Background: My friends and I are reading Brave by Rose McGowan for this month’s book club. It is alot to digest and it brings alot of memories to mind. Let me just say that these next few posts may be controversial at times and triggering at others. You do not need to read the book to understand these posts but there might be spoilers.
The first time I was sexually violated I was fourteen and in the high school auditorium. I have talked about this incident so much that I just say “the auditorium” and everybody knows what I’m talking about. At the time I didn’t tell anyone who could help me, though. I didn’t tell my parents or my teachers or the police, even though another girl later told me the guy had a criminal record for assaulting a girl younger than myself (he was several years older than me).
Trauma is funny. I remember certain things like they are etched into my underage body. I was wearing a gray shirt with extensive beading along the collar. The shirt was low cut. The shirt was low cut. The shirt was low cut. Would everything have changed if I just wore a different shirt? I was wearing leggings. They were sheer, silver, clingy, hugging my ass. Would everything have changed if I just wore different pants?
I don’t think I gave any indication I wanted his hands on me because he was dating one of my friends and because he kind of made me uncomfortable. When he grabbed me from behind I tensed immediately then relaxed because in my naive mind I thought it was a hug from behind. Boys were always touching me or at least trying to. It was like I was the moon and they were astronauts trying to stake their claim. I chalked it up to me having big boobs and not senior boys preying on a small eighth grader.
My attacker started his assault on my body. He was talking to me about how nice my boobs were as he invaded my clothes and I was frozen there. I often read about “fight or flight”. Finally, I read about “freeze”. That was me. I froze. When he ran his hands between my legs it felt good and I felt confused. Why did that feel good? This was a bad thing. I felt so guilty about that brief feeling of pleasure. When my friend walked in on us he released me immediately and left me there.
That was my first introduction to the world of sex. Its confusing enough even when there is consent. I won’t lie; it messed me up. I became very promiscuous. I started lying to my parents. I flew into a suicidal depression. Was I brave? Are all victims brave? I don’t know. All I know is even after other assaults, i carry about a small piece of that fourteen year old girl carrying the paint jar wishing it was a hug, only a hug.
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