I was sexually assaulted by an ex

This is the piece that preceded the “Why I Stayed” post. I shared it in a note on facebook but then I lost the nerve to post it publicly.

It’s taken me a long time to be able to type these words:

I was sexually assaulted.

It took me a long time to be able to call it what it was, even before I could say it aloud.

I’m the biggest feminist, supporter of women, of survivors, but when it came to myself I kept coming back to “I should’ve known better.” As though the world should not be presumed to be a safe place, as though those we have once cared about should never be trusted again once they’ve betrayed it.

I was sexually assaulted by an ex, and I should’ve known better.

Because dating someone means they have access to my body without my consent for the rest of my life? No, that’s silly, but that’s what I thought. She was my ex,that means it wasn’t sexual assault. I believe in marital rape – the idea that just by marrying someone, one does not grant them unlimited access to sex whenever they desire it – but I thought it was somehow less a violation because I had consented sometime in the past.

She– oh that’s another thing. Could it really be sexual assault if we are both women?

There are probably many people who say a woman can’t sexually assault another woman.But does an entire gender or sex, 50% of the population have unfettered access to me because we happen to both be female? No, that can’t be right. 50% of the population don’t have the right to touch me if I say no, but yet I couldn’t name it for the longest time.

I went over to her house of my own volition. So I must somehow be culpable. I had alcohol to drink. Because going to someone’s house and having alcohol means in itself that I consent to sexual activity. No, that’s not right. My brain knows these things don’t add up. That if someone else was saying them to me, I would be saying “No, you can go to someone’s house and that doesn’t mean you consent to sex just by showing up there.” I couldn’t say it to myself for a very longtime. None of these things, none of these things mean that no doesn’t mean NO.

I do know that.

The person I am now would not date her. I do know that, too. It’s everything that led up to that night that makes me feel culpable in what happened. I was instantly attracted to her when we met. She was good looking, physically, and she was smart, really smart. She was funny, a feminist, more butch than me, she was everything I was looking for in a partner. I should’ve been frightened when she showed me the bookcase she shattered one night when she was angry. She said she had left it there on the floor so I knew what I was getting into. I thought she was tortured and I could get her to see how amazing she was, because I could see it. Instead everything good had a scary flipside. The night we danced to “Brown eyed girl” over and over in her dining room, restarting it every time it ended; the night I locked myself in her bathroom contemplating whether or not I could crawl through the window to escape her rage.

You would think that would have been the end, but it wasn’t. My fear always evaporated in the daylight, when her smile was warm and my heart told me that I had misunderstood, overreacted, that it wouldn’t happen again. That the anger that erupted over me getting takeout from the wrong place was an isolated thing; that it wouldn’t happen again. Maybe I didn’t know that I deserved anything better than that. I hadn’t always been a good person, I had treated people badly, maybe I only deserved the laughter and fun and sex with the anger and fear attached. Maybe some of us don’t get one without the other.

You would think that all of that would have kept me from going over there that night, six months later. It should have. That’s probably why I felt responsible for so long, but the thing about abusive relationships is that we brainwash ourselves into believing that every act of violence, every outburst, every out of control situation is an isolated incident, a fluke.

Even when we stopped seeing each other socially, our paths still crossed. We had both attended a conference out of town, and I was still processing some of the things that had happened there when we spoke. I don’t know if she texted me or I texted her, it’s long enough ago that I simply cannot recall how we began talking that night. After a while, she asked if I would like to come over to talk in person, and so I went over to her house. I didn’t think that it was anything more than that. I had a girlfriend, a girlfriend that she knew, who I was in a committed monogamous relationship with. I actually thought that maybe we could salvage some sort of friendship, it was naïve looking back, but I still didn’t see the big picture clearly. I went to her house, and she made me a cocktail the way that she always did. We sat on her front stoop and we talked about the conference, until she said, “Where’s your girlfriend tonight?”

“At work.” I said.

“Does she know that you’re here?” She asked me.

“She trusts me.” I told her. And then she leaned in to kiss me. I pushed her away,with both hands. I said, “No. I didn’t come here for that.”

I dropped my hands and I turned away, I guess that I thought that would be enough.

Again,she said “Where is your girlfriend?” and then she kissed me.

I pushed her away and said “Stop it!” and she picked up the empty beer bottle at her feet and smashed it against the steps.

