I'LL RISE

Like Any Other

2006-03-27T15:52:00.000-05:00

The night started like any other. First were shots in the bathroom with my roommate while I showered because I was running late. Next came a few glasses of wine and dancing to Madonna's "Like a Prayer" while I got dressed. As I slid on BCBG heels and ran my fingers through my long hair one more time I thought that, on this night, I was really a girl like any other.

He looked harmless as he stared back at me—a guy like any other. Clean-cut wearing jeans and a button-down shirt and no dirty sneakers from that dark, filthy alley people like him are expected to jump out from. We made our way onto the dance floor and our bodies snaked together to the music. I’ve always gotten real close when I dance.

The night came to a close and it was time to say good-bye. It was a farewell like any other—a slow kiss on the cheek and then he disappeared from sight. I thought how beautiful the night was as I floated home, melting under the stars. Two hours later the ringing of my phone pierced the silence and I woke abruptly. It was him. He wanted to come over for a little while and I grudgingly obliged. Ten minutes later he walked through my doorway and my intuition screamed. I politely told it to shut up and put on my most dazzling smile.

He was fierce and passionate and beautiful. We fell to my bed and he nuzzled my neck, my favorite spot. He kissed me on the cheek and slid his hand up my shirt—a lover like any other. In minutes our clothes were strewn across the floor. His touch turned rough as he swallowed me underneath him. Then he was inside me. No questions asked. No negotiating.

I told him to stop. He told me to “hold on,” like I was a voice on the other end of his telephone, not a woman trapped under his body. I could feel his heartbeat as he crushed me. Thump, thump. I begged him to at least use a condom and he stared right through me, his lips now tight and his expression cold. The tears leaked from my eyes and slowly ran down my face, staining my sheets. I thought of my friends sleeping in the room next door—my valiant friends who would have broken down the door to rescue me from his grasp if only I had called for them. But I kept silent. I let my body go limp and waited for the storm to subside. And just like that, it was over. The next morning I couldn’t look into his betraying eyes. I opened the door just enough for him to get through and then slammed it on the world.

Afterward there were nightmares like any others, except my monster could have come out of a primetime TV sitcom instead of a horror movie. There were cold sweats, noisy memories and self-blame that I couldn’t quit. There was the lonely surrender to my tears late at night when I was too tired to fight the demons away. There was the pain of telling my friends and reliving that night on my mattress, like picking a scab after it had just started to heal and letting the misery rush forth to drown me. There was the special person that told me, “No offense, but you kind of put yourself in that position.” There was the shell of me, falling apart at the seams while pretending to be Daddy’s princess. There was the empty silence I wrapped myself in when it all was too much to bear.

I am a rape survivor like any other, wondering if I’m surviving or barely scraping by. I am a woman haunted. I go to school, I have a job and I go out with my friends, all the while carrying an invisible onus pressing down on me that only my heart feels. The questions run through my mind almost daily. Why didn’t I scream? Why didn’t I tell someone? Will he do this to someone else? Was I at fault because I had been drinking? Why did I let him in? Am I sick because my rapist had tasted so sweet? I had loved the feel of his lips on mine, now all I feel is the poison coursing through my veins when I think of him—the liquid hatred that freezes me in my tracks when I see his face.

With time I suspect these thoughts will fade, but imagine the scars they will leave in their place. There’s the distrust of men; the run I break into when I hear heavy footsteps behind me; the walls that I rapidly construct when a guy so much as looks my way. There are the friends who try to understand; the new love in my life who tries desperately, and sometimes futilely, to touch me in a way that won’t burn. There’s the shame and the mark I fear that I wear on my forehead for everyone to see. There’s a feeling of something that sets me apart that I can’t shake. But above all else, there’s hurt—a deep aching that has changed me in ways that keep me from recognizing myself and taints the relationships with everyone who touches my life.

I still have a life like any other. I still get up in the morning and brush my teeth.

I still jog during the day under the brilliant sunshine. I still love the feel of the wind caressing my face. I still smile. Sometimes I even dare to laugh. I can still kiss with my eyes closed. I still love with all I have. He may have taken a part of me, but the most important parts are still mine. And I still have what I have always cherished most. Hope. So screw victim. I’m transcending.

Report: Sexual Assaults in Military Up 40%

2006-03-17T00:41:00.000-05:00

The following is a story from the Associated Press:

Reports of sexual assaults in the military increased by nearly 40 percent last year, the Pentagon announced Thursday, saying the increase was at least partly due to a new program that encourages victims to come forward.

In a report released Thursday, the military said there were 2,374 allegations of sexual assaults reported during 2005 compared with 1,700 in 2004. Of last year's reports, 435 were initially filed under a new program that enables victims to report the incident and receive health care or counseling services without notifying law enforcement or commanders.

The restricted, confidential reporting program also allows the victims to consider pursuing an investigation later. That was done in 108 of the 435 cases during 2005. Until that new policy went into effect last June, an investigation was automatically triggered by a sexual assault report.

"This is the most underreported crime in our society," said Roger Kaplan, a Pentagon spokesman. "The key, at least in the military, is to make it less. We want victims to have treatment. And the more who come forward, the better chance we have of taking action and getting the offenders off the street."

Kaplan said it is impossible to tell whether the increase in reports during 2005 signals any actual increase in sexual assaults. But he said it appears to show that the military's extensive program in recent years to better train troops and to encourage reporting has been successful.

According to the Defense Department, the military services have set up sexual assault program offices at all major installations and trained more than 1,000 response coordinators and victim advocates. The Army, for example, also has a sexual assault coordinator deployed with each brigade and a victim's advocate with every battalion, said Kaplan.

Of the cases that were fully investigated in 2005, nearly 1,400 were completed by the end of the year. No action was taken against more than 800 alleged offenders because the incident was unfounded, there was a lack of evidence or the person was not identified.

Among the remaining cases that were finalized, 79 people received courts-martial, 91 were given nonjudicial punishments and 104 were discharged or otherwise reprimanded.

The military has come under fire for repeated problems with sexual abuse at the service academies, in units stationed abroad in Iraq, Kuwait, Afghanistan and Bahrain, and at military installations. Detainee abuse allegations have also included sexual assaults.

The Air Force Academy in Colorado is struggling to recover from complaints that dozens of female cadets were assaulted and then punished when they reported it. And a recent survey by the Veterans Affairs Department showed that six in 10 women who served in the National Guard and Reserves say they were sexually harassed or assaulted.

The Day the Light Went Out

2006-03-10T16:25:00.000-05:00

The following piece was submitted to us via MySpace. We proudly and humbly publish it here for the first time, and we thank Rachelle for having the courage to share her story, and to share it so well.

The day the light went out
By Rachelle

The day the light went out is dark and full of pain.

It’s a place that’s cold.

I feel completely alone. Inside and out with no hope, completely drained of life
With no end in sight.
I feel like I was just hit by a truck at 100 miles an hour
The pain and the cold make’s me go numb.
My head start’s to drive me insane. My heartbreak’s
I keep saying only if I did this or that. All the what ifs and I should haves.

I try to hide my pain from everyone. It starts to eat me alive. I see my light going out.

The nightmares bring it all back over and over again.
I sit there and start to cry.

Everyone asks what’s wrong? I say nothing drop it! I’m fine!
I start to push everyone away.

I start to cut to try to stop the pain.

I hit rock bottom. I stop eating and when I do eat I throw it all back up.

I hide from the world. I’m scared of almost everyone.
All I do is sit in my room scared and cry.

I finally speak for the first time about it to my best friend.
I was completely numb.
I felt nothing anymore.

