Shane

I want to take a moment, three years after posting my first entry, to talk about sexual assault and rape.

His name is Shane. I do not follow him on any social media. I do not have his phone number or Snapchat. I have disconnected all ties. I have not heard from him since the day I told him to no longer contact me…the day he told me he’ll keep me as his “little amazing memory” from that Cancún vacation.

That text message skips on replay in my head from time to time, and I think about the power it represents: the power Shane claimed over me and my body in only a few hours time.

The day after that brutal night, I was numb. I’ve had a reoccurrence of this feeling lately, for different reasons, but I feel the familiarity. Completely empty, no reactions. I remember feeling incredibly scared. Scared to say what I remembered and knew to be what happened, scared to back up the reality with how I felt. Scared to be viewed by my peers as something less.

After rereading my previous entry, I noticed a few things wrong with it. I blamed myself. I literally turned the circumstances for my rape onto my actions, that I got myself into the situation. I basically felt guilty for allowing myself to be in that situation. I may have gotten too intoxicated and walked away with someone unknown, but this did not give ANY authority to him to decide to enter me. And for my guy friend, I gave him respect he absolutely did not deserve. He crossed multiple boundaries and as a result triggered me.

When i say scared to be seen as something less…that is wrong. That statement is false. Yes it’s how I felt, but it’s so wrong. This fabricated fear of being seen by others in a certain way that either you don’t believe to be true, or what you feel you don’t embody, is one of the most difficult feelings to carry.

12/18/19

I add onto this post months after first writing it….

In a place where I’ve been in a long term relationship with a partner, best friend, and lover, I have learned what love is and how to heal the wound Shane left me with…

I’ve come to realize I have been raped twice. Four months after Shane, my first weekend as a freshman in college, the same events followed suit:

A very drunk girl would come home with a boy, who then asked if she wants to have sex and says no. The boy would continue to kiss her, she would kiss back unaware he has slipped his pants down until he slid inside of her….even though she had said no. Too drunk to tell what was going on.

She would begin to cry and say this is not what she wants inside her head…but she hid those tears at first in the fear of preventing his pleasure because she had treated herself time after time with a practice of complacency to accept male dominance and desire. After his climax, he would notice her tears and realize she was not okay. She would begin to unravel underneath him…the look in his eyes became terrified. He did not mean to rape her. He was confused too…alcohol does that no? He would try to console her, but she did not want his sympathy…so he leaves.

She would call her brother, as she is still drunk and tells him what had happened – removing her comforter because it was covered with him. Her brother tells her to wash it ASAP. They hang up…she then calls a trusting older teammate, who arrives around 2:30am. She and another teammate come, and hold and listen to her cry, and tell what happened four months prior, and how that night was the complete replica of the night in Mexico.

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I am that girl. Although I have healed, I won’t forget these men, or the fear I was left with. But I can say I forgive them. They have taught me so much about myself and for that I thank them…in a very, very strange way.

I believe I have been able to reclaim the power Shane and the other man stole from my body. It was not theirs to take. I was in a place where I could not protect it. These two men stole such an important value from me, leaving something deep inside of me completely lost, screaming for the rest of me to listen. My body, and mind, and soul, are invaluable. Succumbing to societals structures of belittling a woman’s self worth and value of her entire being has been a detriment to me and many. But through this, I have found the strength to conquer these structures that try to supress us and I’ve discovered the absolute, undeniable, fantastic value I contain.

Why Rugby?

I play rugby because it gives me strength. I play rugby because it gives me confidence. I play rugby because it gives me validation. It pushes my mind and body to its limits, and has proven that I can do anything I put my mind to.

Perhaps this is utterly cliché, as rugby is one of the more physical, aggressive sports young girls are starting to be able to play, but it is so true. Having a sport where young girls and women can test their physical and mental boundaries, have a strong community backing them 100%, and be who they want to be, is so important in today’s climate. By showing young girls and women of the world that they can express themselves freely through this sport, whether this be through showing off and being proud of their strong bodies and muscles, being proud of where they come from and their background, being who they are as individuals, and having an open community, can and does alter the trajectory of their lives. Rugby has the incredible power to foster and teach strength, confidence, validation, and so much more to women of all ages, which is why the standard for rugby must be raised. I have seen rugby transform people’s lives, as it has mine, and I want this for every single young girl and woman in order to help them see their individuality as a strength and that they are good enough for anything they put their mind to.

