This will probably be the most personal blog I will ever write. I'm actually extremely nervous to post this when I'm finished, but I feel it's important to give courage to those who need it. I've been reading some articles lately about women who are too afraid to come forward when they've been raped or abused, neglected, ect. It's a tough thing to find the fortitude to tell the truth. You might think you are alone or that know one will listen or believe you. So I thought I would tell you my story and hopefully inspire bravery in others.
I was drugged and raped on January 3rd, 2002. It's a date that will forever be burned in my memory. Although I don't remember the specific details of the actual event, the aftermath is something I will never forget.
I was 19 at the time and a friend of mine and I decided to have a couple guys over at my moms house while she was out of town and have a few drinks. I didn't know the guys, but my friend did. One was a co-worker of her's and a bishop's son and the other was a friend of his. They were both pretty good looking so I was excited.
They brought drinks with them, consisting of Mike's Hard Lemonade and Gin and Tonic. Now, I don't condone under age drinking and of course I don't ever want my kids to drink until they are of age, but that was the 'cool' thing to do. I was young and stupid and this was definitely not my first taste of alcohol.
I started off by drinking a Lemonade and then had a shot of Gin. I didn't really start feeling anything until I downed the 2nd Lemonade, but even then I was only a little tipsy. Definitely not drunk by any imagination. I remember flirting with the friend, and maybe some light kissing, but that was about it.
I drank my 3rd and final Lemonade followed by a mixed drink of Gin and Tonic that the boys made for me. I remember the guys attempted to get my friend and I to kiss, but that wasn't going to happen, We laughed and giggled as we said, "No way." That's the last moment I recall from that night.
Now, let's count just how much I've drank to this point. I had 3 Hard Lemonades, one shot, and one mixed drink (that I don't believe I finished.) For some people, that amount might knock them on their ass, but for me, that was nothing. I might be drunk, but certainly not enough for me to black out.
The next morning was the worst I have ever felt in my entire life. I woke to my head pounding and throbbing so hard I could barely keep my eyes open and my stomach was in so many knots that I thought I was dying. I was dizzy to the point I felt I was still drunk. My sister was screaming at me asking why my friend was sleeping in my mothers bed and I had no recollection of how she got there either. I staggered in there and told her she needed to get out. I was still incoherent so I don't recall if I asked her what she was doing in there in the first place.
I crawled back in bed until my mother got home and was immediately furious, not that I blame her. Of course at the time, I was defensive and rude because I knew I was up shit creek. The bathroom had been destroyed, the towel rack was ripped from the wall as well as the toilet paper dispenser. Her bedding was all over the place, along with all the leftover alcohol that was still sitting wide open on my bedroom nightstand. I had no reasonable excuse so I locked myself in the bathroom to soak away the sickness I felt in the tub. I was so dizzy and nauseous that I could barely stand.
I turned the water on to fill up the bath while I undressed, as I was doing this I noticed my underwear was on backwards and there were bruises on my legs. Seconds later I had to sit down because everything in the room went black. My eyes were wide open, but I couldn't see a thing. I was blind and I was terrified. It only lasted a few minutes before the light slowly came back into my eyes, but I knew something wasn't right. I laid in the bath crying and shaking from the chills. As I was washing down below I felt that I was swollen.
I didn't put two and two together until, my friend later called me and told me I had had sex with one of them, the friend. I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing. I didn't recall any of it, but I knew right then and there that she was right, the pieces fit. The only problem was I knew I wouldn't have consented no matter how drunk I was because it was that time of the month.
I later found the evidence in my trash can inside my bedroom but the actual condom was gone, the only thing left was the wrapper. It took me a long time to process it all and I searched my brain to figure out the details of that night. Nothing was coming together.
The next day I went to my mother and told her what happened. I was so scared that she would think I would be making it up just to get out of trouble, but I had never had the courage to talk to her about sex before, so she knew I was telling the truth. She talked me into going to the police, I agree as long as she went with me. It was a terrifying experience, not because they were rude or anything, but because I had to tell intimate details about myself. I had to admit things that would normally get someone that was underage in trouble. Luckily, they were extremely nice.
After I gave them my statement and told them the names of the people involved, they took the photos of the bruises on my legs. They also collected my clothes as well as any of the bottles and trash that was in my bedroom. Unfortunately, I had already washed away any evidence on my body so a rape kit was unnecessary. I went home and waited for them to call.
They called me later and said my friend wouldn't say anything on my behalf. Her parents were very religious and she was too scared to come forward. At the time, I was less than pleased, but looking back now, I understand her hesitation.
The detective then told me about the odd conversation she had with the boys. The bishop's son had already covered his tracks and had his father in his corner, ready to lawyer up. The other one had nothing to add and also had the backing of the bishop. All the evidence was gone and out of my system. My case was dead in the water.
Now, for those of you who don't know me, I live in Utah which has a very heavy population of followers of the LDS church. I have never been a supporter of the Mormon religion and I never will. I don't judge anyone for their beliefs, it's none of my business. I do, however, want to paint a picture for you so you can see where I got my conclusion of why the detectives refused to push it further.
You have a girl that comes to you and openly tells you that she has drank more than once in her young life and that she was drugged and raped. The accused were good Mormon boys and one just happened to be the bishop's son. Who do you think they are going to believe? I'll tell you, it sure as hell wasn't me.
I don't want anyone thinking that I blame the Mormon church because that's not at all what I'm getting at, but they do take care of their own. I was not one of them, so I was the outcast. I was the harlot that drank too much and dressed to sexy, why would they take my word over theirs? I felt powerless and there was nothing else I could do.
It's been years since it happened and the two involved have gone unpunished. I can't prove what happened to me, nor do I know which one (possibly both) guys took advantage of me. I don't believe it was the bishop's son, but then again, who's to say it wasn't. My money is on the friend since that is who seemed to flirt with me the most.
I felt I had no choice but to leave it. I wish now that I would have pursued it more, but I didn't want it to run my life either. I wanted to move on and forget about it and thankfully, I have. I married a wonderful man and have 4 beautiful children. My life is nothing like it used to be and I'm thankful for that.
I guess my purpose of telling you all of this is to give others strength and hope. Strength to stand up for yourself (whether or not it goes in your favor, just make yourself be heard,) and hope that one day things will get better. Life does go on, but you have let it.
A lot of people out there might not have the support system I had, but know that there is someone out there that has been through the same thing as you and they may need your strength to stand up and fight as well.
Courage isn't having the strength to go on- it's going on when you don't have strength. -Napoleon Bonaparte
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