Then she hugged me!
She said what I needed to hear. The more she talked and I talked the light started to come back.
The more I opened up about it the more my light came back. It’s been almost three years now. I will never be who I was before but I am someone new and has grown from my experience. On bad days I just tell myself they will not win. I will get my life back and be happy. Because what they always say “living well is the best revenge.”

Little Girl Lost

2006-03-07T14:17:00.000-05:00

The following story is being generously shared with us, and has been posted a few other places. We proudly post it here. >LikeDustIllRise

--

This is written with love for those that have lived this story and those that love the ones that have lived this story. I always recommend reading this with a box of Kleenex handy...but that's just because I always need them. This is a response to a dear friend with love in my heart.

Choices were made by a little girl - decisions well beyond her years. The choice was to escape violence and sexual abuse. The choice was to not live with incest as her sister had. This is a little girl's story...and a woman's.

Then

Many years ago a little girl was growing up in what seemed to be an average family. Her parents worked and provided a place to live and food to eat. She had siblings to play with, toys and books of her own, and a dog in the yard that gave big sloppy kisses when she came home from school. She had pretty dresses and other clean clothes to wear. The family went to church and Sunday dinners with relatives. The little girl went to school and studied hard and got straight A's for years. These were well behaved children - always please and thank you, never speaking out of turn, and always quiet around adults.

This little girl's life was full of hidden pain and fears.

At home, where no one could see, was so much more. Where no one could hear were threats and fears. There was psychological and physical abuse - including sexual abuse. There were beatings for doing things wrong - a slap, a fist, a belt. Verbal threats were constant including threats of death if the little girl ever told anyone. There was sufficient violence that death, on occasion, was what the little girl wanted most. Her mother knew of the violence but not the sexual abuse. The sexual abuse / molesting started at about age 6. There is no reason to go into details. It was an adult with a child.

Her mother was also a victim of the violence if she interfered. During this time - ages of about 5-13 - some of the beatings were for showing and responding to the pain and hurt. When the tears would flow the beatings would escalate. This little girl was told that tears were a sign of weakness. So, in self defense, the tears stopped except when she cried herself to sleep.

After a violent incident that left permanent physical scars, the tears stopped altogether. The heart stopped feeling. The soul of a child had been broken. Walls of self-protection had finally been built high and thick around what was left of the little girl's being.

This self protection was by aloofness, by silence, and by apparent acceptance of the status quo. To all who met this little girl she appeared composed and well adjusted. She was none of the above. She was beyond hurt and had moved to anger and defiance beneath the surface. Her mind sought ways to avoid home, she looked for someone to tell, for someone to trust with her story - even if it meant her own death.

One fateful day the little girl turned openly defiant at home. She confronted her abuser with her hate and defiance. The beating was bloody - but she did not cry.

That day she told someone and they told the police. They were all appalled at the marks of the violence on this small child. She did not cry when she told the police. She did not talk about the sexual abuse. It was never talked about. That same day her father committed suicide rather than face the police. There was the funeral with all the family present. They bought a new dark dress for the little girl to wear - dark brown with ruffles. Then she sat dry eyed and defiant in the front pew with the rest of the family. Defiant as the relatives whispered behind her about her causing her father's death.

For the next 4 or 5 years, the young girl grew into a smart and confident young woman. Confident in her ability to survive the ostracism from her family and church. Stronger every time the accusations and whispers returned about her responsibility for her father's death. Strong enough to survive without any of them. She had decided it was better to be alone or lonely than to be hurt. Sometimes there was anger and rage and defiance against those that accused her. No tears were ever shed.

At age 18 this young woman left home. It was the only way she felt was available to her for change. She joined the Army and the women she met changed her life forever.

Living with dozens of other women 24 hours a day touched her as never before. She met others and they talked late into the night on many occasions. Lots of these women had been through the same things she had and sometimes more. Most of the women did not cry. Each had developed a sense of survival that was stronger than any could possibly realize. Over the next few years more women entered her life. Women that shared their stories and gained strength from the knowledge that they weren't alone. These were women that gave unconditional love and support knowing that their shared experiences gave them strength.

With all this love and support came an acceptance of the past. It cannot be changed but we can change ourselves. We can accept our defiance and use it to our advantage to fight for others. We can accept our strong and confident selves and pass that confidence on to others. We can love ourselves and learn to give love to others. These women changed the young woman.

One day - the tears returned. These were tears and great wracking sobs that almost tore this young woman apart. The tears returned among these women she called friends. These friends held her as the walls of protection came tumbling down. Friends that stayed but stepped back when she needed time to re-group because they knew the process. Tears make you vulnerable and they are scary. The tears intermixed with anger and rage and defiance. Yet the friends never wavered. And so the healing began for the little girl trapped in a woman's body. The young woman ultimately sought help from professionals and more tears flowed. Many other things have happened during the intervening years cause the woman pain. Yet the tears have flowed freely as an acknowledgement of the cleansing and healing process.

Today the woman is strong and confident in her ability to stand alone. She is just as confident in her ability to stand with others and give love freely. There is still defiance and rage against those that would hurt others. She is defiant and strident in her defense of victims - against whatever is the source of their pain. Tears flow freely now - for any that hurt or are in pain and, on occasion, for the little girl lost.

Now

This story is not written in the first person intentionally. Someone else, Diane101 I think, put forth the idea that "if you don't like your past then re-write it". This is the story of the little girl I was but not the woman I am.

This is the story of little girls that I met when they were grown women but not the women they became. Each of us chose to take a path of healing including permanently walking away from people and places that caused our pain. Each of us chose to walk the path to a place beyond being a victim to a place of strength. There are lessons we learned, strengths we gained, and most of all, love that we learned to share. Most of us now speak openly and publicly to help others that walk similar paths. We are here to reach out to help and love others. All those little girls lived in another place and time but each has been brought forward, protected and cared for, by the women that we became.

I give this story to my friend and to friends yet to be made. Let the tears flow freely for all of us as a symbol of strength and healing.

Rant
Every time you think about the South Dakota law...look at the picture of that little girl.
Remember that she survived sexual abuse from the time she was 5 or 6 years old until she was almost 14.
Remember that she could have lived with incest and could have been pregnant AND had to carry the baby.
Remember not just that she survived BUT someone died because of this abuse. It was self-inflicted but someone died.

So each day I rage and fight and will continue for each and every little girl.

Blessed Be

The Wasteland

2006-03-02T11:45:00.000-05:00

Love shouldn't falter there.
Not in that lost paradise--
My heart; the rut of my mattress
Where you used to lay bare,
Breathless.

--

This poem, submitted by a man, is of a relationship lost in the aftermath of sexual assault.

Poem of Survival: Survivor

2006-02-07T17:56:00.000-05:00

The following poem was shared with us by one of our gifted readers. We thank her profusely for sharing it with our community of healers, and for her strength and determination. If you would like to share your own story and join the discussion, please send us your story or poem at likedustillrise@gmail.com

Survivor

By Rachel Fein

The loud cries unheard,
by the oblivious outside world.
The clothes ripped off,
laying naked on the bed.
The strong arms,
holding down the helpless body.
The rough fingers,
touching where no one should.
With every devastating thrust,
the innocence is slowly chipped away.
This deed may be done,
but will never be over.
The moment relived,
through the horrible nightmares,
of the lonely dark nights.
The constant horror and distrust,
felt for every man,
who just wants to care.
But still I am a survivor,
But still I am strong.
That monster will not ruin me,
That monster will not win.
Every day I get up,
And make a choice to live life.
Every day I get up,
And make a choice to live on.

Poem of survival: Anyway

2006-02-06T23:35:00.000-05:00

The following poem was submitted by a reader of this website. We are honored to publish it here, for the first time.

Anyway…

By Anonymous

I told you no more drinks
You bought me another anyway.

