We Believe You: Survivors of Campus Sexual Assault Speak Out
Page 15
The display of forks on the Diag created by Fabiana and other students at the University of Michigan. (Fabiana is pictured with Jeremiah Whittington, who is now her fiancé.)
I’m trying to read Harry Potter. My fiancé got me a bunch of paints and a stand and I’ve been painting. It’s peaceful and quiet and that’s what I’ve started to do as self-care.
The picture of the first painting I did is one of my favorites. It’s peaceful, not too dark. It’s spring coming to life, new life, joyous. It’s also serene: you’re at peace, relaxed, no worries, nothing dark, nothing wrong, you’re just there, breathing.
Fabiana’s first painting
When I’m in places like the one in my painting, I can use all five senses. I can breathe the fresh air and smell it and I’m lying on the grass, looking at the sky, smelling the pine trees and the fresh air, and I see the beauty. My job and the work I do are always fast-paced, but painting calms me down and brings me back. My dad says, “When you’re about to have a panic attack just remember your five senses and that will bring you back to the present moment.”
Painting got me all excited about creating something, seeing how I can adapt it. It’s like creating a culture shift—you can change a painting whenever you want. If you don’t like it the next day, change it, add more detail. It’s not set in stone.
That’s how I see my life. It stopped for a moment, but it’s not over. When I’m reading a book and I see a semicolon, that’s what I identify with: “You’re a sentence, but it’s not done.” There’s still so much I want to do. So, to others, I say, “Take time for yourself and for self-care. Learn to love yourself again, and remember, your life may have come to a semicolon, but not a period.”
To my parents, sister, friends, and fiancé, who have been through this difficult journey with me—thank you.
ANONYMOUS XY
If I had to pick a favorite quote, it would be this one, by Albert Camus: “In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”
For a while, the family trauma was almost as bad as the rape trauma. It would hit me and I would cry—this full-body, convulsing thing. But now it’s better. I can talk about [my situation] pretty calmly.
Things would have been a lot worse if it weren’t for my sensei. Also, I had this friend back east—we’re identical twins, except he’s black and I’m Asian—who was great. Very nonjudgmental, supportive. And there was a guy who lived downstairs in our apartment building. One day I just confided in him. We’re getting married in a year. My parents are not invited to the wedding.
So on the one hand, I felt this intense loss and loneliness, like something was wrong with me. If I went out, I felt like people were staring at me. On the other hand, I began to find a mother figure in my sensei. And my friend out east started being my brother figure. And this neighbor downstairs—well, he became everything to me. On one hand I was feeling very loved and taken care of and, on the other hand, betrayed and hurt.
My case never went anywhere with the police. They said the prosecutor declined it. I tried to go the civil route, and the attorney I talked to told me no on that, too. But I did the campus adjudication, and I won: he was found guilty of sexual assault. Take that, rape culture!
Rape is the only crime where the victim is guilty until proven raped.
The school wouldn’t tell me my assailant’s sanction due to privacy laws, but “Wink-wink, nudge-nudge, he’s not here” led me to believe he’d been expelled. I wish he had plagiarized, because then they’d have kicked him out for sure. Turns out he hadn’t gotten expelled, because we got invited to the same party. I saw his name in the email. I thought, “What the hell?” I went to the Title IX coordinator and said, “You said he’d been expelled!” She said, “Oh, no, we didn’t say that, but after this month he’ll be gone.” Way after that, he was still here. The Title IX coordinator said, “Oh, we thought he’d be out of the country by now.”
* * *
If I had to pick a favorite quote, it would be this one, by Albert Camus: “In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”
* * *
I got involved with advocacy work. Campus advocacy is great, but a lot of campus services are geared toward college-aged, hetero women, and it’s very victim-centric, as if the victims are the ones who need to be changed. There’s still a lot of rape culture: how about telling men to not rape?
Rape, family trauma—they will always follow me, but I don’t have to react to trauma. It doesn’t get in my way anymore. I’ll always be sensitive to it, but I’m not full-body sobbing anymore.
I don’t know that I will finish the Ph.D. program, and it doesn’t matter as much. The few administrators who knew what happened tried to give me allowances, but working on a Ph.D. requires you to be 100 percent focused, and I’ve stopped feeling that. And I don’t know if my brain is 100 percent there.
Being raped has shifted my priorities, made me reassess everything that was important to me. I’m now more focused on friends and people who matter. Because, at the end of the day, it really mattered who was in my corner. My rape separated the wheat from the chaff and helped me start nurturing the wheat.
Before my rape, I don’t know if I was that happy with myself. Now I’ve become very happy with the person I am. Trauma shifts you down to the bare essentials. You find that part of yourself you didn’t know existed, and discover you can really like and respect yourself. Even in my extremely triggered stage, I still liked who I was. And I like who I am now. I strive for compassion.
Being a rape survivor reminds me of the Japanese word kintsukuroi. It’s where pottery pieces are repaired with gold or silver and so they are better for having been broken. I like to think we rape survivors are kintsukuroi. Through all our hard work, we filled ourselves back up with gold, and we’re beautiful.