I don’t know if she wanted to intimidate me or just show me she was angry, but six months had given me the strength to stand up and walk away. I wasn’t scared of her anymore, she didn’t have any power over me. I got in my car and I drove away.

I told my girlfriend what had happened, and she was understanding. She believed that I hadn’t been asking for any of it. I told a couple people about it after it happened, people that I thought might be able to help. I wasn’t concerned for myself so much as I wanted to make sure that it didn’t happen to someone else.I had gotten strong, somewhere between the shattered bookcase and the broken beer bottle, but I wondered who would be on the stoop next and I didn’t want her to have to be strong. I wanted her to be safe.

As it turns out, no one knows what to do about this kind of thing. Not feminists, not people who are supposed to be doing something about all the shit that happens to women. No one knows what to do when a woman sexually assaults a woman who happens to have consensually dated her at some point. So I got tired and I got quiet. I got sick of always being the person who is making the fuss and causing the problem. I pushed it all into a tiny place inside me that stopped aching after a while, as long as I didn’t push on it. Eventually someone else got loud and spoke out about the woman who had done this to me,but I was still too wounded and felt too alone to care about whatever she had done to anybody else. No one really wanted to listen when it was me and I just didn’t have the strength to be anyone else’s advocate. Years went by and we all went on and you know the sickest part? She got away with it. What she did tome, what she did to the women after me and what I’m sure she will keep on doing because no one knows what the fuck to do about an adult female who preys on other adult females. No one really seems to know what to do with anyone that preys on other people, but doesn’t do it in a way that’s overt enough to make us feelgood about labeling them.

If you’ve gotten this far, you already read through my reasoning. Dating someone doesn’t give them unlimited rights to my body for the rest of my life. A woman doesn’t have the right to violate me because we happen to be the same gender or sex. Going to someone’s house and having a cocktail isn’t consenting to sex, or even to a kiss. I know these things and this is what I would say to my sister or my best friend or my daughter if I ever had one, this is what I would say to her if she experienced that. I still blame myself a little. My heart knows that it is rape culture though. I don’t remember what I was wearing that night, but it’s not relevant. Nothing we do or say gives ANYone the right to do something to us against our will, there is no implied consent. I lost a lot of my faith and my idealism during that time, but what I never lost is my voice. I will not be ashamed anymore. I did nothing wrong.

I define myself

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Why I stayed

When I was about fourteen years old, I was in an emotionally abusive relationship. It was my first “love” relationship, one that would set the stage for what I believed a love relationship should be. He controlled me as completely as he could. He implied to me that I was fat, I was 5’4 and 120 pounds. He would stand me up when we had plans, and be with other girls. We would break up, he would apologize, we would get back together, and it would all start again. It was during that time that I started purging. I didn’t binge, but when I ate something “bad” I would throw it up. I still have a very vivid memory of kneeling on the floor of the Wendy’s, my fingers down my throat, feeling out of control. Purging never made me feel in control and I hadn’t found restricting yet. My relationship with that boy ended the night I swallowed 100 pills like I was chugging a glass of water. A pregnancy test and a tube shoved down my nose as I fought the ER staff, I woke up the next morning in a hospital gown with an IV in my arm and a fresh start to my teenage life.

This is not that story, however. This is the story of what happened decades after I vowed that I would never allow myself to be abused again. This is the beginning of the story that ended in my sexual assault. I didn’t post that blog publicly, but I am going to post it now.

When I met her, I was instantly attracted. Everything about her was everything I thought that I was looking for – she was attractive, passionate about what she did, incredibly smart, and determined to change the world. I learned way too quickly she was also a heavy drinker, emotionally tortured, incredibly insecure and filled with an anger that was as directionless as it was intense. One of the first times that I visited her house, she pointed out a pile of wood in the hallway. She said it had been a bookcase, she had shattered it when she was angry, and she had purposely left it there so that I would “know what I was getting into.” I’ve asked myself hundreds of times why I didn’t leave that night and never look back. She took my staying as a tacit agreement that she could do whatever she wanted – and she did. I’ve decided that I thought she was exaggerating. I thought she had darkness inside her that she needed to get out, but I didn’t think it would ever be directed at me. I decided, as I have done way too many times in my life, that my love was all she needed to heal her. I decided that I could be the one to save her.