I told you not this song
You got me to dance anyway.

I told you not there, please
Your fingertips lingered there anyway.

I told you good night
You were at my door at three A.M. anyway.

I really didn’t want to see you
But I felt guilty, so I let you in anyway.

I told you no, I don’t want to
You were inside me anyway.

I said stop,
You told me “hold on” anyway.

I pleaded, at least use a condom
You ignored me anyway.

I cried, not so rough
You played rough anyway.

I had friends sleeping in the next room…big football players
I kept silent anyway.

I didn’t want it…you disgusted me
But I let you do it anyway.

I hated you at my very core
You slept in my bed anyway.

I hugged myself and tried not to cry
My pillow case was soaked anyway.

I wanted to wash my disgust away
I smiled when you left anyway.

I loved those sheets
I threw them away anyway.
I went about my life and willed that night to go away
It haunted me anyway.

I never wanted to hear your voice again
You called me anyway.

I saw you again and tried to stay calm
I threw up anyway.

Georgia Tech lost 75 to 81 that game
Guess you won anyway.

You were charmed by my innocence
You took it away anyway.

My confidence and strength inspired you
You crippled me anyway.

My smile stopped you dead in your tracks.
You overran me anyway.

I thought you were harmless
You raped me anyway.

You took my life anyway from me…scarred the deepest part of me
I am surviving anyway.

Poem of Survival: Jean Leonard's words from Take Back the Night

2006-02-06T20:27:00.000-05:00

The following poem was recited at a Take Back the Night ceremony at Duke University. The author, Dr. Jean Leonard, is the Sexual Assault Support Services Coordinator at Duke University, and is a national leader in the fight against sexual assault. She is also a beacon of support for men and women on Duke's campus, and we are honored and very blessed to have been granted permission to be the first to share it publicly. We look forward to reading your thoughts on her beautiful poem. You can reach us by either clicking on the comments button at the bottom of this post, or you can e-mail us at likedustillrise@gmail.com
~~~

I am in awe of the elasticity of the human spirit
how it can stretch wide
paper thin
let people in
slide our pain
out of our grieving
heaving hearts
and let it land
heavy and true
in the gentle hands
of this loving space
a gift spun of
shared sorrows
of threads of experience
we wish did not connect us,
bind us
tie us, together
in this long march
for a justice that is our birthright
stolen
behind closed doors
slammed shut by
individuals' and society's
discomfort
with dirty truths.
They say a spider's web
is stronger than its equivalent in steel
I believe in this
delicate haven we've
woven tonight
and hope teardrops
become prisms
to reflect the morning's sun
because morning will come
and we will be there to rise with it.

|>by Jean Leonard, PhD.

Forever - A Survivor's Poem

2006-01-25T15:17:00.000-05:00

The following poem was written anonymously by a survivor of sexual assault. Her poem is reprinted here with her permission. This is the first time her poem has been shared publicly. The editors of this website would like to thank her and applaud her for her courage in sharing this magnificent and chilling poem with us.
~~~

Forever
by Anonymous

I am forever trapped
Caged by my inadequacies
I run in haste,
But I follow me;
I hide in fear,
But I find me.

I am forever haunted,
Plagued by my regrets,
Like tears that sting
But will not plunge,
Drops that swell
But only blind.

I am forever alone
Forsaken by my soul
Seeking affection,
But too rotten to taste
Too ugly to love.

