The Long Story: Part 3: Humiliation
If you haven't already, please first read the introduction,
Strength comes from refusing to be shamed.
Strength comes from refusing to be shamed.
A few years after the rape, after the drugs and promiscuity, and after the numbness that accompanies social avoidance, I found myself in college. With some hesitation, I became more social the first year, mostly hanging out with friends in the all-female dorm that did little more than drink occasionally. I started to feel more confident, more trusting, more accepted. That changed the next year, and I wasn't truly ready for it.
I ended up in a co-ed space my second year that was considered the premier "party dorm" on campus, a highly-charged social atmosphere. The confidence I built in relative safety the year before was no match. I leapt in and fell flat on my face, slipping many times the rest of my college years.
That's what I called them. Slips. They would happen, and I'd feel like shit and hate myself, but try to discount them as remnants of an earlier time. I refused to believe that it wasn't over. I couldn't let myself believe that. It's no surprise, then, that it kept on happening in such a charged atmosphere.
I still had this horrible need to be accepted, sexually, as a person. To change the script. I didn't know how to do it in a healthy way, or how to recognize it. I still sold myself on the idea that surely if someone wanted to sleep with me, they had some attraction to me. I was either fooling myself, or still punishing myself.
It's some of the most humiliating stuff I've ever been through. This entry focuses on the two worst incidents.
There was the guy down the hall, "Rough". We went to the same high school. In fact, I had slept with him once during that time my junior year in high school in the back seat of his car, my friend Beth knocking on the window in the middle of it because she needed a ride home, me talking with her as if it was no big thing that she was standing there, waiting for us to finish up. Rough never gave me the time of day after that, which was not unusual. Beth is the same person who, while skipping school one day, said that she thinks Chris wants to have sex with me this time, and she'd really like a turn, so could I step aside and let her have him that day? I said sure. What are friends for? It was the same day I got pregnant by another guy at the house. Beth and I were fucked up. But, that was all high school, and I digress.
During my sophomore year in college I ran into Rough at a bar, and he paid attention to me. That was enough for me! Attention must equal attraction must equal affection, right? We headed back to the dorm, where I could find out how much he really cared. Here's where I really think it's about trying to rewrite scripts. He started doing the coercion thing, taking my pleas to slow down as a challenge to just push harder. Deep down, I wanted him to respect me. The more he didn't respect me, the more chance I gave him to get it right. I was not going to let this turn out bad. He was going to listen, he was going to care, if I had to put up with him not listening or caring 50 times before that! I'd say no, he'd push harder, I'd say no again in the hopes he'd hear better this time, he pushed even more. On and on it went. He got physical, pinning me down until I broke free, and then I'd stick around and let him have another go at it in my desperate hope for it to turn out different, but I'd get pinned again. And again. It was like some horrible wrestling match, where I'd finally break free with all my might and then go back for another round hoping to prevail. Prevailing wasn't breaking free. Prevailing, in my mind, was getting a different reaction. Care. Respect. Affection. I was sure it had to be in there. Yes, I was an idiot. Eventually, I gave in. I was exhausted, and instead of just walking out, I allowed him to follow through to "get it over with" after over an hour of physically fighting him. Only then did I open the door and leave. I still hate myself for that night.
Then there was "Pig". Pig was across the hall. We all hung out together, our small section of hallway, with females on our side of the hall and males on the other. Pig paid some attention to me. We know where that leads. As it went on, I tried to tell myself it was friends with benefits. Our little secret. Pig was a special sort, though. Turns out Pig had a girlfriend back in high school still, and they were planning on getting "marrwied." No shit, that's how they talked to each other on the phone. He'd enjoy his private baby talk sessions in public. It felt like a sting. And it turned out I was not the only one. I was the least valuable, though. I was the one right there across the hall that got it rubbed in my face all the time. He bragged about a system in front of others, how he's in the lead amongst his teammates because their "first time" with a particular woman gets two points, while any subsequent times with the same person is only worth one. That made me a steady source of points, but not a valuable one. Ah, the irony.
I don't know why the fuck I kept putting up with him. I was ashamed I even did it, and the secrecy of it made me too ashamed to stop, I guess. If I stopped, what if he told people? That seemed worse than just continuing with it. Of course, chances are he did tell people, but he didn't act like it around me. So I got to hear about the points, see him drool over the one person he had the hots for who would not sleep with him, then minutes later hear the baby talk with his one twue wuv and future wife.
That was not the worst of it.
His roommate, I have to say, repulsed me. Shaped like a pear, and with a horrible personality, there was just nothing desirable about him as a person at all. Nothing. So one day Pig and I are in the room, and Pear is there. Pear has a funny look on his face. He couldn't take his eyes off me. Pig says that Pear is a virgin and he wants me to "help" him out with that, and Pig offered me up for the job. I tried to hide my disgust, my feelings of being even more worthless. Pig pushed on, ensuring me that I won't be alone, it will be the three of us, and Pear won't penetrate me, just Pig. I'd "only" have to put Pear in my mouth. And fuck if I didn't oblige, hating every moment, hating Pear's disgusting sounds and Pig's directions.