Ariane Litalien
My Dog, My Best Friend
ZOË RAYOR
The last few years have been a tough emotional roller coaster. I’ve been dealing with the trauma, so much shame, and PTSD. Through therapy and a lot of introspection, I’ve begun to engage in the art of self-love—and I’ve found the perfect partner in crime: my amazing Australian shepherd support dog, Poppy. My friend Emily worked at a humane society and found Poppy in the drop-off when she came in to work one morning last year. Emily starting sending me photos of Poppy even though I didn’t think getting a dog was the best idea. Then she sent me videos. Then I went and met Poppy … and totally fell in love!
Poppy is an awesome fuzzy dog with crazy bright blue eyes that are slightly crossed. We love to go on hikes together, exploring the beautiful mountains of Colorado, the state we call home, and we love to cuddle. Poppy likes to sit on my feet under my desk when I’m working. We live in a tiny six-foot-by-ten-foot camper, and Pops keeps me warm during the cold Colorado winters by sleeping on top of me.
Initially, I didn’t expect Poppy to become my support dog. But many times when I was triggered and had a panic attack or completely dissociated, Poppy immediately sensed my fear and came over to lick me or even to jump on top of me and try to bring me back to the present. After she did this a few times, I realized that she was an awesome support canine. We are so emotionally connected and are together almost all the time; I call her my Velcro dog. She’s helped so much during my healing process and transition, even though she’s deaf. She checks in with me constantly; she is incredibly attentive and in tune with my emotional state.
Having Poppy has allowed me to regain my power as an individual. I love living off grid and exploring in the mountains by myself. Having Poppy around lets me feel safe while engaging in some of my favorite activities, without having to have a partner or friend with me. She’s a very human-friendly dog and loves attention, but ultimately I’m her mom and I know she’s loyal to me and would attack in my defense if need be.
Having Poppy in my life is one of the best things that has ever happened to me
. I think we rescued each other.
Our First Conversation
ANNIE CLARK AND ANDREA PINO
[8/24/2012 5:11:38 AM] Annie Clark: sometimes it hurts
[8/24/2012 5:11:40 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: every time you talk about it?
[8/24/2012 5:11:47 AM] Annie Clark: like a harry potter scar
[8/24/2012 5:11:51 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: even though you feel powerful …
[8/24/2012 5:11:52 AM] Annie Clark: ha. but for real
[8/24/2012 5:11:56 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: but really
[8/24/2012 5:11:58 AM] Annie Clark: yep
[8/24/2012 5:12:04 AM] Annie Clark: and it gets better
[8/24/2012 5:12:09 AM] Annie Clark: but never 100%
[8/24/2012 5:12:26 AM] Annie Clark: b/c you’re always striving to make it a better world than the one you experienced
[8/24/2012 5:12:27 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: because you can be bruised … but not broken
[8/24/2012 5:12:40 AM] Annie Clark: exactly
[8/24/2012 5:12:40 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: and it hurts you again when you see that others don’t understand
[8/24/2012 5:13:06 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: and that’s what makes it fresh … when people talk about it like a #hashtag
[8/24/2012 5:13:07 AM] Annie Clark: and that’s why it’s sometimes easier to type than speak
[8/24/2012 5:13:25 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: and it’s okay to just let the words sink in
[8/24/2012 5:13:30 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: in whatever voice
[8/24/2012 5:13:33 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: in whatever speed
[8/24/2012 5:13:40 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: in whatever power
[8/24/2012 5:13:46 AM] Annie Clark: however long the process
[8/24/2012 5:13:54 AM] Annie Clark: it takes time.
[8/24/2012 5:14:06 AM] Annie Clark: but within all your time you have power to change things
[The conversation paused for a few minutes.]
[8/24/2012 5:23:24 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: But … despite the years … apart … the places apart … know that your story … your tears … your work … your project … brought me comfort … I put something on paper … even if it broke my heart to check the boxes [on the form, answering yes to so many questions that verified my assault]
[8/24/2012 5:23:43 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: you … you gave me an avenue … even though you never would have met me
[8/24/2012 5:23:48 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: or known my story
[8/24/2012 5:24:10 AM] Annie Clark: thank you
[8/24/2012 5:24:17 AM] Annie Clark: not necessary to be known but thank you
[8/24/2012 5:24:33 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: it’s important to me
[8/24/2012 5:24:49 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: because … I want to do something that will help strangers I’ll never know
[8/24/2012 5:25:12 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: because … for me … comfort … it comes with peace …
[8/24/2012 5:25:34 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: with knowing … that I can do something … something that will not let another fall through the cracks …
[8/24/2012 5:25:46 AM] Andrea Lynn Pino: because … I almost did
Speak Out
JULIA D.
I was raped in February of my sophomore year. I was nineteen. Met him at a frat party. He was not a frat member, just a guy who was there. We had both been drinking. I told him at the party I wasn’t interested in anything but dancing and kissing.