I Cry

2006-01-25T15:12:00.000-05:00

This piece originally appeared in Duke University's sexual assault awareness publication, Saturday Night. It is republished here with permission from the author.To submit your own story of surviving sexual assault, please email us at LikeDustIllRise@gmail.com
~~~
I’m sitting here alone in my bed. Darkness nestles around my shoulders and slides down my back. I take a glimpse at the clock—it’s 2:35 am. I’m up because a million thoughts are racing through my head. I’m up because I have a paper due tomorrow that I need to work on but can’t concentrate. I’m up because I am desperately avoiding sleep and what waits for me once my eyelids flutter shut and my lashes rest upon my skin.

I cry.

I cry because I feel hopeless. I cry because I’m exhausted—my bones ache. I cry because I can’t let go. I slip into a fitful sleep. I let out muffled cries during the night that stir my roommate sleeping in the room next to me. Why are her dreams still hers while mine belong to someone else? Someone who, with a few quick thrusts, took away everything beautiful inside of me?

In the morning I wake, feeling more tired than the burdensome night before. I comb my hair, negotiating each tangle, along with my nightmares. I smooth on some lipstick—quieting the pain that burns in my very core. I dress and carefully open my front door. My God…the courage it takes just to walk out my door…to stop my imagination from carrying me away…to stop thinking about all the horrible things that could happen to me, that have happened to me. I take my first step without thinking about how much I want to crawl back inside and hide from my world. I am a rape survivor.

I am a survivor because I take that step each morning—because I go to work and class and I smile at my friends. I tell myself to ignore the times during the day when I’m sent tumbling back to your bedroom by a voice that sounds like you. I try to forget your sweaty face and your body pressing down—memories dredged up by someone I see on the quad who looks like you. I choke on my tears when I hug someone who smells like you, and I can’t think about anything but you holding my wrists until my skin bruised. Sometimes, when I’m alone and I sit very still, I can imagine what you must be doing right now. You’re in class cracking some wise-ass joke or strolling back to your dorm room flashing your dazzling smile at the girls that go by. You are so handsome.

I’m sure you don’t think of me.

I’m positive you don’t let your mind carry you back to that night; to the blood you found on your fingers when you tried to run them through my hair—blood from where I hit my head when you threw me down on your mattress. I bet you don’t remember me turning away from your mouth, avoiding your betraying lips and your beer-stained breath. Does it cross your mind that my eyes were flooding with tears as your hands clumsily overran my body? Do you remember telling me to stop crying? Do you think about how I yelled at you to stop as you forced my legs apart and invaded me? Did it seem unnatural when my body resisted yours—when your rough thrusts were not matched in return? Tell me, do you recall having to yank my hands apart to hold them in yours—because I was gripping the sheets so hard? You may not remember me, but I certainly remember you. I will until my dying day. I am forced to live with the memory of what you did to me. But you have to live with something much worse—yourself. No revenge of mine could ever be better than knowing that.

So I’ll have sleepless nights, and I’ll struggle through my days. I’ll smile when I know I’m falling apart inside and I’ll cry when there’s no one there to see. And I’ll think about you and see you for the monster you are, not the prince you pretend to be. I will fight. I will speak out against assault and I will be strong for other survivors. And I will grow, I will change. I will find my way or I will make a new one.

But you will begin each day like the one before it, and you will always be the same.

Prevention: Suggestions for Ending Sexism and Male Violence Against Women

2006-01-25T14:56:00.000-05:00

While beneficial in all cases, the following actions are particularly powerful agents of change when done by men.

Understand how your own attitudes and actions perpetuate sexism and violence, and work toward changing them.
Confront sexist, racist, homophobic and all other bigoted remarks and jokes.
Use positive peer pressure to help stop abusive behaviors that may lead to acquaintance sexual assault. For example, when over-hearing someone talk about taking advantage of a partner sexually, let them know you think this is wrong. Silence can be mistaken for approval.
Don’t fund sexism. Don’t purchase magazines or music, or rent videos or video games, that portray women in a sexually degrading or violent manner. Protest sexism in the media.
Read articles, essays and books about masculinity, gender inequality and the root causes of sexual violence. Educate yourself and others aobut the connections between larger social forces and the conflicts between individual women and men.
Support candidates for political office who are committed to the full social, economic and political equality of women. Actively oppose candidates who are not.
Organize or join a group of men to work against sexism and violence.
Support individuals and agencies who are on the forefront in working to end all forms of violence against children, women and men. Commit yourself to ending oppression in all its forms.

Adapted from Real Men, P.O. Box 1769, Brookline, MA 02146

Risk Reduction

2006-01-25T14:54:00.000-05:00

Awareness

Know your individual rights.
Know which behaviors constitute rape and sexual assault.
Know how alcohol and drug consumption impact your own and others’ behavior and how altered judgment affects your intimate relationships.
Know basic personal safety information and victim prevention techniques. Pay attention to what is happening around you, and avoid, when possible, vulnerable and potentially dangerous situations.

Personally
Think about what you really want in a relationship or sexual encounter and well as your limits.
Be aware of stereotypes that prevent you from acting as you would like.
You have the right to feel good about yourself and to get help if you choose.
If you have been the victim of sexual abuse, seek the support that you need.
Act on your needs and wants while not exploiting others.
Remember that good communication is done verbally and non-verbally: pay attention to what a person is saying as well as what they are doing.
Communication is not about not hearing no, but hearing a yes!

In Relationships
Develop personal intimacy communication skills and communicate what you really want and what you are really thinking. Passivity may be misinterpreted as permission. Be direct and firm with someone who is pressuring you sexually. Assert yourself.
Know your sexual desires and limits. Believe in your right to set those limits.
Communicate your limits clearly.
Listen and pay attention to the verbal and non-verbal cues you or your partner may be sending. If you are not sure, STOP and talk about it.
Trust your intuitions. If you feel you are being pressured into unwanted sex by your partner or peers, you probably are.

Be aware that you have the right to say no to sexual activity regardless of whether or not you have had sex before. You have the right to stop sexual activity at any time.

Adapted from educational materials from Ithaca Rape Crisis and Colorado State University

What to Do If You Were Assaulted

2006-01-25T14:49:00.000-05:00

If You Were Recently Assaulted: Helpful tips for self-care/action

Go to a safe place.
Tell someone—a friend, family member, rape crisis advocate or professional.
Seek ongoing support—the resources listed on this website are available to you.
Medical follow-up is recommended to ensure your physical well-being. This can be done at the local emergency department, campus health center, or your physician’s office.
You have the option of reporting. Evidence collection can be done at the Emergency Department. To pursue this option, it is best not to shower, bathe, change clothes or douche in order to preserve physical evidence. Having evidence collected does not obligate you to proceed with legal or judicial action. Anonymous reporting is an option.

If you were assaulted in the past: Helpful tips for self-care/action
Sexual assault and relationship violence can have a lasting impact on an individual’s well being. Survivors may experience feelings of depression, guilt, anger, fear, grief and loss, and may find their relationships, academic performance, and day-to-day functioning affected.

If you are experiencing distress of any kind, please know that it is possible to heal.

Tell someone—a friend, family member, rape crisis advocate or professional—even if you didn’t tell anyone at the time it happened.
Seek ongoing support—the resources on this website are available to you!
You have the option of reporting—to the police or your campus Judicial Affairs office, either formally or anonymously.

Common Reactions to Sexual Violations
In order to effectively support a rape or sexual assault survivor, it can be helpful to know something about the common responses to sexual violations. Please note that the following stages of recovery are only generalizations; not all victims will follow the same patterns or at the same time frame. Each individual reacts differently; some may never experience certain symptoms, some may fluctuate between stages and some may become “stuck” I a particular stage. Therefore, use this information only as a guideline. Do not attempt to use this information to predict future stages. Each survivor’s experience of the healing process is unique and is influenced by a number of life factors.

Stage 1: The Initial Shock or Acute Stage
Victim experiences a sense of crisis, loss of control, confusion and a sense of unreality. The victim may feel a great deal of confusion and have a hard time making decisions.
Different response styles are possible: An individual may be very expressive (crying, easily startled, “hyperalert,” “hysterical”) or withdrawn (numb, disconnected, quiet, no obvious emotion) or some combination.

Stage 2: The Denial or Pseudo-Adjustment Stage
Attempts to go on with life “as usual.” Victims want to forget the assault.
Victims do not usually seek help during this stage.
You cannot force anyone out of the denial stage, nor should you try. This is an effective way of dealing with trauma temporarily. You might let the victim know that sooner or later things will surface and the event will “hit them.” Communicate that this is a normal reaction and that there are resources ready to help, when he/she wants/needs them.

