I remember the day vividly that I learned about the evil that could lurk in some people. I was 17, I had grown up in foster care, moved almost every year of my life and was finally on my own. I was going to High School, and working full time. I was out to prove to the world that I would not become another statistic. Little did I know, that I was going to end up a statistic. My friends and I had gone to a dance one night and I was ready for the world. I wanted to just get away from the awesome responsibilities I had at such a young age, to enjoy myself. I remember when he walked up and asked me if I wanted to dance. I thought he was so handsome and was extremely flattered that he was asking me to dance. He was very charming, and after the last dance of the night he walked me to my car, and kissed me goodnight. He said that since he knew who I was now he planned on keeping in touch. I stumbled to the door, and opened it, to find him standing there. I was so groggy, and couldn’t put up much of a fight when he pushed his way into my apartment. I will never forget that feeling of complete and utter fear and loss of control when he pushed me into my room and raped me on my bed. It was so sick to me. He took from me something I could never get back, and he had no clue what he had done was wrong. As I lay on the bed crying, he got up, turned and grinned at me, and said “See ya around, maybe we could go on a date sometime.” He finally left my house and with him, went all of my self worth, my dignity, my sense of what little security I had. I got myself together and crawled to the bathroom where I vomited and took a shower. I decided I was not going to let this bastard take everything away from me, and I went to the police where I was promptly raped again by our judicial system. In the same breath I was told that they believed what I was telling them but there was nothing they could do. They had talked to him and had witnesses who had seen us kiss the night before. It would become a case of “he said/she said” A few weeks later, I found out that he had done this to other women who were afraid to come forward, and later did time for a similar crime. I was afraid to stay in my house. I repeatedly checked closets, got rid of the bed he had raped me in, never walked into my home without someone with me. His actions that morning affected me more then I believe anyone realizes. It has taken me years to accept that even though I didn’t make some good choices in my behavior, I could have been standing there butt naked and no still should have meant no. I’m still working on my relationships with men and trying not to see every one of them as a potential rapist. When I found out I was having a baby boy, I had to go through therapy to prevent me from taking my hatred for this man out on him. It is still a daily struggle for me to build any type of trust with men. But I have promised myself that I refuse to let him make me any more of a statistic then he already has.
Editor’s note:
The Community Justice Center believes the key to unlocking the problems with our justice system is restoring control and voices to victims. A victim tends to get lost in the shuffle of police, lawyers, judges and court rooms. Their questions don’t get answered and their story becomes nothing but yesterday’s crime.
Offenders become nothing but criminals doing time on holiday. Most never take full responsibility for the damage they have done. They don’t get a chance to feel the victim’s pain and try to make amends, even if that is all they can do. The victim has the key to getting across to offenders. Offenders need to understand the extreme gravity of the harm they put upon the victim and the community.
A major part of the Community Justice Center (CJC) is elevating victims voices so they are heard all while restoring a clear sense of control back. Through CJC victims begin the healing process and offenders know true accountability while learning about the true harm they caused real individuals and communities because of their actions. Share your comments and impact stories.