He kept asking me if I wanted to go back to his place. I said, “No, I don’t wanna have sex with you.” I knew what I wanted and had no trouble saying it. So as the night went on and I was more and more intoxicated I gave in about going to his place, but I was still adamant that we were not having sex. “We can kiss and then sleep,” I said to him. I was very clear.
We got to his room. He wanted me to take off all my clothes. He pushed me on the bed and lay on top of me. I kept saying, “I don’t wanna have sex with you!” He just kept going.
I felt like I couldn’t move under his weight. I said, “No!” and he still did it. He was very aggressive in all the things he wanted. I let it happen but hated it and was upset. I waited until he passed out, and then I ran home.
Looking back, I was really drunk. But that shouldn’t have mattered. I told him no many times.
He texted me the next day: “Hey what’s up.” I didn’t know what to say.
I was a virgin. It took me a while to come to terms with what had happened, including what to call it. I settled on assaulted. Rape is such an intense word.
A few days afterward I went to see The Vagina Monologues with friends, one of whom was cochair of a safety and empowerment group on campus. We were walking and talking afterward and she asked me what I did over the weekend, so I told the story.
* * *
I was a virgin. It took me a while to come to terms with what had happened.
* * *
I passed it off as the guy wanted to have sex and I didn’t want to. Told it very casually: “I didn’t want to, but he did it anyway.” My friend just looked at me. She was really great in that moment. She said, “Well, that sounds like an uncomfortable experience for you, and not how things should be.” And she did a very good job of following up afterward. In my own time, I began to realize what this was.
March was spring break, and my friends and I were driving to Florida. My family had a vacation house along the way. I left early to stay a night with my parents before we drove south.
I had told my mom about the assault over the phone. She was about to walk into a grocery store and had just pulled into the parking lot. She was really angry with me: “How could you do this? How could you let this happen?” She blamed me for drinking.
It was not the reaction I’d expected. My mom was my best friend. I got scared, and told her not to tell my dad. But I didn’t realize how awful that was, for her to keep such a horrifying secret from her partner about their baby girl.
For that couple of weeks before I came home, she was very distressed and anxious. She ended up telling my dad. She kept calling me, telling me they wanted to pull me out of school so I could take a semester off. I said, “If you want me to be more depressed, that’s the way to do it.” I needed support. So I went to see the dean of students to see what my options were about becoming financially independent, so I could stay in school.
When I drove to see my parents, my dad and mom opened the door and gave me the biggest hug in the world and told me how much they loved me and how glad they were I was there.
We sat in the living room and talked a long time, and they were extremely supportive.
My mom apologized for what she had said. I said I understood why. Because she had done so much to protect my sisters and me when we were young kids, she was thinking, “I sent you to college and you were supposed to keep protecting yourself.” I think she felt as if everything she had worked so hard to protect was for nothing.
April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month, and we had an event on campus called “Speak Out.” We kept a blog, and over the year anybody could post an anonymous testimonial. Then we would collect the testimonials, and members of our safety and empowerment group would read them out loud on campus where people walk by. It was an organized event, with food, music, and advocates—in case someone got triggered—and an open mic at the end so people could share.
It was the hardest night, but a healing night. You knew that everyone there had a story, knew someone, was a survivor, or was blown away by what was happening.
I read my testimonial; nobody knew it was mine, because we do it anonymously. We print the testimonials and members pick the ones they want to read.
It was so scary. My hands were shaking, my voice shook. I felt like my heart was beating a thousand miles a minute. I didn’t cry. I looked down while reading it—afraid to look up. I was sharing my story and I didn’t want to care about what anyone else thought or felt. This was my moment. I didn’t want to ruin it by seeing a look of disbelief. That never happened. Everyone was supportive. I’ve been
to every Speak Out since.
I did do an anonymous report to the school.
I didn’t want to go through a trial. I just wanted to be over it.
I threw myself into activist work. That summer I worked at the local rape crisis center, and in my junior year I threw myself into on-campus activism.
I also started thinking differently about sex. Part of me wanted to be promiscuous: “Yeah, I’m having sex, but I’m doing it on my terms.” I didn’t trust men. I wanted to be in control of my body.
I became very angry and got involved with guys I wish I hadn’t gotten involved with. Not because they were abusive, but because they didn’t treat me the way I really wanted to be treated. I was sex to them and nothing more. For a long time I’d felt as if I was broken and didn’t deserve anything better than those types of relationships.
One of my close friends my senior year said, “You’re kind of a bitch, and mean to people for no reason.” And I had to think about it and admit it. I threw my anger from my assault at anyone I felt remotely threatened by.
* * *
He said, “Thank you so much for sharing with me; that was very brave of you. And none of this is your fault.”
* * *
Then I met my partner. It was at a party overseas, when I got a job there teaching English after graduation.
We opened up to each other soon after that night. He told me a lot of things from his past, and I told him about my assault. He’s a very good listener. Very quiet.
In the end, I felt like he was grieving. He said, “Thank you so much for sharing with me; that was very brave of you. And none of this is your fault.”