Stage 3: Reactivation or Decompensation Stage (“Life falls apart”)
This phase is usually triggered by some event that stirs up memories associated with the assault.
In this stage, the real problems start to surface, and the victim is likely to seek help from friends, family and advocates. This can be confusing for family and friends who were under the impression that he/she was “over” the sexual assault.
Survivors may experience depression, suicidal ideation, feelings of guilt, shame, helplessness and confusion. They may experience academic and relationship difficulties, physical symptoms (headaches, gastric problems), nightmares, flashbacks and changes in eating and sleeping patterns.

Stage 4: The Anger Stage
When the victim begins to acknowledge the fact that they had no control over what happened and they let go of some of their self-blame, they may begin to experience intense feelings of fear, anger and rage. The victim may be angry at everyone but the perpetrator because he is the “least safe target” for the victim’s anger.
This stage also usually involves a grieving process: victims may being to identify their personal losses and start to face the pain around those issues.

Stage 5: The Integration Stage
The assault and the events surrounding it are viewed as significant life experiences integrated among other experiences. The event becomes part of the past and is gradually acknowledged as an event that continues to impact who the survivor is.

Rape and sexual assault happen in all communities. Male survivors, survivors of color, and lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered survivors all experience similar reactions to those described above. However, they are also likely to be struggling with the additional burdens of stereotypes, racism, homophobia and other oppressions, often leaving them feeling even more isolated, confused, ashamed, frightened and less likely to seek support.

Tips on Caring For Your Friends

2006-01-25T14:48:00.000-05:00

Believe him/her: People rarely make up stories of sexual assault, rape or abuse.
Be a good listener: Respond to feelings as well as words.
Don’t blame the person: No victim asks to be assaulted; no one deserves to be assaulted.
Provide support without taking over: Encourage the individual to explore their options and let the individual make his/her own decisions.
Respect the individual’s privacy: Let the individual decide whom she/he will tell.
Be there during the long healing process: Provide ongoing support.
Take care of yourself: The resources listed on this site are available to you too.

Myths and Facts

2006-01-25T14:42:00.000-05:00

Myth: Sexual assault is a rare occurrence
Fact: Although statistics vary for a number of reasons, according to RAINN (Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network) 1 in 6 American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape and 1 in 10 men has been the victim of sexual assault. Even more, every two and a half minutes, somewhere in America, someone is sexually assaulted and a rape is reported about once every five minutes. This is not a rare occurrence.

Myth: Women cry rape because they had sex and changed their minds, want to get back at a man or want attention.
Fact: Rape is not a regret, it is a crime! In actuality, according to the FBI, less than 2% of rapes are falsely reported. There is simply no benefit to reporting a rape (survivors are met with disbelief and accusations and cases are rarely prosecuted successfully). Furthermore, the attention gained by being raped is not something a person would want. Rape is a very difficult, traumatic experience to overcome with emotional scares that last for years.

Myth: If the victim has consumed alcohol or drugs then it is not a sexual assault
Fact: Whether the victim consumed alcohol or drugs prior to the offense is irrelevant. The assault is the responsibility of the offender—who CHOSE to commit a crime. Someone incapacitated by drugs or alcohol is not fully able to give consent.

Myth: Women who wear short skirts or tight tops are looking for sex.
Fact: How a woman dresses is not an invitation for sex.

Myth: It is impossible to sexually assault someone against their will. If they did not want to be sexually assaulted they could have fought or run away.
Fact: Any sexual act forced upon another person is considered rape. It does not matter if the person fought back or not. Submitting without a struggle does not mean the victim consented to the sexual assault. The victim is the best judge of whether or not it is safe to resist. The victim is NEVER to blame for the assault.

Myth: Husbands don't rape theirs wives.
Fact: Being married does not mean a partner can obligate and force sex upon their mate. Rape can happen anywhere, by anyone.

Myth: Men sexually assault women because they cannot control their sexual urges (it’s about sex).
Fact: Sexual assaults are violent crimes committed by men who want to dominate and degrade women. Sexual assault is about power!

Myth: Women secretly want to be sexually assaulted
Fact: Women do NOT want to be assaulted. Sexual assault is a traumatic, painful, and fearful experience

Myth: "Nice" girls are less likely to be sexually assaulted.
Fact: Women of all ages, cultural backgrounds, social classes, and of all sexual lifestyles are equally likely to become victims of sexual assault.

Myth: Women who are sexually assaulted "asked for it" by the way they dress or act.
Fact: The notion that women "ask for it" is a classic way to displace the blame from the offender to the victim. If a woman is sexually assaulted, it is NOT their fault. A woman NEVER "asks" or deserves to be sexually assaulted regardless of how they dress or act.

Myth: Rape is the victim's fault: "If she didn't want to do it, why did she go to his place? She knew what kind of guy he was!" "You know how she gets when she's drunk. " "Oh, she sleeps around."
Fact: Statements such as these put the blame on the victim and not on the offender. Rape is never the victim's fault. Even if she did something that puts her in a vulnerable position, she did not ask to be sexually assaulted.

Myth: It's not as traumatic to be raped by someone you know.
Fact: Just because the victim knows the rapist doesn't make it any less a crime or any easier to deal with. Often the emotional impact of acquaintance rape seems greater than that of stranger rape. Also, the victim may have a strong feeling that no one will believe her. Her trust in others and in her own judgment is violated.

Myth: Unless a weapon is used, it wasn’t rape.
Fact: It is considered rape anytime someone uses force with intercourse or other sexual acts against a person’s will. The force may include weapons or intimidation, drugs, alcohol or any other tool to diminish the person’s judgment.

Myth: Women are sexually assaulted by strangers while they are alone in dark alleys or deserted places.
Fact: 80% of sexual assaults occur in the home and 49% occur in broad daylight. Most sexual assaults are committed by someone the victim knows and trusts, for example a family member, friend or casual acquaintance.

Myth: Men cannot be sexually assaulted.
Fact: Men CAN be sexually assaulted regardless of age, size, strength, appearance or sexual orientation.

Myth: Only homosexual men are sexually assaulted.
Fact: Heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, or transgender men are equally likely to become sexually assaulted. Being sexually assaulted does not have anything to do with your sexual orientation.

Myth: Only homosexuals sexually assault other men.
Fact: Most men who sexually assault other men are heterosexual. Sexual assault deals with violence, anger and control over another individual and not lust or sexual attraction.

Myth: Erection, ejaculation or orgasm during sexual assault means "you really wanted it" or "enjoyed it" or consented to it.
Fact: Erections, ejaculations and orgasms are physiological responses that may result from mere physical contact or even extreme stress. These responses do not imply that you wanted or enjoyed the assault and do not indicate anything about your sexual orientation.

Myth: Men are always in control of their sexual experiences.
Fact: This is not true, either for young boys or for adult males. Men can be victims of rape/sexual assault.

Myth: Men do NOT experience the same degree of emotional pain associated with sexual assault like women do. If a man experiences emotional pain, he should be able to deal with it.
Fact: Factors such as alcohol, drug abuse, family violence, sexual offending, suicide, and social dysfunction may be a result of sexual abuse of males when not acknowledged or treated.

Sources:
Fraser Health, 2002, Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner (SANE) Program
The New York City Alliance Against Sexual Assault, 2005

Information and Statistics

2006-01-25T14:33:00.000-05:00

Sexual assault: Any sex act against your will, without your consent, or when you are unable to freely give consent.

Rape: Any sex act involving penetration of any body opening by any object, that is against your will, without your consent, or when you are unable to freely give consent.

Against Your Will: Implies that one partner said “no” to a sexual act, or gave another verbal or nonverbal indication such as pushing away or looking away, that such sexual contact was unwanted.

Without Your Consent: Implies that one partner did not agree—in other words, did not say “yes” to a sexual act.

When You Are Unable to Freely Give Consent: Implies that a given individual has had either the right or the ability to freely consent taken away by another person or by circumstances. This includes, but is not limited to:
• Being intoxicated or under the influence of drugs
• Scared
• Forced
• Bound/gagged
• Underage
• Passed out
• Intimidated
• Coerced
• Mentally impaired
• Beaten
• Threatened (with or without the use of a weapon)
• Isolated
• Physical impaired

The most effective way to ensure consent is to clearly communicate with your partner, even in a casual encounter. Keep in mind that communication can be both verbal and non-verbal (for instance, being quiet is often NOT an individual of consent but rather is a way of expressing discomfort, shock or disinterest). Remember consent is not merely the absence of a “no” but the receiving of a “yes!” If there is any doubt about consent, STOP and ASK. If you can’t get a clear answer, wait until later.

• Every two and a half minutes, somewhere in America, someone is sexually assaulted
• In the United States, a rape is reported about once every five minutes
• 1 in 6 American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape
