Rape: my story

I’ve debated whether I would talk about this. Its a personal story. My story but every woman who has ever been raped story. The story of every young girl who was betrayed by a boy story. The story of every woman and man who thought it was their fault. Thought they deserved it. Somehow, some disjointed rational thought, these believe it was their fault. no matter now deranged the person committing the assault tries to make them believe that they didn’t ‘do’ anything to them, not really. The act itself doesn’t last forever, but the pain, humiliation, negative feelings about yourself, about others seem eternal. the constant criticism about your decision making abilities, and let’s not forget the total decimation of your soul and self-esteem. The well is so deep you almost feel as if you are 10 feet from China. 

I have lived this part of me for so long, it was second nature. Even after I “knew” it wasn’t my fault, i didn’t “know” it wasn’t my fault. it was part of my DNA at that point. I didn’t tell, so who would know? eventually i did tell someone. He told me that he’d knew other women who were raped also. I didn’t ask about them. I almost didn’t tell him but i did. Then I almost immediately regretted it. Not because he wasn’t compassionate, but because I didn’t want him to think I was broken in some way. 

It has taken me a lot of time, thought and letting go to realize that I am not broken. 

This is my story.


I was 15. he was 14. He was a former neighbor who I thought was a friend. I worked every Saturday  From 8:00 am to 5:00 pm at a police station. I would catch the bus back and forth to work. I would have to pass my old neighborhood. As i had a more than an hour wait for the bus, he would suggest I stop by his house, under the pretext that there was no sense in me waiting in the cold for hours for an unreliable bus.

So I went. At first, we would just talk then talking turned into making out and more. I was hesitant to come back, but he would insist each time that he didn’t mean it and he was ‘sorry’. I would tell myself that I wasn’t going to go back yet he would call and apologize and say nothing was going to happen. I fell for it a couple of time. Finally, I decided this is the last time. So I went. I thought I would be okay because I was on my cycle. I thought thought would be enough to ‘deter’ him. It wasn’t. We went to his room. He started kissing me. I told him NO. He told me that he didn’t care. I told him No again. He started pulling on my clothes. I told him NO and got up from the bed. He started laughing as i straighten my clothes and started for the door. He blocked me. Told me he didn’t care what I ‘thought’ and I was going to fuck him. I told him NO. He reached towards the door and pulled out a long barreled gun. I wasn’t going to be scared. I told him to move. He laughed. I told him I was leaving. he pumped the gun 20 times and pointed it at my chest. Told me i wasn’t going anywhere until i fucked him. I said “fuck you”. He laughed and pumped the gun 20 more times. i realized he was serious. then i became angry. I said “Fuck you, move.” He laughed and pumped the gun 15 times. he raised the gun and pointed it at my head and fired. the bullet went past my right ear.  I tried to not let him know just how terrified I was. He knew i disliked guns with a passion. I He started pumping the gun again. I tried not to let him know just how scared I was. He backed up and went out the door, still pointing the gun at me. he said that being on my period didn’t mean anything, he’d get a towel. I could hear the door locking from the outside. I stood there, trying to figure out what to do. I looked at the two windows. while this was a one story home and i wouldn’t break my neck jumping, i knew i’d cut myself jumping out the window. I hoped the windows were open, but they were locked. before i had a chance to try the windows, he came back with a towel. he laid the towel on the bed and told me to lie down. I was like, NO. he pumped the gun 20 more times. I realized he really was going to shoot me. I decided that maybe if he saw the blood, he would change his mind. He told me to take off my clothes. I told him i was on my period, again. He told me to lie on the towel and he held the gun in front of me. I took off my clothes, hoping, praying he would change his mind. I laid on the bed. he reached between my legs and pulled the tampon out. He threw it on the floor and crawled on top of me. I turned my head and looked out the window. i then realized that his older brother, who was 18, was watching us through the window and laughing. I turned and looked at the ceiling, wondering who else was watching my humiliation. 

