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juanatrastamara · 3 months ago

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SAAM 25- The Cruelest Man Alive

Hello, all. As you know, a few years ago I made a post about my experience with sexual assault. I was 17 and fully accepted what had happened to me. However, I still didn't remember many things. I had just dug myself out of a black hole of full spiralling for four years, and didn't remember much. The text I wrote was wrote at 3 a.m., shaking with fear and crying while trying not to wake anyone. But now, I am 22, and almost with two years of full therapy and twelve years of healing behind me. I warn you, sexual assault will be discussed under the cut. If it triggers you, you are under no obligation to read it. However, you'd help me, and my fellow survivors, with a reblog. You don't even have to say anything. Just reblog it.

And to you, the survivor or someone trying to break out of it, if you feel alone in what you're suffering and feeling, reach out to me. I can't heal you, but I can give you comfort and a willing ear.

Before I jump to what happened, let me give you some context.

The year was 2013. I had just turned twelve, and was excited to go to high school with my friends and my twin sister, despite the school not being the one I wanted due to my mother deciding which one to go instead. We went to check the lists, and I was gutted. I was alone in a class with people I didn't know... and my primary school bully. I was terrified, but I couldn't ask them to change me to my sister's class because it was against policy to have twins in the same class due to regards of possible impersonating or cheating -which is ridiculous, because my sister and I had sterling clean records-. I was the weird, new, disabled new kid, and among loud, mean kids who knew one another, and my bully.

I noticed someone looking at me, and I turned back at a guy older than me who'd become the man I fear most: my abuser, C. I don't wish to give away his full identity yet, but let's call him that. Thing is, C was a bad boy to the bone: he had missed several years, he had terrible grades and focused more on having girlfriends and being bad than study, and I was a nice, shy girl, who was also mentally disabled. The more I think about it, the more I know he saw me as a new, fresh blood to abuse.

On October, the teacher and our class tutor decided to make an experiment for good and bad behaved children in Britain: the good kids would sit with the bad kids so 'their influence would rub off on them', like it was up to me to save him from being bad, despite being at least three or four years older than me and fully grown at that time. I of course, was polite to him. He was, and this is me being generous, invasive. Asking questions about my private life, especially my love life. If I liked someone, if I had kissed someone, if I was a virgin, if I wanted to do it someday, telling me about his romantic throes and how all his exes went crazy and were either cheaters or bitches. I didn't know any better. I was twelve, alone in a class full of people I didn't know, and he was one of the most well-known students of the building.

His friends weren't any prize either. They started bullying me, first verbally. Calling me crazy, retard, all the demeaning names you could imagine. And one of them was vicious, and soon befriended C.

One of them started yelling in the middle of class that my sister was hotter than me and that he'd ask her out, and I ignored him. Some of them even pulled the classic tactic of asking me out, and I, inocently, rejected him.

Then C got to work. He started talking about someone who had a crush on me. Talking to me every day. Monopolizing me. My friends and I were good, but they noticed it. My sister giggled one day, when I said bye to C, saying that he never had female friends for long. She teased me, saying that he was crushing on me. I dismissed it. A boyfriend was not what I wanted, ever. He was not even my type. I was scared of him. I always have been, and I always will be.

He started passing me notes about his friend 'asking me out' and I always said no, saying that I did not want a relationship right now, arguing calmly that I was young and had my whole life ahead of me. He was always furious and asking why, and I stood by my point. So he leveled his game, gaslighting me. I passed the first year with flying colours, and on summer I was oddly relieved not to go.

Until September of 2014. Classes begun again, and he told me he had liked me all along and wanted to be my boyfriend. I turned him down, and he guilt-tripped me into saying I broke his heart. I 'thought it over' and asked my (bad influence) cousin if I should give him a chance. I did. The worst six months of my life would ensue.

By then, I was a somehow rebellious teenager. My father was a verbally abusive imbecile who held me to impossible standards, my grandfather was a full-blown fascist under the guise of chill guy, my grandmother was a victim in his hold and my aunt, whom I adored then, seemed to start to dislike me, my cousin liked my sister more. My friends liked my sister more. Everyone save C liked her more. My mother was struggling physically, mentally and economically. We were recovering from the 2007 economical crises. The only one who seemed to see me was C. I thought he was my savior, but he was the worst of them. I was, unknowingly, at his whole mercy, his to do what he liked, and he knew I'd comply.

We agreed to go on a date on November to the outskirst of town. He lovebombed me all afternoon, and I was put on the spot, nowhere to run and nobody to call. My phone then was a Blackberry, and calls cost money I didn't have. I had my first kiss with him. I thought then how amazing I felt, but there was this feeling I couldn't shake. It was going fast. Romance was slow, sweet, intimate. This was not it. I shook it off.

The second date was perhaps one of the worst. I have nightmares of them to this day, and trying to remember it makes my skin crawl, and I can't even watch a certain movie because of it. He told me to go to the movies with him, and my classmate asked me to go with us, but he refused. Vehemently, and manipluated me into telling her no. I didn't know why she insisted. I'd realise later why.