• 1 in 10 men is the victim of sexual assault
• In 2003-2004, there were an average annual 204,370 victims of rape, attempted rape or sexual assault
• About 44% of rape victims are under age 18, and 80% are under age 30.
• Approximately 80% of victims are raped by someone they know.
• Approximately 58% of sexual assaults go unreported to the police

Many surveys have been conducted to determine the prevalence and incidence of rape and sexual assault. The differences in findings across these various surveys are related to how rape and sexual assault are defined, characteristics of the sample selected for the study, screening questions, interviewer training and techniques, and other methodological and procedural issues.

Statistics from:
RAINN (www.rainn.org)
www.911rape.org

The Rape of the Peach Tree

2006-01-24T21:14:00.000-05:00

The Rape of the Peach Tree
The ability of expressive writing to heal is a little understood but much-needed therapy for victims of sexual assault, who find solace in ending their silence and solitude
~
by Like Dust Ill Rise
~
There are fewer breeches of life more severe than rape, which pollutes the most divine act that humans can undertake—the creation of life via the physical communion of love. But its toll on the individual victim is far more egregious, far more immeasurable than the stain it places upon intercourse. The effect of rape is difficult to gauge as it varies person-to-person, but it is inevitably and always significant. The act of being raped, then, is comparable to being afflicted with a disease. Quite literally, the assault is unending, as it is relived in nightmares, in flashbacks, in daydreams. The pain it inflicts, physically and mentally, is so jarring that it has the power and ability to reverberate throughout a victim’s entire life. There are no cures for this ameliorating rape’s effects either, though there is a potential remedy that has gained further credibility in the past two decades--the healing power of writing. “Our own wounds can be vehicles for exploring our essential nature, revealing the deeper textures of our heart and soul, if only we will sit with them, open ourselves to the pain…. Without holding back, without blame.” This statement has proven true for any and all sorts of healing, whether from coping with cancer, to improving blood pressure, to grappling with the everyday meanderings of life. For victims of rape, however, writing is paramount because of the dearth of options for victims of rape to obtain healing. And at Duke University—as evidenced by the writings and candor of three undergraduates--writing has arisen as a prominent source of overcoming the treacheries of sexual assault both for victims and for the friends of victims, the consequences of which have reaped considerable benefits for the entire student body, but most importantly, for the women who are the survivors of rape. The primary vehicle for this movement—the magazine Saturday Night—is but one facet of the writing cure for Duke’s rape victims.

Writing as a medical cure is usually bunched as one of a myriad of alternative medicines. Championed in the 1980s by Dr. James Pennebaker, writing--particularly with an emphasis on emotionally expressive writing--was proven to have plentiful benefits for those who simply put pen to paper. “The present findings,” Pennebaker wrote, “along with those from conceptually similar experiments, suggest that the disclosure of trauma is simultaneously associated with improvement in certain aspects of immune function and physical health.” Encouraging results, certainly, as they provided scientific credence to the belief so widely held among professional and amateur scribes alike: writing is survival. Writing, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author Alice Walker has said, is “a matter of necessity and that you write to save your life is really true and so far it’s been a very sturdy ladder out of the pit.” Walker’s verbiage is noteworthy, as her final phrase hearkens back to an assumption Pennebaker made in his research—that writing about tragedy or pain would be advantageous for the subjects of his study. Further, expressive writing about stressful events can prove equally beneficial, in the “regulation of emotion-related experience, physiological responses, and behaviors, which, in turn, can enhance physical and mental health outcomes.”

And how is it done? “Two strong conclusions can be made with regard to the benefits of writing,” wrote Laura King. “First, expressive writing has health benefits. Second, no one really knows why.” This is a slightly exaggerated view, as King conceded that there were a bevy of theories to explain the benefits of expressive writing, ranging from “Freudian notions of catharsis and insight” to “behaviorist concepts of habituation and extinction. But she takes these ineffable conclusions further, opining that writing assists in self-regulation, which she defines as “the capacity of a person to effectively pursue goals, to register feedback in that pursuit, and to adjust his or her behavior accordingly.” There are obstacles to overcome prior to reaching this point, however. It takes a certain amount of courage or of self-assurance to seek out that self-regulation through expression. Indeed, expression, or the adage of “getting something off one’s chest,” is not a new concept in therapy. But the value and importance of writing as one form of expression in healing has taken hold, as has the study of its usefulness.

For victims of sexual assault, the emotions that need to be let out are often restricted by innumerable factors. Most significantly, women feel unable to speak up or to point fingers, so victims often suppress any and all emotions related to the actions that occurred. This is not only detrimental to that woman’s mental health, but to her physical stability as well. Consequently, her silence can be egregious to the community of women in which she resides, as the culprit is still at large, capable of repeating the assault at any time. This thought, too, troubles victims of sexual assault.
Victims of rape—90 percent of whom are victimized in date or acquaintance rapes—are all-too-often pummeled with claims of culpability. The refrain usually allows for the following castigations: “You never said no;” “Your jeans were tight;” “You were intoxicated, so how could you even remember?” And because of the grand amounts of skepticism that revolve around any claims of sexual assault, victims are extremely hesitant to come forward. And as bad as that is, what is worse is the personal denial that so many victims had that nothing occurred at all. This is where the silence comes from, and where the power of writing steps in. Writing as therapy is important for all of these victims, but for those that are yet to even identify their experience to themselves, writing can serve as the impetus to self-regulation and self-liberty.

~

“At least I can write down all my thoughts and feelings; otherwise, I’d absolutely suffocate” |>Anne Frank

My primary concern in studying this topic is in the psychological effects of writing for victims of rape. In general, there are two distinguishable effects—long and short term. The contention of Pennebaker in his expressive writing handbook, Writing to Heal, argues that “one’s mood changes immediately after writing” and that “immediately after writing about traumatic topics, people often feel worse.” This is a temporary response, however, which Pennebaker equates to seeing a sad movie—at its conclusion, the viewer feels “sadder but wiser,” but later more fulfilled for having seen the film. Indeed, Pennebaker states that “people who engage in expressive writing report feeling happier and less negative than before writing. Similarly, reports of depressive symptoms, rumination, and general anxiety tend to drop in the weeks and months after writing about emotional upheavals.” For rape victims, then, the cure comes in something stronger than self-regulation. It comes from gaining self-insight and self-power, which expressive writing is purported to provide.

I would contend that it goes even further than that. Consider the novel Their Eyes Were Watching God, in which the protagonist, Janie Crawford, daydreams of her first sexual encounter, and of what love and marriage will feel like. An erotic scenario, Janie lies under a peach tree, observing bees as they pollinate its flowers.

She saw a dust-bearing bee sink into the sanctum of a bloom; the thousand sister-calyxes arch to meet the love embrace and the ecstatic shiver of the tree from root to tiniest branch creaming in every blossom and frothing with delight.

This literary description of lovemaking contrasts sharply with the experience of rape—rather than being lurid with passion, it is lurid with pain; instead of ecstatic shivers, rape brings cold night sweats; rather than “creaming in every blossom”, there is the morbid and terrifying presence of trickling blood.

In rape, there is a loss of this intimate desire—a fear of it—that can taint the joys of the flesh for the entirety of a woman's life. This is not to be disregarded as superficial or superfluous to a woman’s mental health. The inability to be touched is just one of the many ramifications of suffering from the after effects of sexual assault, and as I opined earlier, rape does strive to achieve this, and in so doing, rape breeches life.

If there is a setting that fosters the renaissance of life more so than any other, however, it is a university. And while the ability of Duke University to foment such personal grappling and realization is moot—some would say it’s ideal, some would say it is far from it—a growing number of students have begun to seek out self-regulation, self-power and self-insight in the face of that great breach. Borne from a thwarted sexual assault attempt in 2002, the victim and a handful of friends sought out healing through writing. The result, Saturday Night: Untold Stories of Sexual Assault at Duke, was a 32-page compilation of narratives and short stories from Duke women who had been sexually assaulted.

Widely publicized inside the Duke community, the magazine was well-received—as well-received as something of this nature could be. It was, in effect, putting faces upon the many undisclosed sexual assaults that happen so often in college, and at Duke. Some stories were morbid, some were horrifying, some were calming; some were angry, some were ebullient; some were short and some dragged on. But they all were written in the same spirit of seeking peace, understanding and healing. And they were all written in the context of having survived the breach of their young lives.