After what seemed like forever. He got up. laughing. I remember just trying to get out of there so fast. I can’t even remember what he was saying. I just wanted out. I remember almost running out of the door, down the street to the bus stop. Thankfully, the bus came within 10 minutes. I sat on the bus looking out the window. When i got to my stop, i don’t think i remember walking home. I went straight to the bathroom and sat in the tub. I don’t think I even cried. I just sat there until the water ran cold. stunned. I didn’t tell anyone. No one. 

He called me a few days later. He told me I left my necklace. I told him to keep it. He reminded me that I loved that necklace. That it was special to me. That all I had to do was come over and he’d hand it to me. No sex. He kept assuring me that all he wanted to do was give me back the necklace. nothing else. nothing else he kept saying. Please come get your necklace. I told him that I would stop by, but he could leave the necklace in the mailbox. he agreed. 

On Saturday, I walked to his front door and looked into the mailbox. The necklace wasn’t there. he opened the door. Told me that the necklace was in his room, I should come in and he’d get it. I stood in the living room. He started goading me. Laughing, telling me how if he wanted, he could fuck me again. I started cussing him out. He stood in front of me and pushed me. In my anger, I put on hand behind me to brace myself on the couch and then lunged towards him. He moved to his right to dodge me. Then I realized why. His dog, a giant German Shepherd was standing directly behind him. His family had trained the dog to attack anyone who made a threatening move to them. The dog leaped towards my stomach. I turned to my left. Not quick enough as the dog grabbed me at the hip. Its teeth sank into my jeans. I could feel my flesh tearing within its teeth. The dog kept turning its head, back and forth. I stood there. More angry than in pain. The more the dog turned, the angrier i became. I stood there, watching him while he laughed. I looked him in the face and told him that if he didn’t call his dog off me, I’d rip its neck off. I started reaching for the dog’s neck. Anthony realized I was serious and pulled back the dog. I turned and started walking for the door. He stood there, holding the dog laughing. I walked to the bus stop before i realized that I was in pain. By the time the bus came, my side was throbbing. When I arrived at my stop, i hobbled off the bus. I was home before i realized that my jeans were torn at my right hip. When i took off my pants, I was bleeding. I couldn’t tell anyone without explaining why I was there in the first place. I stood in the mirror pouring alcohol and peroxide into the dog bite, praying i wouldn’t get an infection or worse.

He called a few days later. he said that I ‘forgot’ the necklace. When would i be coming back to get it? I hung up the phone. he called back that Friday evening. Was I coming over tomorrow to pick up the necklace? I hung up the phone. He called back once or twice after that. I would always hang up on him. He eventually stopped calling.


NO, I don’t have children and NO, there’s nothing wrong with me.




For those who know me, know that I love my nieces and nephews dearly. and my ‘adopted’ children and their children. I buy baby shower gifts, birthday gift, Christmas gifts, ‘i just thought it looked like you gifts’, etc. Not because of any requirement, but because i want to. Men ask me why i dont have children. I say simply that i never met anyone that I like well enough to go through childbirth for. That’s the basic standard line i give everyone. Its the truth. childbirth hurts. A LOT. Children are worthy of our love and support. They don’t deserve to be brought into this world because someone is lonely, tired, angry, hostile, wants someone to love them unconditionally, want to ‘outdo’ their brothers, sisters, parents, to show someone that they are ‘grown’, or whatever subconscious issues someone has. 

I’ve watched children come into this world with parents who had no clue. Parents who barely understood the ‘biology’ of how their own child ‘got here’, yet couldn’t grasp the concept that parenthood was a 24/7/365 the rest of your life situation. If I hear another parent say: “When is it going to be MY time?!” I always say. “when they are grown/and or 18 and out of your house, then you can take a temporary breather”. 