Why did I stay when it started to get worse, when I became afraid of her? Because my work, my future work, was tied up in her and our relationship. We had no boundaries between the work that we did and our personal relationship(s) and rejecting her seemed to mean giving up the work that I was doing which was very important to me at the time. Also, no one from the outside had any idea what was going on inside that house. She was really great at pretending to be this amazing person and very few people got to see the person she was when she didn’t have an audience. For some relationships, the highs are so high that they cancel out the lows in our minds. Sure, I locked myself in her bathroom once and contemplated going out the window, but I let the night we danced to brown eyed girl, over and over, restarting the song every time it ended cancel that out.

As afraid as I was of her, she never hit me. There was one night where she basically imprisoned me in her house and wouldn’t let me leave. I tried to get out the front door and she smashed my fingers in it as she closed it. I yanked it open, oblivious to the pain, and she picked up a glass from the coffee table and held it up like she was going to smash it into my face. That moment will be forever branded on my mind. That was the moment that I felt most helpless. That was the moment that I knew that I somehow was back in an abusive relationship after vowing never to allow myself to be treated that way again. That moment lasted hours it seemed, I can still close my eyes and feel the doorjam under my hand; I can still see her face contorted into rage so completely that she didn’t even look like the person that I loved. I will never know why in the split second that glass started to come down toward my face that she decided to throw it over my shoulder onto the front porch. Maybe there was a part of her that didn’t want to be that person either. That was the night I texted my best friend and asked her to call me and pretend that her infant son who had been ill was back in the hospital. For some reason I knew that I’d be able to leave, and she let me. I drove two blocks to a gas station parking lot and broke down. I called my friend and I sobbed “I’m out. I got out.”

But I didn’t get out. In the end it was essentially she who ended it. She decided to make out with one of my best friends, in my home, on my birthday, while I was passed out in the other room. The ultimate fuck-you. After that, there was no way it could continue, even I wouldn’t have let it but it didn’t matter because she had replaced me. I wish that I could say that I stood up to her, but that didn’t happen until much much later. Standing up to her was the one of the scariest things that I have ever done, and the night I confronted her after she assaulted me, I saw her for what she really is – small, scared, sad, and broken. She’s not so good at pretending that she can fool herself the way she fools most everyone else. She will never be good enough or smart enough or live up to her potential and she takes that out on the people who care about her instead of doing whatever work she needs to do to not hate herself. The hatred for herself bleeds over into hatred for anyone that can love her when she can’t love herself. Ultimately that is very very sad. In the end, I think that Why I stayed was that at that time, I still didn’t believe that I could have the good without the bad. I was punishing myself for all the mistakes that I had made, and I didn’t think that I could have love without pain & abuse. I thought that it was a trade-off, at least for me.

I’m incredibly grateful that I no longer believe that. It’s taken a lot of work but I have separated love from fear and pain and sadness. I know that I deserve a love that quenches my thirst for passion without putting me in danger. I know the difference between anger and passion now too. Most importantly, I learned to love myself. I really believe that I deserve a love that nurtures me, not one that destroys me. Love is not pain.

Loving a special needs dog

it’s been a while since i have posted. i keep meaning to update my blog more but it seems to take so much time and energy! 😦 i plan to get back to it though.

i have always been an animal person. even though i always wanted to work with people, as a therapist or counselor, i’ve never felt really comfortable connecting with people one on one. dogs, cats, rabbits…animals are completely different. i love animals. animals just seem to “get me”. maybe it partially stems from being socially awkward, but animals have always seemed to know that i am happy to meet them. my cats, slinky and easter, have been with me for 11 and 13 years, respectively, but i have always known that a dog or dogs would be a part of my household one day. i always had good reasons for not adopting a dog – i was in school and working full time, never home, blah blah blah. it’s odd because before meeting my current dog, my mom was terrified of dogs. when she and my dad were house-hunting in jackson, they would have me go with them to houses they were considering. one house, when we pulled up with the realtor, two dogs inside began barking. my mom made a comment along the lines of “if these people want to sell their house, why do they have dogs in there?!”

we walked in, and the tiniest, cutest little chihuahua mix who i swear was not more than 4 pounds, barked up at us with all her might. my mom was still freaked out. everyone walked past the dog, into the house, but i crouched down and let the dog sniff my hand. i looked at her (the dog’s) house cradling her in the crook of my arm because she insisted i carry her with me as i looked. she was completely precious, for a split second i thought about trying to steal her. awful i know! she was ridiculously sweet though. my parents did not buy that house, and life went on. until a day in february 2012 when i was going through a very difficult time.