This is writing therapy at its core. Women sat and wrote about their deepest, most personal life experience, pouring it out on paper and being courageous enough to allow it to be shared with the community. Such is exactly what Pennebaker had studied in the 1980s, and is exactly what has reaped benefits for the many authors of Saturday Night. But I wanted to dig deeper, like Seamus Heaney, and seek out fundamental truths rather than scientific evidence. Certainly, Pennebaker and his contemporaries can irrefutably conclude that writing is therapeutic, and they can posit reasons why. To gauge the minutiae of each situation, however, and to track individuals in their process of healing is something that I was unable to unearth in my research.

As a result, I asked two Duke women, both survivors of rape, if they would be willing to share their stories with me in writing. These were two women who had previously utilized writing as a cure—either through Saturday Night, journaling or the spontaneous writing of a poem—so I asked them to also consider how that writing had helped them, how it had made them feel, and how their lives had change since being infected with the disease of rape; since writing their stories; since taking strides to reclaim their lives.

~

“If I were to examine our diseases poetically, we might find a wealth of imagery that could speak to the way we live our lives.” |>Thomas Moore

The way Jane Doe leads her life is far different than how she used to. Taken advantage of by an acquaintance from N.C. State, she has since become one of the leaders on Duke’s campus at the Women’s Center and its sexual assault awareness team. Jane, who incidentally is a good friend of mine, is gifted at helping other rape victims discuss and cope with their pasts. But she herself uses that helping as a way avoiding her own demons. “My work becomes all about the other survivors and everyone else hurting,” she wrote to me recently. “My way of dealing with it was almost not dealing with it.” So this fall, as I was researching this paper, I asked her if she had ever tried writing about her grapplings with her sexual assault experience. Knowing that she hardly ever spoke of her own rape with anyone, I thought it may be beneficial, as I listed some of the findings I’d read in Pennebaker and DeSalvo.

The next day, she told me she had written for 45 minutes straight. “I just sat down and typed and kept going and the next thing I knew I was done,” she wrote. “It really didn’t take long at all. It’s almost like I just turned my brain off—the hesitation, the worry, the fear—and I just typed.” That emotional and physical shutdown is indicative of a change, in and of itself. And, true to Pennebaker’s findings, the immediate response for Jane after her subconscious writing was one of increased sadness. But that evening, she reaped the first benefits of her expressive writing. “Normally I sleep very fitfully,” Jane wrote, but “for a few days afterward, I slept soundly.” This statement would augment Pennebaker’s assertion that expressive writing provides not only mental healing, but physical healing, too. Granted, sleeping disorders are often the derivatives of traumatic events or high amounts of stress—but such is one of the results of rape, as well. And that Jane was able to conquer her sleep deprivation, if just for a few nights, makes her having written expressively well worth the effort. So here is one of the leaders of helping Duke women find their own voices, voices that have been quelled by that sexual breach, and she herself was just beginning to scratch the surface of her own self-regulation. But her reaction from the writing is just the beginning of her tale of healing.

A week after she had written her piece, Jane decided she wanted to submit her story to the editors of Saturday Night. Prior to doing so, she invited me to serve as her personal editor, a request I humbly honored. I arrived at her apartment, we sat on her couch and we went through the story, moving from one harrowing detail to another. Her strength was impressive, as she told me that I was the first and only to have read her story thus far.

“No, you’re the first person to know what happened that night at all,” she corrected.

I found this stunning. It didn’t make sense to me why this woman would have felt unable to open up regarding her situation, particularly when she had been so talented at helping others embrace their scenarios. As it turns out, her writing of emotions blasted open the floodgates. “It’s the first time I’ve ever really acknowledged it myself,” she wrote to me later. Indeed, she more than acknowledged it—she embraced her own experience, and confronted the man who assaulted her with her writing.
Perhaps the most horrifying segment of her piece is when she speaks to the perpetrator directly.

I tell myself to ignore the times during the day when I’m sent tumbling back to your bedroom by a voice that sounds like you. I try to forget your sweaty face and your body pressing down—memories dredged up by someone I see on the quad who looks like you. I choke on my tears when I hug someone who smells like you, and I can’t think about anything but you holding my wrists until my skin burned. Sometimes, when I’m alone and I sit very still, I can imagine what you must be doing right now. You’re in class cracking some wise-ass joke or strolling back to your dorm room flashing your dazzling smile at the girls that go by. You are so handsome. I’m sure you don’t think of me. I’m positive you don’t let your mind carry you back to that night; to the blood you found on you fingers when you trid to run them through my hair—blood from where I hit my head when you threw me down on your mattress. I bet you don’t remember me turning away from your mouth, avoiding your betraying lips and your beer-stained breath. Does it cross your mind that my eyes were flooding with tears as your hands clumsily overran my body?

The literature on writing as a cure notes that there is writing that is helpful to healing and writing that is not. Specifically, when someone writes in clichés and remains unattached from the words they are producing, there is only negligible “healing.” However, when a person writes honestly, vastly, vividly, the emotional outcome and health outcome is considerable. This is exactly what happened for Jane.

When the two of us were editing this segment, the language and the jagged emotion was already in place. We merely had to concentrate her energy and fix some rudimentary grammar issues. But I asked her, point blank, about two word choices that seemed either odd or perhaps confusing: “handsome,” and “overran.” I told her that to call this criminal handsome was a fine inversion—which it is—but that it would serve as a hint of implication to any critic that may be reading her piece. Ah, see, she thought he was handsome. She probably led him on. This isn’t so ridiculous a concern, unfortunately. But Jane was steadfast. This boy was devastatingly good looking, and when she had expunged her thoughts from her head and into this narrative, it was her favorite sentence. In fact, it was the only good thing she could remember about this person. And Jane, an individual who assumes the best in someone before succumbing to reality, needed that positive connection. She also recognized the pure terror of calling her rapist handsome. Yet it was part of the horror that is rape, she explained. It had to remain. This, of course, made it clear why Jane had penned “overran” rather than the more common “ran over.” The use of the base word “overrun” brings to mind images of war, of one army invading another’s land, destroying everything in its path. Such was the extent of the rapist’s damage and an accurate description of his actions.

It would be misleading to conclude the discussion of Jane with such a disconcerting conclusion, however. The fact remains that Jane was able to write that piece; she was able to discuss it with me while we edited it; she was able to reconsider it a month later. She accomplished all of this without breaking down, by maintaing control and, in her own words, “reasserting my own control.” Indeed, that is her self-regulation and self-control, and writing helped to bring that to her.

~

This progress has been harder to come by for my second subject, Lauren Williams. A more cerebral person, Lauren has little in common with Jane. Both are undergraduates, both are friends of mine, both are very intelligent, both have a tumultuous past, and both have been raped. Their separate life experiences are interesting and noteworthy because of the cliche that “what does not kill you makes you stronger.” Indeed, Jane's struggle with her mother’s death several years ago has made her a stronger person, and on several fronts helped her to cope with her own metaphysical death when she was raped. She has found new life through her workings in the Women’s Center, and now, through her writings. Lauren, on the other hand, faced her own death while a high schooler, as she suffered from myriad health problems that claimed much of her time, energy and spirit. Yet she persevered, somehow, and earned admission to the University. This inner strength, one would assume, would help one deal with any and every obstacle that may come. This has not been the case.

With Lauren, I mixed up my requests: I had her write a brief essay on her writing as a cure experience, and then had a “written” conversation with her through instant messaging. I felt this was a good course of action because Lauren had already written her piece, spontaneously, this past summer. A victim of date rape her first night of college, she has only told seven people of her experience—six of them since the afternoon she sat and put her thoughts on paper.

“I wrote it that one time, and it wasn’t even writing it—it was just spitting out my emotions,” she wrote in our conversation. “I’ve never actually been like, 'This is what happened to me'.”

In her essay, Lauren describes the scene more vividly, the details of which I feel are appropriate here: “One day, sitting in my cubicle at my summer job, I was overwhelmed with the memory of that night. To this day, I’m not sure why it hit so hard in that one moment—harder than it had at any time since the experience. Whatever the reason, I suddenly felt the urge to write, the need to say something, anything. So I opened a blank document on the computer screen and began to write. About the anger and the guilt, the self-hatred that tore me apart at the same time my fierce defiance of the event made me want to scream. About the feelings of disgust I felt facing a nurse the day after, telling her it was my fault, and could I please have a pill. About the feelings of unworthiness and stages of grief that I had been unable to cycle through. Denial. Pain. Filth. Hatred. Remorse. Fear. It all spilled out onto the computer screen.”