Growing up, surrounded by sisters and brothers, I spent my days lazying enjoying being the middle of the pack. i was old enough to know how to avoid trouble and young enough that my older siblings got tagged if I did get into trouble. I stomped in mud puddles, rode bikes, ran down neighborhood streets and alleyways looking for all sorts of mischief (which i usually found). I was in a town where everyone knew my dad and all the teachers knew my siblings. this was reality TV before reality TV. you never knew who was watching and reporting back. I helped my older siblings take care of the younger ones. i changed diapers, wiped noses, gave baths, taught them how to walk and talk. I look back at those experiences with fond memories now that we are older but it also taught me that parenthood was a serious commitment. 

In late middle school and high school, i saw classmates and acquaintances brag about how they were ‘ready’ for a baby and how they would take care of a baby and a baby would love them. I would shake my head and ask, so.. who is gonna pay for all this? Of course, they were prepared with ‘my mom and dad or me and the father.’ I would just laugh and shake my head. I had many people upset with me because I was like, you are just stupid. Even at a young age I realized they just didn’t have a clue. they were having babies like status symbols. Gucci and Fendi bags. children had became something to brag about. Of all the girls I knew having babies from that period of time, only one is with the father. and they didn’t get married until the child was 12 years old. While they dated before their had their “son, within 2 years of his birth, they had broken up and he was dating other people. It wasn’t until after HE went out onto the world and ‘did him’ that he decided that he loved her and wanted them to be a family. He declared his ‘leaving’ while his son was young as ‘immaturity’ but now he was ‘mature’ and realized what he had. I personally thought his ‘explanation’ was a bunch of bullshit, but then again. i didn’t have to be with him. 

I wanted the total package. I wanted a man to be there from the beginning. from conception to birth and beyond. i wanted to full ‘ride or die’ experience. i wanted to know that we were a team, we were a family. i expected nothing less that full commitment. It was all or nothing. I was on no timetable. i wasn’t bogged down by some preconceived nothing that i had to have a child before i was 25 or 28 or 34. It was simple. no man/no child. and not just any man, but one that shared my idea of what children and family meant. I never dating a guy and told him on the first 3 dates that i wanted children within 2 years so what are you offering. Hell, if a guy could make me want to kiss him after 3 days, it was a miracle! 

I dated all types of men, black, white, young, old, rich, not so rich, funny, charming, intelligent, active, kinda lazy. Some are more special to me than others. some i’d much rather forget. I learned what i wanted in a man, what i wanted in a husband, what i wanted in a father for my children. I’ve had 12 guys propose about 23 times (several proposed more than once). I said Yes only twice. Then I realized that I would not marry either one of them. I knew deep down that what they wanted wasn’t the life I wanted and I wanted more than what they were offering. Settling wasn’t an option for me. And it wasn’t an option for my unborn children. So we broke up and I moved on. 

I saw my friend in their 20’s and 30’s desperate for babies and husbands and romanticizing how motherhood would somehow save them from their lives. It didn’t. In some cases, motherhood came at the most unopportunistic time, from guys who had nothing to offer them but their sex organ.  In others, their dreams for marriage made them overlook drug problems, domestic violence issues, anger management issues, credit issues all for the bragging rights to say that their child was born ‘in wedlock’. Still others working on a deadline grabbed the first available man they could, whether he was single or not for a ‘donation’, most times without his being on board with her baby plans. While they love their children, they don’t really ‘like’ their situation. To have to guilt someone into being a father isn’t on my agenda. To run back and forth into court with a guy who has 3 other children for child support issues is a nothing I wanted to look forward to. Its heartbreaking to watch my friends and friends of friends justify staying in relationships because they don’t want to be a ‘single’ mother or to have to admit to friends and family that he really was just the type of guy they ‘pegged’ her man to be. No one likes being wrong, no one likes looking like a fool. 

I have volunteered for various children charities and supported them financially. I email my representatives on issues that affect families and children on the state, local and national levels. I have mentored children. I have been the adult that children I know come to when their parents are getting on their nerves. 

I am on the other side of my baby making days. I have no regrets. My expression of motherhood comes in every blog post I write. Every poem I create, every word I write.

No, I don’t have any children and NO there is nothing wrong with me.