This trend… Interwebs I love you. I love this, giving people the ability to speak out. This trend killed me to look through, especially on the heels of my personal struggling this week. I can’t think of much else to say on the matter other than sharing the screen shots that maxed out my phone memory of various tweets, simply scrolling through the trend.
These are all so true. Every single one of them, reflecting thoughts that went through my own head as I was trying to come to terms with my assault. In the end, it really boils down to this for me personally:
First off, it was so traumatic I repressed it until many years later. Secondly, when the memories did resurface I remembered this as well: He was recovering from major head trauma, and explained the event away as a sleep disturbance. All of the violence I endured with him happened at night, and it made sense. Until he denied everything years later. Not just he assault, (which is fairly obvious he would deny) but the night terrors, and other sleep disturbances as well.
“I was an asshole, jerk,selfish, blunt, honest to you about never loving you,dated mutable (*multiple is what he means here) women while together, had permission from you to be with other women when I went to the USAF. (Under very specific conditions) If anyone has any issues its you. You were a pussy pillow from the start, and I was a jerk enough to let you know up front….
Now about these blogs that are about me, first off you were never raped, matter of fact if I recall the next morning when I said to you “you are not going to read too much into this are you” and you said “no are you?” plus if I recall right you came over that next night.(This is a true account of the first time we were together after our first fight/temporary falling out but NOT the account of the assault which occurred as our ACTUAL first time ever, several months earlier.)
Actually a lot of your stories are just that stories with new and exciting twists that never happened. Here are some of my favorites I purposed to you, my father speeding, my mother changing clothes or dressing down to make you feel better, you being raped, my current wife slashing your tires, that I could possible cut/hurt myself, (This one wasn’t written by me about you at all. I called you out for freaking out about it forever ago) suffer from depression, night terrors funny that hasn’t happened in 10 years for some reason, you helping me through anything the only thing you help was you opening your legs when I asked, and this could go on and on. (Everything else is accurate to my memories of events. You did admit to lying to me just to get me in bed in a private email, so…)
I mean if I was this horrible person all this time and a sexual abuser then why be around me and live with me for 2 YEARS! I mean come on that makes no sense what so ever. “Help me you raped me, oh wait its love, I love you” Kelli you telling everyone that I sexually abused you then proceeding to go over your good times and bad and over the years should prove to readers you are FUCKED UP IN THE HEAD. It makes no sense but “You hurt me so you raped me, you rapist!” (That’s why I went to therapy in the first place. I didn’t understand why I loved someone who raped me, and abused me. According to science everything you just listed there is proof that the mental damage you caused was real. Go figure.) Also if I raped you then why be with a predator? Strange when I was with [my wife] for the first time I was nothing but a gentlemen and asked her, “Is this okay”,” Are you sure you want to do this”, and my favorite “can I kiss you”. (I’m not sure how much you can count being gentlemanly going home with a stripper for an orgy with her husband and another girl. She told me when she called me back in 2008. Funny that you BOTH told me you kept calling her Kelli… Not Amanda, Michelle, Lindsey, Stephanie, Annibell, or Carol… Kelli.) Because my Father taught me to always ask before doing anything. (This is true. Your father is a good man. Too bad he wasn’t around enough for his manners or morals to rub off on you. I will say after your most recent bullshit I understand why he is/was so hard on you) You may be asking yourself “if you don’t care as much as you say then why are you responding? I am glad you asked! You see your readers only get the made up fictional version as if you were a victim of sexual abuse. I want your readers for once read what I have to say but I am sure you will be a coward and will take it down.”
If his denial hadn’t been attached to that rambling diatribe (which I did edit removing a lot of the personal details for this post. Those interested can find the original still in my comments where he left it) detailing his over all poor treatment of me during our relationship, it probably wouldn’t have changed my mind. Seeing it in context next to his repeated admissions that he lied to me about almost everything, he never cared about me, he just wanted to fuck me, it became fairly obvious that what happened during those nights was intentional, and that he should have been held accountable. Which makes me feel incredibly foolish for defending him all these years, and somehow guilty for loving him and giving him the benefit of the doubt. Like it’s my fault for the way he chose to victimize me, my fault that he got away with it.
I did finally report it a few months ago. Ten and a half years after the event, and three years after the fog of repression lifted. I found my courage, pulled up my boot straps and did what I should have done ages ago. If nothing else comes from it, I at least have a greater sense of closure. Not a complete sense of closure, because I’ll never have that as long as I continue to blog. My internal conflict between morality and compassion has been put to rest.
The entire process of making a report is so much more complex than calling the police, pointing fingers and saying: “this crime happened!” with rape and sexual assault. It shouldn’t be, but it is.
The saddest part of all of this is how quickly #whywomendontreport stopped trending. It was a flash in the pan, just enough to catch my attention when I logged on that morning, and by the time I sat down in the afternoon to gather some tweets for this post it was gone. Shuffled off and buried under everything else. So many people in so much and different levels of pain crying out for a moment, only to return to silence.
Because when it’s not a trending topic or political game, no one wants to talk about it, forgetting that in order to see a change we so desperately need to. I know it’s not easy, I’ve had to step away from this several times to let the emotions and anxiety subside. I’ll probably have to log off social media all together for a few days to recover, but I do it anyway. I keep talking, after the trend is over, after it’s not news, after veiled threats, flash backs, and insomnia BECAUSE IT MATTERS.