D.C.......8/13/2011....

so, I had the privilege of participating in SlutWalk D.C. 2011 yesterday....and while I really didnt dress up like that much of a slut, I DID make a poster that read " Rather than teach Don't get raped, Teach DONT RAPE!", and I marched with thousands of women in the hopes of ending victim shaming. SlutWalk, for those who are unfamiliar with it, was started when a Toronto police offer was addressing a group of young women, and told them that if they didn't dress like "sluts", they wouldn't get raped. SlutWalk is out to inform folks that it doesn't matter who you are, what your gender, sexual preference, or WHAT YOU ARE WEARING, sexual violence is NOT OK!!!!

I also had the honor of speaking at this event, and as I was about to take the podium, it began to POUR down rain!!! Luckily, the SlutWalkers wer a tough bunch, and stuck out the rain....I had a hard time getting out my speech,--fumbling over my words, and getting choked up, but, when I did, the crowd cheered and clapped and yelled for me in the vibe of encouragement, and it was SO heart warming, and really encouraged me to get through it. I exited stage right, cried on my husband's shoulder, and found many young women coming over and hugging me, telling me "thank you" for my speech, and that it meant alot to them....it was one of the proudest moments of my life....that I had actually DONE something...just...WOW...thats all that I can really say.

Here is my SlutWalk speech:

"I know that many of you here today are much like myself—you too have a story of surviving sexual assault, and enduring not just the crime itself, but the hell that comes with it. I know that we are all here for the same cause—to stand up and tell the world that Rape is never deserved—and that not acceptable to blame the victim—no matter what we wear, who we are, or what we do, there is never an excuse for sexual violence.

 I had never thought about rape before it happened to me—I had never had a conversation about it in school, with my friends or family, or really ever even had it cross my mind—I was just a regular 14-year-old girl. It was my freshman year of high school, and I was like every other teenager—learning a new school, and dealing with the already awkwardness, anxieties, and feelings of inadequacies that come with that age. But, as fate would have it, I would stick out more from my peers for what I would endure. In early spring of 1996, I was raped by a classmate and friend of mine.

Within a week or so of the incident, it was all over the school, and students had seemed to choose which side they would be on—whether they had believed what had happened to me, or that I was a liar, only trying to cover up that I had lost my virginity and regretted it. I was tormented by other students, spit at, cursed in the hallways, and also, stalked by my teenaged attacker. I had to changed schools to a nearby county high school, to get away from the torture from the other kids, and also, to get away from my attacker.

While leaving my hell behind me, I was also leaving my sister, and all of my friends, and going to a place where I knew no one, and was afraid daily. I eventually made friends, and adjusted to my new school, but never got used to being forced to leave all that I knew when I was the one who had been hurt—I was the victim, not the rapist. I suffered these wounds internally, as my family found it hard to see me in pain over this, to see my cry, and it hurt them to talk about it, so, I shut it away, and learned to carry on—to live like it was far behind me—like so many others.

But, years went by, and time gradually healed these wounds, and I made peace with it as much as I could, if only so that it wouldn’t hurt as much. I grew up, and became a vibrant young woman, full of life—I was enthusiastic about my budding career, spent time with great friends, had lots of fun trying all kinds of new things, and I was just eager about my future.

A few years ago, in the chilly days of January, 2008, I had met a man through a co-worker, and we had all agreed to meet up later that evening and have dinner together. He was so very charming and handsome, smart, witty, and quiet funny, that I never saw it coming.

My co-worker had seemed to have been fawning over him all night, and as the night wound down, we finished our wine, and seemed like we were all going to part ways, he invited back to his place, and I agreed, as it was a short walk, and I was enjoying the conversation. The rest of the night was so much a blur, and more fragments of a nightmare. Only years later had I realized that something had been slipped into my drink that night. I don’t know what happened after the restaurant—I remember agreeing to go to his place to talk, but so little until I had woken up, and he was strangling, and raping me.

I remember looking at the clock, seeing the time, and thinking “This is my time of death”…..I tried to fight, but was no match. I thought that because I had been through this before, that there was NO way this was happening again—that I was dreaming—that it couldn’t be real. How could this happen to somebody TWICE??!!! But, it did. It was real. That night, I had been brutalized in every way imaginable. By morning light, time seemed to have stopped, as I went into work, wearing the same clothes from the night before, trying to hide the bruises and marks. I couldn’t get my head around what had happened, and hid it for quite some time. Until the day came that it all crashed down around me. Anxiety, the paranoia that he would find me again, fear of people and crowds, the night terrors, insomnia, depression, a sense of complete detachment from everyone—I fell apart. I began drinking heavily as a means to stop the anxiety—an emotion I had never experienced before, and was not equipped to handle. The drinking became more frequent, and heavier, and I knew that I had to talk to someone.

A few months went by, and I managed to get in to see a public psychologist, who ultimately saved my life. At the time, I blamed myself constantly for what had happened—how I should have known better—I had been through this before, and should have seen this coming—I should have seen the signs. How did I not see the evil in this person? When did the drug go into my drink? Why did I not know? My therapist gave me the tools to cope with this internal destruction, and to learn how to start living as a new person—as a survivor. I could never be who I was before this happened, but, I could learn who I was after.

I was afraid to go to the police because I thought that they wouldn’t believe me. And unfortunately for me, I was right. Everything they asked me seemed to find out how I had allowed this to happen. How much did you have to drink? How well did you know this man? What were you wearing? This last question made me want to explode. I replied the truth—blue jeans, and purple long-sleeved shirt, and boots. He repeated the question, asking me to describe in further detail. I told him that I could have gone to dinner naked, it shouldn’t matter, that this man had no right to have done what he did to me. The whole experience with law enforcement was just deflating. I was never taken seriously, and nothing ever became of it.

But, I am SO proud to be here today, to stand up with those who are willing to defend victims and survivors of Rape. To tell the world that rape is NEVER deserved. That no matter what we wear, who we are, or what we do, there is never an excuse or a reason for sexual violence."

 
Me with my sign held high, marching proudly

 
Me giving my speech