First, every written word presented from Lauren must be considered twice, as she is a prolific writer and journalist. She is an adept storyteller, which is not to say that her story is fictitious—I wholeheartedly believe it is true—but that her way with words is more calculated than the average student. That said, the quoted paragraph is riddled with personal insights, but also with cliché, particularly the last two lines. In fact, much of her essay read like a novel, as if each phrase was deliberately selected to mask what she was truly feeling. And while I don’t doubt that she felt the melee of emotions she lists, she lacks the candor and the self-confidence to truly define what she was feeling. That was not the case when she wrote her poem:

Forever

I am forever trapped
Caged by my inadequacies
I run in haste,
But I follow me;
I hide in fear,
But I find me.

I am forever haunted,
Plagued by my regrets,
Like tears that sting
But will not plunge,
Drops that swell
But only blind.

I am forever alone
Forsaken by my soul
Seeking affection,
But too rotten to taste
Too ugly to love.

This is an incredibly self-deprecating, scathing poem with a grim outlook, indeed. She feels imprisoned inside herself, afraid; she cannot see past the evening she was assaulted, knowing that she was heavily intoxicated and therefore unable to remember every detail; she is seeking someone who can ‘forgive’ her for the rottenness she feels, and for the beauty she cannot see in herself. This all aside, Lauren did notice a change after she wrote her poem—she began to cry. “I cried not in pain, but for the first time, out of a sense of relief. I had finally been able to say what I felt, release my emotions, if even only to myself. It was cathartic, to use the usual word. It was a step towards healing, though I doubt I’ll ever be completely healed.” When I pressed Lauren on this belief, which is synonymous with her assertion that she is trapped—she can never heal—she said that she does feel as if she has “sort of coped.” Believing this to be hogwash, I queried further, to which she responded that she does not let her fears and emotions over her rape dictate her life. “I just focus on other things, things that make me happy.”

These assertions contradict what she wrote in her narrative, where I believe she was being more honest with her emotions simply because she was writing them more for herself than for me. Indeed, I had instructed her to write the narrative as if it were a journal entry, because journaling is one of the methods which Pennebaker and his peers have found as being therapeutic. Part of her "assignment", then, was to reflect on her feelings immediately after finishing the narrative. Now, Pennebaker had noted that the immediate feelings following the writing were bound to be further sadness, as the long-term effects were generally where the positive ramifications were noticed. She again used the word “cathartic,” but admitted that “I still have trouble talking about it because I have not come to terms with it. I still have a lot of doubt in my mind about the experience, the way that I handled it, how I should handle it now and in the future. But the more and more I talk about it, the better I feel.” The concern, then, is that Lauren very rarely wants to speak about this, or write about it, to herself or to anyone. The fact of the matter is that I am the only person who is aware that her poem exists. She has read it just twice in her life; the day she wrote it, and the day she e-mailed it to me. These are not the signs of someone who has “sort of coped”—these are signs of a person still trapped inside herself. Her search for self-control and self-regulation must continue, then, and I can only hope that the writing cure which she introduced herself to, accidentally and spontaneously, can begin to open the door for her to the kind of peace and comfort that she may require.
~
The question, then, is how to present the writing cure to people in need of it. Indirectly, the publication Saturday Night serves that role, as do the efforts of the Women’s Center at Duke. The magazine does not solicit manuscripts or narratives or poems; it waits for the literature to come to them—and it does. Individuals, just like Jane and Lauren, want an outlet to express their emotions because it does, ineffably or not, temporarily or not, make them feel better. So what has begun to evolve is a domino effect. The first piece was the decision to make the magazine; the second was its release, where it was made available and embraced by the entire community—particularly victims of rape; and now, in its second year, the magazine has received far more submissions than it had anticipated. This trend will likely continue, and in the process, a community of healers will emerge, armed with the pen and the key to unlock themselves from the pain and the fear that was stolen from them in their past.

Jane has progressed a great deal in her healing, though she has a long journey ahead of her. But she has begun to reclaim herself through her actions, and more recently, through her words. In so doing, she has also conquered the man who took advantage of her: “So I’ll have sleepless nights, and I’ll struggle through my days. I’ll smile when I know I’m falling apart inside and I’ll cry when there’s no one there to see. And I’ll think about you and see you for the monster you are, not the prince you pretend to be. I will fight. I will speak out against assault and I will be strong for other survivors. And I will grow, I will change. I will find my way, or I will make a new one.”

For Jane, her way was physically stained—her peach tree was ruined. “I went through that period where I did not want a guy to even touch me,” she wrote. But she has grounded herself in the faith that she can and will heal, she can and will overcome. It will require a leap of faith for her to trust a man to touch her in the right way, to trust her back. But through exploring her own words and her own emotions, Jane will someday be able to arch her back in delight and peace, and not in pain and fear.

Missoula Rape Poem

2006-01-23T13:49:00.000-05:00

Missoula Rape Poem
by Marge Piercy

There is no difference between being raped
and being pushed down a flight of cement steps
except that the wounds also bleed inside.

There is no difference between being raped
and being run over by a truck
except that afterwards men ask you if you enjoyed it.

There is no difference between being raped
and losing a hand in a mowing machine
except the doctors don't want to get involved,
the police wear a knowing smirk,
and in small towns you become a veteran whore.

There is no difference between being raped
and being bitten by a rattlesnake
except that people ask if your skirt was short
and why you were out anyway.

There is no difference between being raped
and going head first through a windshield
except that afterwards you are not afraid of cars
but of half the human race.

Fear of rape is a cold wind blowing all of the time
on a woman's hunched back
Never to stroll alone a sand road
through pine woods;
Never to climb a trail across a bald mountain
without that aluminum in the mouth
when I see a man climbing towards me.

Never to open the door to a knock
without that razor just grazing the throat.
The fear of the dark side of the hedges,
the back seat of the car,
the empty house rattling keys like a snake's warning.
The fear of the smiling man
in whose pocket is a knife.
The fear of the serious man
in whose fist is locked hatred.

The value of writing

2006-01-16T14:15:00.000-05:00

The following is the account of an author after sharing her story anonymously through Duke University's sexual assault awareness publication, Saturday Night. It embodies the purpose of this website, and what we hope it will foster for those of you reading, those of you who want and need to speak out and tell your story.

In my opinion, writing for Saturday Night took a lot more courage than speaking about my assault ever did. It scared the hell out of me.

The thing about writing something down is the permanence of it. Once you’ve written it, and even further, once you’ve had it published, there’s no going back. I can’t tell you how many times I came close to changing my mind and almost pulled my story. It’s a scary idea; to think something will go on after you’ve left. Then add to it that it’s something so personal and horrible all at once.

It was hard to know that thousands of people were going to read my story and yet strange to know they wouldn’t know it was me. I had friends and classmates read it next to me and have no idea the piece was mine. That was a strange and eerie place to be in. And yet, I found myself hiding in that space and wrapping it around me when I was scared of what might happen.

Then you deal with the conversation about it. You have to listen to the criticism, the disbelief, the ignorance, the hope, the raw emotion, the sorrow…all as a third party. You feel less like you’re telling a story and more like you’re listening to someone else’s. You wonder if you should come clean and when.

What was perhaps more frightening was looking at a friend’s face after they read the story you chose to share with them. Letting someone in when you are your most vulnerable is quite possibly the bravest thing you will ever do. Once they read it, you have to take the ride with them. Shock is usually first. Next comes anger. Then the sheer desperation of it all hits them and sadness begins. It’s trip you’re all too used to going on at this point in time. You’ve taken it by yourself and now you have a passenger. Hold tight ladies and gentlemen and remember to put your own oxygen mask on before you assist others with theirs.

What gets you through the shock, hesitation and fear is the notion that your story is making change. It forces dialogue and provides people another view of assault…a more personal view than one could ever hope to get without knowing a survivor personally. To know I’m making a difference…I’m leaving a permanent mark on the world. That thought was the only thing to cling to when I had nowhere else to go.

Lastly I would say while the writing process was challenging and forced me to go places I may never have wanted to go again, it was also extremely therapeutic. Getting my thoughts out on paper and sharing it with people I cared about made an immense difference in my life and my coping process.

Still I Rise

2006-01-08T01:36:00.000-05:00

Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.