WhatWentWong.com

TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains information about sexual assault and/or violence which may be triggering for some individuals. 

I’ll never forget the day I checked myself into women’s trauma treatment.

I went alone.

The receptionist told me to pour myself some coffee and take a seat, “the nurse will be right with you, dear.” That cup of coffee tasted so bitter that morning. It’s as if they knew how he tasted and put it in my cup. To remind me that he will always infiltrate even the smallest parts of my life. Things went in slow motion after that first sip.

sip

The coffee goes down slowly, burning as it travels down my throat. I can hear my “friend” as she tells me I “must be mistaken about what happened” and “he’s not that kind of guy.” “Clearly you misunderstood the situation, Nat. You obviously liked him… You must have wanted something.” I think about leaving the waiting room before it’s too late… before I’m in too deep. Maybe I can slip away, like a lost ship in the night. Maybe this was a mistake.

sip

The burn is less painful this time as the coffee goes down. I think about the call I made to my friend Connor at 1am the week after. I remember the word “rape” slipping out of his mouth like Jello as I cried on the phone. I can still feel how cold the floor was beneath me as I sat in the back hallway for no one to hear. I feel trapped in this waiting room seat.

sip

I think about the coffee drank to fill days that succeeded sleepless nights. The held breaths that followed. The call to the help line at 5pm on a Sunday. The way the attendant acted like it was something she heard often. As if my situation were…. normal.

I stand up to run, but my legs have forgotten what they are for.

A nurse calls my name and I am led to a small office a few steps away. Demographic information is collected first. I don’t know whether or not to refer to myself as a student anymore–I guess he took that from me too. Once more I am asked to share my story. “What trauma have you experienced that makes you eligible for this program?” I avoid eye contact and the word “rape” slips through my lips in a whisper. The nurse shakes her head and lets out a loud sigh. “Did you know your assailant?” The whole world has turned blurry. I nod. “…best friends.” comes out in a sore tone. I try to blink back the tears that are forming as the nurse writes down my answers and hope she doesn’t notice. She thanks me for taking the time to come in and lets me know another nurse will be in soon.

The second nurse comes in. She takes a deep breath and sits down across from me.

“Hi Natalie. I’m here to talk to you about your lived experience. I want to confirm with you that you know what happened to you is a crime. You know that, right?”

I nod quietly; I blink back tears harder. 

“The person who did this to you… He’s a criminal. You know that, right?”

I shrug and continue avoiding eye contact. 

“No, Natalie. Your assailant is a criminal. He could go to jail. You could file criminal charges against him. None of this is your fault.” 

The flood gates have opened. The tears have arrived, and I can’t remember the last time I took a breath. I gasp for air. I am drowning on solid land; is this how I am going to feel for the rest of my life?

“I know,” I say shamefully, “It’s just complicated.”

“I’m sure it feels that way,” She responds, “but you have to understand that what he did was a crime. You cannot blame yourself because of what he did. Assault is a crime. He is a criminal. I promise you it is not as complicated as you think.”

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That statement was sobering–shattering, even. For the first time in my life, I erased the excuses I had made for him all this time and I transferred the blame I had carried on my shoulders to his. Doing this didn’t make my pain any less intense, and it certainly didn’t make my experience any less real, but it did take away the shame I had been carrying in my back pocket for the ten-months following the assault. I sat up straight for the first time in months. I looked her in the eye. I stopped drowning. The nurse had thrown me a life saver I didn’t know I needed.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I was able to escape the crime scene, pulled my head back above water, and attended treatment. I was able to shed my skin of victim, to reveal survivor.

I have spent months writing this blog post. I cannot begin to explain how terrifying it has been to see the politics of our country, and our world beyond, unfold. I lift up the women who have come forward; and I call in those who were/are surprised by any of this. We all know the statistics, but we never face the facts.

This time last year, I watched as my Facebook timeline filled itself with photos of my rapist at the 2017 Chicago Women’s March, standing with the people I loved, carrying a sign stating, “Men of Quality Don’t Fear Equality.” I still don’t know whether or not to laugh or lament over the disappointing irony. As I sit and reflect about my rapists presence in the 2017 march, I wonder what other monsters, rapists, and perpetrators will walk among us this year. These men are not simply monsters, they are criminals. A fact that too often slips through the cracks of our minds. I’m here to remind you all the way my nurse reminded me that day. If silence breakers didn’t come forward about Harvey Weinstein’s misconduct, he would’ve been dressed in black with the other Hollywood producers at the 2018 Golden Globes. A monster dressed up like he were the same as everyone else.

How can this epidemic be such a surprise to so many people?

“There are too many “werewolves[s] in sheep’s clothing … walking this earth pretending to be men.¹” I have lost the privilege to stay silent as our country becomes more and more of a battle ground regarding sexual assault. I have lost the privilege of feeling safe walking the Women’s March, now, hoping that the man behind me didn’t mean to graze my lower back. Which monsters were holding up feminist signs, claiming that they respect women, at the Women’s March this year? What monsters are still hiding in the shadows? When will light be shed on them? Why must I expose myself as a survivor to even begin to shine a light on my rapist? This year, I hope we seek justice and continue to fight. I hope we call out more assailants and say who they truly are: criminals. I hope we expose the identities of more perpetrators, and there are many. I lift up the silence breakers and the individuals who have fought thus far. But we still have so much work left to do.

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If you or a loved one has experienced sexual violence, or found any part of this post triggering, you are not alone. I am an avid believer and user of hotlines. It is confidential, free, and available at all hours of the day.

National Sexual Assault Hotline (24/7): 1(800)656-4673

National Sexual Assault Online “Hotline” (24/7): https://hotline.rainn.org/online/terms-of-service.jsp

Chicago Rape Victim Advocates (my favorite, 24/7): 1(888)293-2080

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In the tone of my post, I found it more appropriate to cite the quote I used down below:

¹ Rudy Francisco, “Monsters” – https://genius.com/Rudy-francisco-monster-annotated