Anonymous

This story isn’t technically mine to tell but after having spent at least an hour reading everything on this blog, I felt I had to share it.

A bit over a year ago I met a girl, started dating, fell in love, etc, etc. It was sort of a distance relationship, I guess, but this year I moved to the same city as her, so we are able to see each other every weekend. We began having consensual sex, which we both still enjoy. However, in the general flow of conversation that occurred when we were discussing the subject initially, she revealed to me a story that was simply horrific.

When she was young (I won’t say how old but suffice it to say, she was still very much a child) her older brother would force her to come into his room so that he could rape her. He was in the thick of puberty, and would do this fairly regularly for a period of about two or three years. It took her a while to be able to say what she wanted to say on the subject, and I made sure never to ask any prying questions about it or anything like that because I knew if I ever did, she would have an anxiety or panic attack. But eventually, of her own volition, she bared her soul to me; told me how her mother had walked in on it at least once and simply refused to believe that it was happening, told me how she would pretend to be asleep when there was no one but him home so he wouldn’t drag her off for more, told me how he would invite his friends over to witness it and/or do it themselves. As soon as I had heard all of this, I felt a kind of anger rise up in me that I’d never felt before. Anger that someone could have such a black fucking heart and a rotting, festering brain that they would assume that much power over a mere child; someone almost completely powerless.

To this day, her and I have cultivated an extremely positive emotional relationship. I’ve been doing my absolute best to help her recover from what she suffered, but it’s always an uphill battle. One of the hardest things is reassuring her that it’s not her fault and that she shouldn’t look back so negatively on what she could have done to prevent it. She knows, and she’s told me, that there was not a single person who cared about what was happening, and I know that there was nothing she could have done to stop it happening under the circumstances. The point is that if we as a society ┬ádidn’t process young men like him to believe that it’s okay to dominate, penetrate and violate females against their will, then it wouldn’t have happened. But rape culture is still sickeningly real, and IT HAS TO STOP. I know that it’s real, not first-hand, but second-hand. I’d like to think that that doesn’t mean it’s any less jarring in my eyes, but I know I may never experience anything like the pain a woman feels when she has been abused. But in conclusion, that’s why I am someone too. Not the kind of someone this blog was intended for, but a different kind of someone. I am someone who, in another life, might be just another rusted cog in the torture machine that is rape culture, but I’m not. I am a young man, nineteen years of age, who wants to see (and incite, wherever possible) big changes in how sexual abuse is dealt with in this country. The current situation is absolutely unacceptable in my view. And to be honest, more than anything, I just want the human being I love to be able to be at peace with herself after what happened to her. She deserves at least that much.

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