Rugby came into my life at a critical time. I was entering high school, choosing between volleyball and rugby…the choice was obvious, but I still had to figure it out. Ultimately, I quit volleyball tryouts and simply went straight to rugby practice. As I learned the game, I fell in love. I fell in love with the comradery between my teammates, the passion I saw in their eyes, the technicality and use of your body in every manner on the pitch, the feeling of being a complete badass as we were tougher than those high school football boys. It gave me a world to escape to, when my other worlds weren’t so great. I’ve battle depression and anxiety since around 8th grade. When rugby entered my life, the fire that grew in my heart for this sport made living all worth it. As I continued to play, I met the most amazing humans, which I have better bonds with than my friends from high school. As these relationships were built, I realized rugby is SO different than any other sport I’ve played. I’ve never experienced another sport where you come together with your opponent as civilly as rugby. Or where being so strong as a woman is celebrated like it is with rugby. Where meeting someone at a tournament or game, opponent or teammates, you become connected in a way you appreciate and support their strengths and even more who they are as a human. That is why rugby is different.

Rugby is magic, and this magic is shared to anyone who gives it a go.

On a plane…

June 24th, 2019 – 11:49PM

I met this man in the plane today. Didn’t ask his name. But from the beginning I knew he was special. He had a Dunkin’ Donuts drink and a donut bag.

Later I noticed he had hearing aids too. Older man, larger, but very jolly and sweet.

I read my book and periodically would have little snippets of conversation with him.  He switched seats for this man and his daughter to sit together, but he and her share aisle seats.

About halfway through the flight, he pulls out dried fruit and shares some with me, peaches and figs. Delicious.

He shares he had diabetes and the cool things about these dried fruits, no sugar and perfect for his blood sugar. Not too long after this, he checks his monitor and his blood sugar has spiked to 228…he’s calm and leans over to his wife and asks for his insulin. And he calmly proceeds and sticks himself. The air fills with a medicinal smell. Not much after, he explains why he gets the donut so his blood sugar can spike and that he now needs insulin.

He then shares why he’s in Colorado, for his nephews wedding. The weather wasn’t good for two of the days, but the last was great. He has cancer, and he’s making his rounds seeing family.

He then tells me, “no one choose the cards they are dealt, and here I am just dealing with them. My family kept saying they fee bad, but I told them they shouldn’t, because you never know. I thank god every day that I’m here. And it’s just part of life.”

A little bit ago, I noticed he wasn’t feeling great, he went to the bathroom and was gone for a bit, and then came back and has sat with his back slightly turned to me since. Leaning over to his wife. She then rose and went to the flight attendants and got him a soda…can only imagine what’s going on….

He’s an engineer, and likes magazine and factual material. He has a nephew in Colorado, and a loving wife. He has diabetes and cancer, but he is still enjoying his life. Reaching out to me, to make me smile and offer me food…it’s a good reminder. You never know the insider story to others’ lives.

I send him my thoughts that he won’t suffer and that he is surrounded by family when his time comes…I’ve developed an odd attachment to him for his openness and generosity.

Sharp…

June 28th, 2019 – 1:00 AM

I am extremely troubled and saddened. She came back to the house tonight looking like she was going to pass our or vomit. She did the latter. Wasn’t sure what was really going on with her but I could just tell something was up.

Since I met her, I had this inkling that there was something missing or a flame was burnt out…tonight revealed a girl struggling to feel wanted and a girl who feels isolated in a world or clout and fakeness. Forgotten when her problems come up, and wanting to disappear.

Tonight I held that girl, looked at her bloody wrist, and blotches of blood that wiped from her wrist onto her leg…reminded myself of me. Although now it is difficult to conjure up the exact feelings I felt, because I am in a better place now, doesn’t mean I can’t remind myself of how dark things really were. Seeing her like this made me think about my experience with cutting and feeling so empty inside. Wishing to get better yet not sure how or where or who to start with.

Hopefully I can help give her some piece of mind and guide her through this because she is incredible. She’s intelligent, driven, has such a complex cool mind (categorizes things and is majoring ins QDS) she remembers everything. She’s quirky and beautiful and funny. I wish her parents would listen to her.