All the way to the bus, he wouldn't stop snogging me, even though all I wanted was to talk and get to know him. But he had other plans. We arrived to the theater, and not even the film, which was Crimson Peak, started, he was already all over me again. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was all black and dark, he was kissing me everywhere, but I was paralysed. I didn't know what to do. He touched me without asking for permission. He even knelt and tried to lift my pants, and if I hadn't yelped of horror, he would've continued. He then whispered 'I can't be slow with you. I want you, and I will have you no matter what'. Something inside me told me to run. To grab my things and leave. But my house was on another town, I didn't know the area, and didn't want to make a scene, so I told him that there'd be time for that. He didn't take the hint, and continued with his innuendos and putting his filthy hands everywhere, especially in the sex scene. All I could do was stand there and let him. There was something about his grip. It wasn't gentle and loving, it was possesive and violent.

My grades started to slip. My father yelled at me. My friends and I were drifting apart, my mom was drowned in her sorrows, and my grandparents saw me as this poor, retarded girl who couldn't do anything for herself. They must've noticed I was paying attention to boys, or my sister, despite begging her to not tell anyone yet, told them, but my father, with three cans of beer on him gave me a loud The Talk in the middle of a bar, with everyone in town within earshot, telling me not to get pregnant or I'd 'find out' and die and live forever as a whore. I just looked down the floor and tried not to cry of humiliation. My grandfather was more creative with his already cruel punishments, and my older brother had just come from juvie, and also joined the 'make of Noe the punching bag' literally, arriving to class with marks and scars. Nobody said anything. Nobody cared.

We had more dates, where all he did was snog me and try to guilt-trip me into sex, and making up excuses that he needed to have sex with me or else something bad would happen. I didn't want to. All his friends said was to either have sex with him or else he'd call a prostitute. I was humiliated to say the least.

I found out he was cheating on me and broke up. He told everyone I had given myself to him on the cinema and did things I'd never do. They called me a whore, an attention-seeker, a dirty slut, a cold-hearted bitch. I was 13. He was 17.

On January, I asked him to come back together, and the date that would ensue has given me fear of the woods at dark alone with a man. Because it gets dark faster in winter, when we arrived on a lonely bench in the woods, it was already dark. We sat on the bench, and I tried to have a real conversation with him to no avail, because once again, he was all over me, this time more violent, his grip like iron. He didn't stop at snogging me. He took off his shirt and ripped most of mine, and started kissing me. I tried to keep it lighthearted, but as usual, he didn't listen. He told me 'You're on fire, Noe. I am going to make you mine tonight.' I wanted to scream, to fight him off. My whole body was screaming 'Get out of here, he WILL kill you if he doesn't have you.' I closed my eyes and hoped he'd be done quickly with it. He gripped me so hard, I had marks for days. He saw I was resisting, and muffled something about staying put or else. Then, I heard him cursed and grab our clothes, quickly covering off the evidence as a man with his dog passed by. I thanked all the Gods right there. Noticing that he may lose his chance, he practically dragged me back to town, wanting to take me to his house, but I said no. He relented when I told him my mom knew I was there. She didn't. I walked to the furthest bus stop with half my shiry ripped, marks and shivering everywhere, trying not to cry. When I arrived home, I went to the bathroom to cry. My sister turned down the light, told me stop being such a crybaby and wasting everything I touched. My brother played games all night, and my mom was asleep when I arrived. She was preparing for my grandmother's death. We'd break up weeks before she died. I was never allowed to mourn my way either cause 'school came first'.

Then, my then best friend, who oddly enough had my same name and looked like a younger version than me, but far wilder and more rebellious and less cautious- and who had a stable boyfriend- proposed to introduce C to her and she'd help fix the relationship. I said yes. They became good friends. She'd text me of how he felt that we were 'drifting apart' and he texted me about how good she was and that if I kept 'being mean to her' (I wasn't. It was our dynamic, and SHE was the mean one) he'd break up with me. That Sunday, I scrolled through Insta to find an edit of the two of them KISSING, professing their love. I cried out of humiliation and betrayal all night, and my mom confirmed she saw them together, alone, and very touchy with one another. On the class break, his fucking best friend casually approached me and said that C said that we were done. I was flabbergasted. He didn't even have the godforsaken balls to break up with me himself. He started dating her, and soon my other friend told me of how it was highly possible that they had sex already.

The bullying got to its worst point. My friends called me problematic and dissed me for my own twin sister. My father got even more abusive and violent. Everyone went back to call me a whore and an attention-seeker, and even more demeaning and denigrating names. My grades dropped like flies. My family practically ignored or mocked me, or a mix of both. I had nobody. Hence, I started to hurt myself in order to feel something. That summer, C went away to study somewhere else, and my father tried to strangle me after a heavy argument. I had just turned 14, and all I wanted was to die, and, at that moment, I thought everyone else wanted me to die too. Those four years from ages 14-17 are a blur. I remember terrible friend choices. I remember they bullied everyone. Me the most. They mocked me ceaselessly, they insulted me and my tastes and everything they could. They shoved me to guys I didn't like and forced me to make out with them. I remember one of their 'friends' pointed a gun at my head, and I didn't even flinch, because I was highly suicidal. They even punched me, at some point, and when I cried, they told me it was 'all shits and giggles and that I'd be laughing a few years later'. It's been a few years later, and I still am not laughing one bit. But that was not the worst.

