’t me, but she was a ver­sion of me. Ba­si­cal­ly what I would be like if I was in Drag­onball Z. And I would write these sto­ries over and over … where she’s hang­ing out with Goku af­ter they’d been train­ing, and they get am­bushed, and … well … yeah.

The scenes would go one of two ways. Ei­ther Goku, or oth­er char­ac­ters would be forced to watch as she was bru­tal­ly at­tacked, and they couldn’t do any­thing to save her. Fi­nal­ly, when it was all over, they would rush to her and just … com­fort her. They would tell her she was okay. They would apol­o­gize over and over for not be­ing able to stop it from happening.

Or the oth­er sce­nario was where she’d be alone, and then Goku or Veg­e­ta, or Jok­er would come in and save her.

I would write those over and over. Some­times I still do. It’s just … it’s com­fort­ing. In a sick, twist­ed way. It’s nice to make a sto­ry where she gets saved in the end.

So yeah. To you, it might be weird. But for me, it was a form of therapy.

My fa­vorite char­ac­ters have been there for me, sav­ing me and pro­tect­ing me through­out my en­tire life.

Re­cent­ly, they’ve helped me get through the griev­ing process af­ter los­ing my two dogs. My two best friends.

But I’ll save that for an­oth­er post.

concluded next monday —

 

—kait­lyn­jane

Flom­mist KAiT­LYN­jane has been draw­ing and writ­ing sto­ries ever since she knew how to scrib­ble on a piece of pa­per, or her sister’s fore­head when she was just two weeks old. Copy­right © 2020 KAiTLYNjane.

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