I went to the bathroom after her tonight and noticed the blood in the trashcan on the paper towels, and I saw a razor that wasn’t there before…and yes, she used this razor to scratch her wrists. No not slit but definitely braised. Ugh I wish I could hold her and tell her things will be okay, because they will…it’s hard to see, as I can’t imagine how it was to see me in this position…

I’m looking forward to being a rock for Amelia and someone who she can unapologetically be herself and trust. She’s a spark for sure, hopefully I can help get it back in her.

Trying to Find a Middle Ground

Spring Break 2016 – nights full of tequila and odd named shots; blurred vision, words, and actions.

Whether or not I was personally experiencing all the festivities, these moments would be happening to my friends, and to complete strangers, attempting to make their spring break “worth it” each and every day and night in Cancun.  —    I did attempt to make my spring break worth it one night. I decided to let go and take shot after shot like I’d never done before…and with that, that one crazy “fun” night resulted in rape.

Rape. Teenagers and adults alike use this word in vain, as if it is just another word to throw around in casual conversation. “That test definitely raped me,” or “You totally raped that!” In all honesty, I did this very thing before that night. I was naive. And I understand how others are as well. Since that night, I noticed a change in me since the numbness wore off and I could finally complete my sentences again after chugging water and my best friend assisting in ridding the toxins in my body. I wouldn’t be able to say that word again without feeling uncomfortable, knowing that other people face the same issue. Issue, no. I mean realization; a realization about how real the word really is.

After that night, I walked coldly. Woke up, attempting to piece together what had happened 5 hours prior. Now, I’m a pretty open person. That morning, I barely talked to my mother who was with me and only select friends, as every one of my classmates had heard about what happened…except they only heard it from him. They didn’t know my story. Since I wasn’t even sure what had happened, I was too scared to confront them. After talking to my brother, he asked about what happened and if it was consensual; I knew I had sex, but I knew I said no. It obviously happened anyway. I didn’t know what to make of it. My brother helped me realize what had happened. I just kept telling myself, “I said no,” because, although I was stupidly drunk, I knew I did say no…

After being home, I spent time with one of my guy best friends. There had always been sexual tension between us, but after this experience, I couldn’t give it any thought. You would think I would be able to tell him right away, and for him to respond in a sympathetic way, trying to help me overcome what I could remember. But in reality, I knew I shouldn’t. He had been weird for a few weeks, but a five year friendship can’t just be ignored. — When we hung out, we cuddled. That was a normal thing for the two of us, because we both felt safe and comfortable. It was that day I decided to tell him. I regret it.

As the words came out, so did the tears. This was the third time I had verbalized what had happened to me just a few weeks prior. — Previously, I did not cry. I just shook and tried to explain what I could remember through a dry mouth, sweaty palms, and a cold tone. I did not realize how much of an effect that night would have on me. Whether it was the fact I “came to” with him thrusting over me, or the blood found between my legs when I made it back to my room, or hearing how I apparently “let” him choke me, it took time for these moments to fully hit me, and I don’t think my friend understands that.

This best friend, after I had told him everything, without even blinking an eye told me it’s in the past and I should forget it. He was so bland and unsympathetic. Simply disgusting and rude. Moments later, he tried making a move on me. He was then on top, and I started trembling…then the tears started again. I couldn’t stop. I just remembered that night. My best friend did not care. He said, “fine, that’s okay,” when he clearly wanted to get it on. — Three months pass, we graduate from high school, and he Snapchats me telling me to come over the next day because  his parents won’t be home and we can, quote on quote “fuck.” I wanted to vomit. After telling him what had happened in Mexico, after him knowing, or me thinking he knew, that I was not completely okay was shocking. That should’ve been the last time I talked to him. That should’ve been a breaking point for me…

I do know NOW, any person facing sexual assault should not brush it off. I know I was not ready for him to make a move, or make me feel stupid for my mistakes. I do own up to letting myself get too drunk and walk away with a stranger, and I understand it could have been prevented, or more severe. I just wish rape, and sexual assault were viewed differently, because those who have not experienced any degree of it, especially men, are ignorant.  — The effects don’t have a switch. I would say that I am doing much better though, that is why I’m writing. I used to see the guy in Mexico’s face in complete strangers that didn’t even look like him and I still get a knot in my stomach worrying about what happened. I just wish there was a switch.