It's odd how much my story's like yours, B. I was, oh, 15 I think? And fooling around with a boy after school, while in a deserted part of the school, basically in a carpeted hallway that had a bend in it and ended against the library doors which were locked. As soon as his penis got near my genitals, I started saying no, but he had me pinned -- I couldn't move my legs at all because of the way my jeans were positioned, and he just grabbed a wrist in each hand and that was it. About 2 minutes after he finished and I had my clothes rebuttoned, my dad came walking down the hall looking for me.
Afterward, I was stupid enough to write about it in my diary; I was just very confused about how i was supposed to feel. Of course my parents read my diary. They didn't tell me they'd read it for quite some time, but rather let me go on writing in it and reading what I'd written. Finally a guidance counselor took pity on me and let me know what was going on - I guess they'd been talking to her about me. I had hysterics, ripped out all the pages and disposed of them at school, and left the worst message I could think of for my parents in the remaining pages. They grounded me for a year and told me never to tell anyone what had happened. They made me feel so guilty that I remember wishing I could just drop through the surface of the earth and disappear.
It was 10 years before I stopped thinking about it every day, and probably another 5 or 8 before I was able to let it go completely.
The funny thing is that I only wrote one paragraph about the rape, and two about how my parents made me feel about it. That's really about right, in terms of relative significance in my life. But I'm fine now, truly. Even ok with my family, more or less. :)
no subject
Afterward, I was stupid enough to write about it in my diary; I was just very confused about how i was supposed to feel. Of course my parents read my diary. They didn't tell me they'd read it for quite some time, but rather let me go on writing in it and reading what I'd written. Finally a guidance counselor took pity on me and let me know what was going on - I guess they'd been talking to her about me. I had hysterics, ripped out all the pages and disposed of them at school, and left the worst message I could think of for my parents in the remaining pages. They grounded me for a year and told me never to tell anyone what had happened. They made me feel so guilty that I remember wishing I could just drop through the surface of the earth and disappear.
Several years later, I was engaged to a guy that couldn't last more than about a minute and a half, and had a long list of rules about what Nice People did in bed. I, on the other hand had all these BDSM fantasies and was terribly sexually frustrated, and of course thought I was the one with the issues that needed fixing. So I asked my mom if she would ok therapy for me under her insurance so that I could talk to a therapist about the rape, because I thought there was something wrong with me as a result and that it was making it very difficult for me to make things work with my fiancé. She said that I didn't need therapy. I should just talk to a pastor, because that's what she did after my rape, and she felt much better afterwards.
It was 10 years before I stopped thinking about it every day, and probably another 5 or 8 before I was able to let it go completely.
The funny thing is that I only wrote one paragraph about the rape, and two about how my parents made me feel about it. That's really about right, in terms of relative significance in my life. But I'm fine now, truly. Even ok with my family, more or less. :)