sarahhlauren

[sarahhlauren]

Okay. Here we go. I’m really not sure where to start so I guess I’ll start from the beginning of all this madness. It was May 18, 2019. My mom’s birthday. I headed to work in the afternoon. I always closed on Sunday nights. My favorite bartender was working. We had spent the night making stupid jokes and making each other laugh until the last customer walked out the door. I closed at work like I usually did, not trying to stay too late because it was a school night. Monday morning comes, I wake up and for the first time, my body was not mine. It was not my own skin, it was not my own legs, my own hands. I couldn’t tell you what my face looked like because it was maybe 2 weeks until I could look at myself in the mirror. But, the world did not stop. There was work to be done, right? I had my first therapy session at 9 am, because prior, I had been dealing with severe depression, a final at 11, and my last final at 2. I had to focus on doing well and finishing out the semester, putting aside the fact that I felt like a ghost in my own body and mind. For the record, I got a 4.0 that semester, for the first time ever in college.

So it's late afternoon, I made it through my finals. I text my best friend, saying I need to come over and talk. As soon as I laid on her bed, I burst into tears as it took everything in me to say the words, “He raped me.” Even now, a year later, I hate that. It will never not make my stomach hurt. Within an hour, I was talking to three police officers, going over the incident in disgusting detail over, and over, and over again. Being asked questions a young woman should never have to be asked, especially by three young male officers. A few hours later, I was at the hospital. I went through the entire questioning process again from the nurse. A few moments later, I found myself standing there, naked. Being photographed, touched by a stranger, poked and prodded. I will never forget the posters of puppies with silly hats they have on the ceiling, as if that’s supposed to distract you from the flashes of the camera as you lay with your legs in the air. She forgot to mention that the hospital’s Plan B would have me in bed for 2 days. It felt like my insides were being scraped out with a rusty fork.

A few days later I eventually came home, and my mom was eager. She knew something was wrong but wanted to let me tell her on my own terms. The look in her face as tears streamed down her face fills me with so much anger I could punch something. That she had to hear those words and understand the gravity of the situation, and that I was pursuing legal action.

It was exactly one week after I saw him again. Not only did I see him, but I worked with him. Not just this one night, but for months. Because the investigation was active, I couldn’t say anything to my managers. This was the hardest part. For weeks, to act like everything was normal. To act like I wasn’t having multiple panic attacks throughout my shift. To act like I wasn’t getting alerts on my apple watch that my heart rate was pushing 120 bpm for hours. To act like I wasn’t in the presence of my rapist, as he was still approaching me. To act like I was listening to customers talk, when I was blacked out. If I didn’t act like things were normal, it could jeopardize the investigation. I am fully aware that some people may be questioning my actions. I don’t feel I have to defend myself to anyone. It was an impossible and unimaginable situation. I did the best that I could at the time, and I am so proud of myself for it. I chose to not take the easy way out. I chose to not quit my job. I chose to fight.

About early June, I was finally able to tell my GM what happened. I told them, “I do not feel comfortable working with him, ever again.” The very next shift, a few days later, my GM told me he was working that night and asked if I would “be okay.” What was I supposed to say? If I said no, I would get sent home, and in my mind at the time, that was letting him win. He took so much from me and I refused to let him take any more. So I worked with him that night, and for months. Being retraumatized over and over and over again. It wasn’t until months later that I could see how toxic that environment was for me. In the moment, I truly thought that I could just tough it out and I would be okay. I couldn’t see how much worse those months made my PTSD. Solidifying dozens of triggers, some still unknown to me until I face them.

About 5 months pass by, no news on the investigation. I had heard nothing from the investigator. These months were such a cycle of torture. My job wouldn’t do anything about him without a police report, and the police weren’t giving any updates. Nothing was moving. Meanwhile I am working with him a few days a week, retraumatizing my brain and body dozens of times over.

Trauma, anxiety and depression are really weird. Yes you have the common symptoms of lethargy, no motivation, sleep or appetite issues, but I feel like nobody talks about the blackouts and the memory loss. I have such little memory except for anything trauma related for those first few months. I can tell you every little detail about the following days, and weeks related to the incident. I can tell you what kind of car he has, his license plate, the exact parking spot that he parked his car in. I can tell you exactly what time he drove to work, which days he worked. I checked his schedule every week so I had time to mentally prepare myself to work with him on a given night. Do I remember my college visits? Not really. Do I remember anything I did that summer? No, unless I look back at photos. The memory loss is real, and it's weird.

Finally, my job transferred him to a different store. I felt a sense of freedom. Freedom to turn around at work without fear that he was looking at me. Freedom to walk to my car at night without a manager’s escort. Freedom to feel comfortable again, or at least try to.

Around mid-October, I met with the investigators again about the progress of the case. This time, it was two women investigators and I in a small room in the Sex Crimes Investigation Department in Orange County. It felt like they were on my side, or at least they were supposed to be. I didn’t anticipate being thoroughly questioned again. The same intrusive questions felt different coming from a woman, almost worse in a way. We got to the point where the investigators told me straight up, “it's your word against his, we have no proof of his guilt and without it, can’t move forward.” That was it. It was over. There was nothing I could do.

I did my best to move on, whatever the heck that means. There’s a lot I could say about my healing process, that is still very much going on and will be for a while. I’ll try to keep it limited. The most important thing I want to say about it, is that it is not linear. From May-August I thought I was fine, I was in denial. Then, someday it hit me and I understood the situation on a different level. One of the things I learned is how depression can impact memory. I have little memory of that summer, outside of events and emotions related to my assault. Each day brings something different. Similar to grief, some days are better than others. Triggers that once upset me, no longer upset me. Triggers I didn’t know existed last August, send me into a panic now. I still live in constant fear of seeing him, knowing that he is out there, living his life. Working through PTSD on top of preexisting mental health conditions was more than I ever could have imagined. It’s hard, it sucks and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy. I don’t have much else to say about that right now.

