and i’m doing my best PART 2
There’s a whole lot of other things that happened. Like the time I was gang raped at a party and no one helped me.
Me and my “friends” were at a party with people we hardly knew, but that didn’t matter as long as we were getting drunk and high, and when I engaged with two guys who I didn’t even find attractive, but for some stupid ass reason, we started joking around about a blow job contest, my dumb ass decided I wanted to prove to them that I was good at giving them.
We went to the backyard, and I began to … you know, do THAT with them …
The next thing I remember, I was on my knees in the back of a darkened room with a bunch of dark shadows standing over me, surrounding me …
Shouting and laughing, doing terrible things to me.
I was extremely drunk, and I had smoked some weed … but shit, that’s what we would always do at parties. But this was different.
We didn’t even know most of the guys there, but we were all just wanting to get fucked up.
And I know that I was flirting with the two guys at the table – and I remember we were all kind of joking around and the subject of blowjobs came up. And, I don’t know why, but I just said that I was good at them.
And then they started telling me to prove it, and I was hesitant. Neither of these guys were attractive to me. But they kept on insisting – and I was already so drunk …
And – this is where I think I realize why it happened.
It’s just – it fucking sucks to admit this, but I was willing to give them head, just to show them that I could do it, and I was good at it.
How FUCKED is that?
And if THAT had been the only thing that happened, that I gave two random guys a blowjob, then whatever.
I never … NEVER would have been willing to do what happened to me next.
And I can only remember bits and pieces. But from the very beginning I know that I didn’t want the rest of them.
I must have blacked out, or something, because the next thing I remember happening was that I couldn’t breathe. And there was a lot of shouting and laughing around me.
Finally, someone said “Give her a break! She can’t breathe!”
Not “STOP” or “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO HER?!”
No.
They let me catch my breath. And in this moment I just remember being so out of it, I had no idea what was going on, but I remember feeling terrified.
I was sitting on the ground with so many people … so many … things around me. I had no idea how I got to that point.
But I remember the laughing, and joking. Hah. Funny, because sometimes when I get really emotional about all of this, or feel like I wish I could have done something … I think of my favorite characters. Like Joker, or Goku and Vegeta from Dragonball Z.
I start visualizing a similar scenario, only this time, my heroes come to save me.
But, I’ve realized now, that even when I wasn’t aware of the connections between my stories and what had happened, my mind was subconsciously using them as a way to help me process everything.
I mean, I didn’t know how to process it, right when it was happening, not even the next day.
I woke up and took a shower, and started wondering why my throat hurt so much. My sinuses were fine, so I didn’t have a cold. I also felt sore on my arms and legs, and I don’t remember feeling pain in my.….
That’s when it hit me, and I remembered everything that had just happened.
But I had no idea what was the right thing to do next, not to mention I was still in shock. I was still in disbelief. Trying to make sense of something that had no sense at all. I thought it was all my fault. I felt so fucking stupid. So gross. So ashamed.
I didn’t know who to trust or who would be the right person to talk to.
Yeah, I know that you’re supposed to go to the police and report it ASAP.
But how?
How can you go there and tell them that your entire body has been vilified and used to the worst extent. How could you explain this to your religious parents, who believed that sex before marriage was a sin? How could you convince your friends that no, you weren’t a whore, you absolutely didn’t want this, when you knew they were already telling everyone in school about it.
And then – at your WEAKEST moment – your ex boyfriend (your first one, different from the asshat who cheated, he happened later. No, this one, he was your first true love. Your high school romance.) He reaches out to you. Asks you if you’re okay.
And then he asks you if you wanted it that night.
And you break down and you start telling him to go burn in hell if that’s what he really thinks.
Meanwhile, your chest continues to collapse into itself. You lose all feeling of love, or hope.
You say “you know what?! FUCK YOU!” to everyone who’s stolen your sense of self. Maybe you were better off alone.
AND THEN.
To top it all off, and put the icing on the MOTHER FUCKING CAKE!
You’re ex offers to come over, to help “calm you down.”
He does so, and the two of you talk about what happened and you’re so overwhelmed with emotions.
You’re thinking that he came over because he still loves you. That maybe you can work things out and start over again. After all, he was your ‘first love’ in high school.
The two of you eventually end up having sex, and it feels so good. So different than what happened to you earlier. You feel wanted again, like you weren’t a mistake. You weren’t damaged or broken.
And as the two of you lie next to each other in bed, you find the courage to ask him what all of this means, and if he wanted to be with you again.
You’re excited, trying not to be too hopeful. Maybe you guys can just start things slow again.
And then, he shatters your heart to pieces. Telling you that he was interested in another girl. A friend of yours. But that the two of you could still be friends.
And you realize: He had no intention of coming to help you feel better. Or even just for a shoulder to cry on.
No.
He literally just used you for a quick fuck. And nothing more.
The following weeks, rumors spread about you and about that party. The narrative is so wrong and so biased but what would you expect when hardly anyone asked you for your opinion on your own damned sexual assault.
No.
The majority of them just laughed and joked about it. Called you a slut. Said you deserved it.
A few true friends knew what really happened but, they didn’t know how to help you.
And by the time your mom found out, which was after she saw a drawing you’d made of a girl collapse on the floor, her pants lying next to her on the floor as she pulled her hair and cried. Surrounding her were shadowed silhouettes of the monsters who did this to her …
By the time your mom found that drawing and asked you if that’s what happened to you, you’d already convinced yourself that it was your fault. And you didn’t want anyone else to know.
Yeah. By that time. You’d already started trying to deny that it even happened.
And for over a decade, your mind convinced you that it wasn’t that big of a deal. That you could just ignore it and get over it.
But you were wrong.
That traumatic event has been subconsciously affecting your life for so long.
It’s time to stop hiding it. You need to figure out a way to get it out of your subconscious. Get it out of the darkened corners of your mind.
It has to be defeated.
It can no longer hold so much power over you.
So shine a light on it.
Unleash it.
Get it out there into the open.
And squash that mother fucker like the scum that it is.
continued 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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