I encountered him, twice. Both staged by my so-called 'best friend'. She whined about how he'd changed and turned a new leaf and was a 'feminist ally'. While still dating minors. Him being a grown ass adult. And one time, he even tried to touch me and take me somewhere, and I said loudly no for all the local pool to hear, and the second time was that what he had done was beyond forgiveness. He left when he realised that people were again staring and couldn't manipulate me anymore. Throughout the years that followed, I cut my skin, hurt it, neglected it, barely went out of the house because I was afraid he'd find me and finish what he started, and even attempted to jump from my home's terrace, had my mother not saved me at last minute and given me a speech of how much she needed me. I stopped right there for her. She'd become my lifeline for years to come after that.

During those years, I gave up my father, who had been for so long before trying to strangle me, who had been my hero, because he had done something so atrocious to my half-siblings, I couldn't bear it. I wanted to forgive him, in my young mind, for what he did to me, but the sin towards my siblings was too much. And I got no thanks, and my sister still was the beloved of the family despite being with the man who ruined her family and tore it in two. She still does. Then, I slowly drifted apart from my siblings when we kicked out my brother because he was so borderline abusive to us, we just had to before things took a turn to the worst. To this day, my mother is all I have left from my family.

At seventeen, with help from various therapists and friends, and of course, feminism, I broke out of my shell, and after writing that post and getting nothing but support from you guys, I told my mom. I broke into full-blown sobs, begging her not to hate me, that I didn't know any better, that I was young and nobody helped me or noticed or cared. I had endured ever since heavy bullying, from trying several times to push me downstairs, trying to lock me into the boys' bathrooms, denigrating insults wherever I went, losing several school years to heavy PTSD, anxiety and depression, an unstable household, and had just gotten free of two of them. She just looked at me horrified and said 'How come you never told me or anyone for four entire years?' All I could do was cry. She hugged me, told me to tell her who was it if we ever encountered him, and that if I could find proof to take him to court, to tell her first and foremost, and that she loved me nevertheless.

During that year, I met two of his exes who told me that he had done much worse things to them while still being minors (or being straight up minors) and he frequented groups in the capital with minors and vulnerable people overall. We are no longer friends, but we have an agreement: despite our beef, if he is taken to court by someone else, they will tell the law to call me as well.

I recovered ever since. Started wearing clothes I liked, being less cruel to myself, learning self-love, feminism, politics, law, how to take care of myself, skincare, makeup, how to clean and cook, the works. I also downloaded this app, and interacting with its communities did wonders to my mental health and regained my love for writing. I left my abusive high-school, dropped my shitty friends, went to a school that I loved, graduated high school and started my bachelor's degree in humanities, my longest love. I also started TCH then, and despite having some bumps on the road, I am much stronger and braver, and last year, my dear friends @jerzwriter @storyofmychoices @loreofyore and sweet @aria-ashryver and @aallotarenunelma 's stories gave me the much needed support group of fellow survivors after what it felt like yelling to the void.

And before I jump to the resources, I have a message for those survivors who are reading this. Whether it's a recent thing, or something you haven't opened up before, or if you even doubt it was sexual assault, let me tell you this: having your body violated in any way is traumatic and messed up. It WAS SA, even if it wasn't violent, even if there was no coitus, even if you consented at first. It doesn't matter. If the sanctity of your body was violated, it was sexual assault. And whether you report it or not, it still happened. I want you to know that I love you. You are not dirty, or broken, or soiled, or unloving, or anything like that. You are beautiful, wanted, loved, and have so much to offer to the world. In here, and always, I will always want to hear you, and I can't heal you, but I can support you all the way in everything you do. Please, tell someone, drink water, take care of yourself and allow yourself to grieve. The grief, the feelings, all of it, they will hurt. I know what I'm talking about. I couldn't look at my own body at the mirror without seeing him hovering over, his hands on me. I had nightmares, panic attacks, full-blown breakdowns, I couldn't even speak to men without fleeing of pure terror, and to this day, I recoil every time a man tries to touch me. And the mere thought of intimacy, both emotional and sexual, terrifies me. But I know it won't last forever. We will stop having these nightmares. We will become stronger. And we will meet someone who makes us feel safe and good. There is life after such pain, and it's waiting for the both of us. Lean on your loved ones. Find a professional who understands and respects you. Allow yourself to be taken care of. And remember, among survivors, we take care of one another.

And now, onto resources and data so you or a loved one knows where to look, starting with the US, and going to Europe, Africa, Asia, America and Oceania.

RESOURCES

RAINN Sexual Assault Resources

International Resources for Sexual Assault and Harrassment

Take Back the Night

Victim Support Europe

Helplines in Spain for Sexual Assault

Bay Area Women Against Rape

International Committee of the Red Cross- Responding to Sexual Violence

If you have any more resources, please don't hesitate to reblog this post with the links!

Support victims. Believe them. Take care of them. Remind them of how loved they are.

Thank you for reading all of this. I wish you the best.

Noemi.