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Trying to Overcome Being a Victim

My Story

By Sidney PoulterPublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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Form a young, vulnerable age, girls are told what to wear and what not to wear. Girls are expected to be covered up but too much, or we are prude. Our brothers have less rules and later curfews than us. At school females are not to show our shoulders, they will cause a distraction for the boys. Our thighs are not to be seen or we are "whores." As women grow older, we are taught that “boys will be boys” and “men only want one thing,” so it’s our fault if we give off the "wrong sign" and we end up being a "tease."

Growing up, my mom died at young age and I was raised by father. My Dad had always taught me different from others point of views on boys and girls. He would always tell me that if boys touch me without my consent to fight and make sure that he pays for it, because boys will not be boys. Though my father did use the saying that “boys only want one thing,’’ that does not mean that they get what they want unless I’m ready to give. I was raised on girls are goddesses and men must earn our body and they must respect women. But once I entered womenhood, everything changed. Not only were boys noticing me for my looks in good ways, they became bad ways too. Boys didn’t respect my body. They respected the way I so easily trusted them into letting them have my body.

I got into partying with friends in high school. Surrounded by friends I eat myself go and would drink all night trusting I’d make it home every night unharmed except the typical hangover. And it worked for the first three years of high school.

My story is not the news worthy kind. No one cared what happened except my family. No one believes the "party girl" or the "fat one." Which was what was said to me and about me from my "friends" from school, the people whom I’d always had their back no matter what. My reputation was now severed for my senior year of high school and in the town. From dirty looks, threats to physical bullying, wasn’t the worst of it. I was forced to go to school everyday with my rapist. No, not a guy who got drunk with me and had drunken sex and then I later regretted it. My rapist.

I won’t begin the night by giving every detail before hand, but I will just jump in to the horrific pain that I experienced.

Like any other night during the summer before senior year I was invited to drink and hang with some friends. I accepted and got my hands on some drinks. I was greeted by "him" and his friends. His sister was supposed to be there but wouldn’t answer her phone, I was stuck with "him." Knowing there were no girls around I had only planned on drinking a little bit and then leaving, but plans never really go the right way. He sent his friends away and began to force me to drink the whole bottle of vodka. I still remember the taste and smell. I tried to call for a ride but "he" took my phone away made me drink until I could barley walk. Taking me to a secluded area, he pulled his pants down and began forcing me to perform sexual favors. Once it was over I thought he was done. Only it was just the beginning for "him" and I. He pushed me to my knees and made do so again only this time he stood me back up, turned me around, and pushed me to hands and knees. I will spare the details for the this part, but can only guess what "he" did. Pulling up my pants for me, "he" left me there, in the dark. I had no idea where I was. Crawling to the nearest street light I called my sister. Yelling in pain she finally found me, once I saw her, I blacked out waking up in the hospital with cops and police around me. Nurses were examining my facial bruises and making sure that I wasn’t in pain.

Once the alcohol had cleared from me, I was taken to white room with two friendly faces. They welcomed me to cold metal table after the stripped my of my messy clothes. They gave me a blanket and told me to relax. A big camera pointed in to my tired, bruised legs while I laid swollen, and as fragile as a human could. I was sent home and told the police would contact me once they “thought” they had a case. “Thought”? Is what kept telling myself over again. How could they not? My body was enough evidence, I thought.

It was silence for a few months. He was free while I couldn’t sleep in the dark, be home alone, look myself in the mirror, or even keep myself from feeling disgusted with every shower. Every time I slept "he" was in my nightmares showing me that night over and over again. While I was left to deal with the PTSD and panic attacks. Many months and only two court hearings. "He" got a plea deal and only a small time in jail. To me it was a cold, stinging slap in the face. That I have a whole lifetime of physical and mental pain from "him," be only a few years "he" has to serve.

A year later now and I’ve moved towns and severed relationships. I still have a piece of ME missing that I will never find or get back, and my voice unheard. I hope that this reaches someone like myself and gives you hope that you are not alone and there are others out there that can be there for you. And I want to be there for you.

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