I suppose the good news is that after that I was convinced that helping Pig rack up easy, if less valuable points was not going to end in anything positive. I'd been whored out. If that's what it took for me to realize he just was not going to care, then that was pretty fucking pathetic. I had to be whored out, sink lower than ever, before I could walk away.
The humiliation of this time stings so much more. The more time passed since the rape, the smarter I should surely be! With every tick of the clock, I should be that much better! More confident! Less self-destructive! This is the first and probably last time I'll ever "tell" anyone about the Pig/Pear thing. It was 20 years ago, for fuck's sake. Its shame is the hardest to let go of. I just can't entirely keep the persistent feelings of self-loathing from coming through when writing it. That time is hardest to forgive myself for. Still. Still!
So, I wrote it. Maybe, finally, the shame of that will begin to dissipate.
Go ahead, hit the "publish" button. Pretend it's a weapon. Go ahead, do it.
last updated 3/26/06
for the NNAF
15 comments:
I hope that, instead of dissipating, the shame is redirected-placed where it belongs-onto those men. They deserve both the blame AND the shame for what they did.
Thank you for posting. It may not seem like it when you're in the middle of the pain, but IMO it really is a weapon.
WOW. If any story needs to be told, it is this one. So so so many girls/women go through this kind of shit and think it is "normal" or our faults.
What fucking jerks. I just wrote a post on the rape culture - and this part of your story is definitely evidence of it. Both Rough and Pig were engaging in rape, if you ask me, every time they slept with you.
I'm not one to want flowers or doors opened for me...I can take care of myself. But I am still appalled at their ridiculous lack of interest in you as a person - and their incredible lack of any respect for women whatsoever. I mean, seriously? Were they able to sleep at night?
I wonder, if we did a survey, how many men would fall on this end of the spectrum. I am afraid it is well above half. Which means so many of our precious sisters are falling prey to this rape culture that only seems to be growing in power. If not growing, at least strengthening. When will it end?
I am so sorry Manxome. Those incidents may not be as "obvious" but in some ways that makes them much much worse. Sometimes I think these stories are the hardest to tell. Thank you for sharing. I wish I had been your friend back in college. Maybe we could have had all these conversations then - and done a bit of tearing things up (tapes, boots, whatever).
Thank you for sharing your stories. It takes a lot of guts to write about this, especially when others that have "found out" earlier in your life have shamed you for it. I really admire your courage.
Thanks for sharing Manxome. It's very important that these stories are heard. Mega rad fem hugs xxx
SE, I know exactly what you're talking about. Perhaps for me, "dissipate" is the first goal or step. I've spoken about the other stuff before, where initially it was a sort of dissipation that then allowed me to see things better and place blame. Took a while to get there, though.
This part, I'm just starting the process. It stings as much as it always did probably because I haven't spoken of it before. I suppose that's why I've had to work up to this. It will sting less, start to heal, if I just say it like I started to do so long ago with earlier incidents. So, I'm just starting to clean the rust off this weapon. ;)
lyons, I think you're right. It's all so surreal, revisiting how that time felt. I've always had the sense that there was this strange "normalcy" to those behaviors in general, the nagging feeling that it was a lot more prevalent than people want to admit.
Have you ever looked around a room of people and thought, "one in six" in reference to the women, and then wonder what the number is for the men? Everyone hides this stuff out of shame or fear or regret. Look at who I am now, not that other stuff. But then we avoid admitting how prevalent it is, how to change it. We distance ourselves from those hard examinations.
You're dead-on about the last point, where it's almost harder to tell because it's not as clear-cut. But as you said, that makes it all the more important to tell. All the stories need to be heard, because while there are so many similarities in the damage it does, the situations are all so different because it's just that prevalent.
The best thing I can say about college as far as having those conversations, is that my roomate barely escaped being raped that same year. It wasn't so much a discussion as just accepting her reaction and supporting her dealing with it as she chose. I didn't press, didn't question, didn't advise. Just listened. Gawd, what else can you do?
Thank you too, Blonde and Laurelin.
Manxome,
Gods...blown away, again. But you know what? What happened with Pig and Pear would never be construed as rape in this culture. That 1 in 6 number is the number of women who screamed and kicked and yelled. Those are the numbers of forcible rapes.
We, as a society, are so hell bent on getting 'consent' that everything else is lost to it. If we started adding up the numbers of women who were raped by people like Rough (and fuck YES that was rape) we start seeing something even more terrifying.
While only 1 in 6 are violently raped, the number becomes over half when we start talking about Pigs and Pears and Roughs.
I applaude your courage and honesty Manxome. Thank you for putting it out there.