through the years and various trials of nature (hurricanes, tornadoes) i have become a fan of quite a few animal rescues and shelters on facebook. in february i was going through a very deep depression. my relationship was a sham – it had always been little more than a fantasy but in december of 2011 i had pretty much given up on it having a chance at working out. unfortunately because of a bad combination of codependency and other factors i was still in it in february. i was depressed, i felt lost, and one day on facebook, a cute furry face would hijack my consciousness.

this beautiful, yellow lab looking, gaunt, sad dog popped up on my facebook. my heart just melted for her, but my heart melts for every dog i see on fb. i really want to adopt them all. she looked so especially sad, but she was just a picture on fb. something made me send a message to the shelter where she was – and because i’d friended so many regionally she was nowhere near jackson, she was in fact with the birmingham alabama animal control. i inquired about their adoption policies and they sent me a nice email. i told myself it was absurd to adopt a dog from another state. i told myself that i was getting ready to be traveling down to the MS gulf coast for work, and that i had a trip to seattle coming up in the early summer – but for a week that dog haunted me. i mean HAUNTED me. her little face, i saved her photo to my phone and looked at it. i could barely work, i thought about nothing but this dog. i didn’t know if it was the depression or what. after a week, i emailed the contact i had at birmingham animal control and i told him if they still had this dog, “carolina”, i was coming to get her on my next day off. as it turned out, she was just about to be “fixed” and she was still available, so i filled out the forms and i made the decision to drive nearly four hours to adopt a dog i had never met.

i’ve never lived with a dog before. while i knew i loved dogs like i love all animals, my one experience living with a dog was back when i was a kid and my sister adopted a puppy. none of us had any idea what to do with a puppy and poor freckles was hyper, my sister was afraid of him, and he ate the wallpaper off the walls one day when he was left alone, so he went back to where he came from. i don’t know what possessed me to drive four hours to adopt a dog i’d never met when i had no idea how to live with a dog, except that there was just something in her face that let me know she was the one who was meant to be with me. i requested “dogs for dummies” from the paperback swap website. i read on about.com i bought a crate and toys and some milkbones because that’s what she was pictured with and when i had my day off from work i set off to drive to birmingham alabama and bring my dog home.

i walked up in there with my adoption fee and my paperwork filled out. i didn’t know where i was, in fact it seemed ridiculous because to get to BJC animal control you have to drive this weird side road of a cemetery. i handed some nice strangers some cash and waited for my dog to come out. some other people were getting their picture taken with the dog they adopted, and i stood there in this waiting room of what seemed like a prison. finally this dog came out. neither of us knew wtf we were doing. the nice man said, do you want to take some time to interact with her? and i said “no, we are good.” i took the braided purple choke leash and we walked out into the parking lot. i felt like we were both figuring it out. we walked into the grassy area in front of where i’d parked and she peed. i let her into my car, where i had a special blanket i’d bought for her in the passenger seat, and we drove the 4 hours home.

when we got home, she jumped on the couch, crawled under a sweater i had left on it, and i realized we were going to figure this out together. i had no idea how to live with a dog but she had no idea how to live with a stacey. BJC animal control didn’t know a lot about “carolina” when they found her. she was pregnant, she had no collar, and she was wandering around birmingham. they thought she was a dachshund mix and was the right weight at 20 pounds, luckily for us we realized she’s a corgi-lab mix and the 10 pounds she gained in 6 months wasn’t a bad thing. she gave birth very soon before i adopted her.

i learned a lot about her as we figured things out together – she’s terrified of men. she hates the sound of motorcycles. i’m fairly certain she was in a household before she came to be with me – she was housebroken, she knew “stay”. she was scared of cars, i wonder if that’s because she was dumped while pregnant. because this poor girl had a home, and she got knocked up because some owner didn’t pay to have her fixed and then she was dumped 😦 a corgi-lab mix! i’m glad those assholes didn’t know they could’ve sold her puppies for $350+. she is the sweetest being i have ever had the privilege of knowing. she’s beautiful, and she takes care of me – this dog thinks it is her job to keep me safe. she has the biggest heart. i really don’t think that people and animals are so different. she really cares and i think that’s because she was pregnant and her babies were taken away from her.

whatever the reason, this beautiful creature is my baby now. i take 1,000 pictures of her a day, which she hates, that gaunt sad dog became this dog