One of the most interesting concepts I read about in a book about trauma is called “learned helplessness”. I remember learning about this maybe junior or senior year in psychology class, but it never stuck until it applied to me. “Learned helplessness, in psychology, a mental state in which an organism forced to bear aversive stimuli, or stimuli that are painful or otherwise unpleasant, becomes unable or unwilling to avoid subsequent encounters with those stimuli, even if they are “escapable,” presumably because it has learned that it cannot control the situation.” Essentially, it explains why traumatized individuals tend to stay in the environments or climates that harbor the trauma. For me, it helps to explain why I stayed at work instead of quitting.

At the risk of sounding cliche, I would not be where I am today without the support system that I have. I am grateful every single day for my family and loved ones who support me unconditionally and have been with me at any point in this process.

I want to recognize how lucky I am, because I truly am. I am lucky to have been in a position where I could go to the police for help (regardless of the outcome), because many victims do not have that luxury. I am lucky to have had access to medical care. I am lucky to have continuous access to mental health professionals. I am lucky to have friends and family who believe me, who never questioned me. I am lucky that it wasn’t worse than it was. I am lucky to be alive, because not everyone is as lucky as I am.

I have a lot of reasons as to why I wanted to share my story. I want to make very clear that pity and attention are neither of my reasons. One of the main ones, is that I want to contribute the conversation about sexual assault and sexual violence. A big part of what motivated me to pursue legal action was the thought of me not being his last victim. Almost immediately I felt a sense of responsibility. Responsibility to do something about this, because again, I am lucky enough to have access to resources to do so. I hope this can spark conversations about the necessity of affirmative and continuous consent, regardless of circumstances.

Another big reason is to highlight the series of injustices throughout this process that have nothing to do with my rapist. I will not name names, however many of you will know the people that I am talking about. In no way am I attempting to slander them, I aim to simply draw attention to where I felt they failed me. I just want everyone to do better. To try harder. To do the right thing, regardless of company policy or whatever hardship it might bring them.

The first one, I believe was on behalf of the police. I understand the need to secure the privacy of the investigation, but they told me to “go back to work and act like everything is normal.” This was, and is wrong. I felt like I had to, because the police told me, and I’m supposed to trust them, right? Wrong. I feel they could have come up with a better solution, providing me more support than that.

The second one, would be by SO many people within the company that I worked for. My GM, the senior HR manager, and the 2 regional managers who were aware of the situation. All of them had the ability to not only relocate him, but fire him at the snap of their fingers, but they didn’t. I have my thoughts on why they didn’t, and all of them put my wellbeing at the bottom of the pile. The senior HR manager called me every so often to check in, and see how I was doing. It was made very clear that he didn’t give a shit about me and this was just a routine part of his job when he told me over the phone, “Thank goodness I don’t have a daughter, only sons.” This HR manager ultimately ended up telling my rapist the police were involved, which is very much illegal for a few reasons, and is ultimately responsible for ruining the investigation.

The third one was the investigator within the Special Victims Unit assigned to my case. Take this one with a grain of salt. I don’t know if I just got a subpar investigator or this is how they all are, but Olivia Benson would put them to shame. Without going into too much detail, I never felt heard. I felt like they couldn’t wait to get this case out of the way and never put in any real effort.

I would absolutely be lying if I said that I didn’t have any anger. I am so angry. I am fucking angry that this happened. I am so angry at all the ‘adults’ that I went to for help, and didn’t receive it. I am angry that I’m not the first girl that he’s done this to. I’m angry that I can’t prove it. I’m angry that in a court of law it’s his word against mine. I’m angry that he admitted he heard me say no, but it was the one time I didn’t put my phone in my pocket and take a voice recording. I am angry that a year later, I am still suffering every single day. I still have nightmares. I still have panic attacks. I still think about it every damn day. I am angry that he gets to live his life as he wishes. I am angry that I am filled with petrifying fear that it will happen again. I am angry that I’ve spent months, now a year, in therapy talking about him. I am angry that I am angry!!

20% of women will experience rape in their lifetime, and 1 out of every 10 rape victims is male. This is real and it happens. It happened to me. But it didn't have to. And it doesn’t have to keep happening. We all hold the power to make it stop. Start the conversations. Don’t laugh at jokes about sexual assault, because it’s not funny. Correct your friends, family, coworkers, bosses, and neighbors when they make jokes that contribute to rape culture. Stop supporting that behavior. If you see something, DO SOMETHING. Be the one to stop it. Be the one to step in. Be the difference. Break the cycle, do better, be better.

Again, thank you to all of those who have stuck by my side at any point in my journey. I appreciate you all more than you know and I love you all so much more than my words can possibly express.

Thank you, and you know who you are, for showing me what it’s like to be respected, to be loved. That it's possible to be comfortable in my own skin. To let your light shine through to the darkness that existed within me. To show me how strong I am, what I am capable of, and what I am worth. I am forever grateful for you and your grace.

For those of you who aren’t as fortunate, I am here. I am here to listen, to confide in, to help, to advocate, to love, to protect you. I am here for you.

For those of you know someone who has experienced sexual assault or violence, believe them. Be there and listen to what they want and what they need. Love them and remind them of the good, because there is so much more good than bad in the world.

For those of you that have read this far, thank you. Thank you for taking the time to hear my story. I hope to have impacted you for the better.

-sb :)