It takes a lot of courage to write this stuff out, Manx. I think it's a good step towards healing.
Shame is shit, isn't it? I think we all have memories that burn and batter us. I never have the nerve tell mine out loud, but I rehearse them to myself, trying to work through the shame.
Forgive yourself, put the blame where it belongs, have compassion for that wounded young girl you were. See Pig and Pear and Rough for the asswipes they were. There's nothing for you to be ashamed of.
You are extremely brave and courageous to write this.
I wish all women could tell their stories the way you have here.
People would be amazed, and horrified, when they understood that your story is a coming-of-age-story that echoes so many other women's stories.
I think when women share histories and compare them it makes it easier to put blame where blame belongs. Thank you so much for doing this.
Here's to your bravery and strength.
THANK you so much for writing this. I have had such diffuculty understanding the behavior of my two neices, both of whom were RAPED, each in very different circumstances........but both addressed in what you wrote. You have made it so much clearer for me. I just could not understand that their sense of worthlessness contributes to the perpetration of behaviors that are likely to result in MORE raping (for them). We DO live an a rape culture. I don't know what the numbers are, but while some men are completely trustworthy and would never EVER rape or hurt a woman or girl, there are the OTHERS who view it as a right. Are males just criminally stupid when they are teenagers? I mean that seriously. Are most young men just such walking boners without shame or compassion, that the entire rest of society should be protected from them? Somehow? Or do they just learn to HIDE it better when they are older?
Thank you for writing such wonderful and eloquent story!
This speaks right to me because, though I didn't have sex 'til I was 18, I was sexually assaulted before that many many times. I also realized after a time, I was trying to gain acceptance through sex, too, and it almost always left me feeling guilty and feeling like shit (I don't know how else to describe it really, but I almost always started crying because of the hurt I was causing myself). It got so bad, I just stopped having sex altogether and pretty much stopped having relationships so that I could avoid the sex dilemma.
Now I'm trying to face it but honestly, I have no idea how. Do I just jump in and have sex again (which I did do not that long ago and well, that didn't turn out too well due to condom breakage, trip to ER for Plan B, etc.) or wait it out some more?
This issue has made me realize that perhaps I need to see a shrink. Again.
I do thank you thank you thank you for writing this down for us all to see. It speaks to my heart and soul on so many levels.
BB: I agree that this kind of thing is more prevalent than the official numbers we see. I'd like to see the flip side of consent defined. Not a romance-scene thing, but what defines continuous mutual consent. I know in my heart what that looks like. I would love a better definition than the sterile sounding "consent" though to define it better. Because anything else doesn't quite cut it.
VS: I am very familiar with the rehearsing one does. It's a lot of emotions to pull together and make sense of. Took me a long time to decide that I just need to put it out there, because maybe it doesn't need to make sense. Or maybe it does to others (something I feel strongly when I read others' accounts).
Kat: Thank you. I know this intellectually, but not quite emotionally yet (as far as this installment goes. This was a hard one.)
Txfem: Thank you so much. I've always thought that about others' stories, but never thought mine would come across that way. I suppose that's a pretty universal feeling, too.
Amber: I'm finding that I'm gaining a lot more strength than I ever thought possible from the feedback. It's quite an amazing force!
KMT: I like your outrage! As for what you said about it being a step in helping you to understand your nieces behaviors, well, that just completely blows me away. If you had been the only person who read this, that made it overwhelmingly worth it.
Nut: Guilt and "feeling like shit" is exactly how I would describe how I felt afterwards so many times. It's inadequate, but that's what I said over and over in my head then. I'll email you soon. (hug)
I came here via Feministe and just wanted to thank you for sharing your story. I am so glad you've chosen to talk about it. The publish button really is a weapon.
Thank you so very much for detailing and sharing your experiences here. Reading about your experiences and feelings about the pig/pear incident was an epiphany for me. I’m starting to think that young women are knowingly, purposefully used and manipulated by young men in that way ALL THE F-ING TIME. Thanks to you, I now know I was.
During my college years, there were numerous instances with men who I believe manipulated me into harmful sex because they were supposedly “inexperienced” and I was “experienced.” By defining me as a “slut” and themselves as “innocents” I was drafted as the archetypal whore/teacher. I believed that because I pursued them initially, I didn’t have a choice in what we did or even the right to complain when I was hurting or uncomfortable. I won’t go into graphic detail but it was awful and I can name that now.
I’ve often wondered why I went along with it and thought my experiences must be unusual. You articulated my feelings of desperately craving attention and affection. I felt the same shame, disgust, and emptiness that you describe. I also did it again and again hoping for better results. Now I know that I was sexually INEXPERIENCED and easily demeaned and manipulated.
I cannot say it enough: Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. I believe that sharing painful experiences can help heal. I dare to hope it can reach out to susceptible girls and women to help prevent women from submitting to degradation. I am considering reaching out personally to the young women in my life to talk about this painful subject with them.
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