O God, the aftermath.
Trigger warning: sexual assault, flashbacks, PTSD.
Part of my story, continued from “Sculpture.” Blog title taken from Norma Jean’s album of the same name. Though no, I’ve never heard it.
This post is largely to document the various reactions I received from mentors and friends regarding the incident, as well as how I’m coping now.
After dropping out of sculpture, I still kept in touch with Liz. At least for a little bit. She told me that the sculpture teacher took her aside one evening and asked where I’d gone and why (which I found fishy…hadn’t the dean let him know?). Liz told him what happened, and said that he was shocked – that he didn’t know it had gone to the extent that it had. Again, I was suspicious. Why else would he have worded it “Tom has wandering hands”? Then apparently Esther cornered Liz in class another evening and demanded to know why I wasn’t there. Liz explained to her, as well. Esther scoffed and basically said that I was lying – that Tom didn’t have control of his arms and hands enough to be able to do that, and even if he did that he wouldn’t know what he was doing, that he had the mind of a 13-year-old.
When Liz told me that, I was stunned. “But she’s been telling us all along that his mind is just the same! And that he cut and pasted those pictures on his sculpture by himself! It doesn’t make sense!”
“Please don’t put me in the middle of this,” Liz replied. “It’s not fair.”
I blinked at the screen, once again feeling that slow falling sensation. The fight was knocked out of me, and I suddenly felt very alone.
A few weeks passed, and my old crush’s mom and sister each talked to me separately at church. They were both serving as mentors of a sort to me. I confided in them what had happened. The mom smiled and shook her head when I told her that I’d dropped out of class, that I couldn’t face him. “God hasn’t given us a spirit of fear,” she rebuked quietly. “What an opportunity you would have had to witness to him and his mother. Pity.” The sister wasn’t much better. “Didn’t you fight back?” she asked incredulously. I frowned. “I tried to get away, but I couldn’t. He was too strong.” “If it had happened to me, I would have fought back. But maybe it’s good you didn’t. At least nothing worse happened.”
My childhood best friend was even less understanding. “You’ve obviously not had a lot of experience with guys,” she bristled at me, hinting that she’d experienced my assault and worse (of which I have no doubt). “Seriously. What happened to you was not a big deal. You should be grateful it wasn’t anything worse. Stop overreacting and just get over it. We all have to.”
Another close friend at the time, this one a guy, chided me similarly. “My girlfriend’s assault was way worse than what happened to you. Honestly? You don’t have much room to complain. It’s not that bad.”
A year or so later, I was talking to a guy online who had a passion for evangelism (and that I had a slight crush on). He was talking about suffering for the Lord, but more along the lines of being made fun of. I hadn’t spoken of what happened to me to anyone for a long time, having tried to stuff it down and ignore it. I tearfully confided in him what happened to me. He responded enthusiastically with, “Praise the Lord!” I was quiet for a moment, then asked what he meant. “We’re supposed to praise God when we’re made to suffer for His sake. I’d love to be able to suffer physically for Him!” My crush on him evaporated in that instant.
Not everyone’s responses were horrible. My best friend at the time (not to be confused with my childhood best friend) listened to me sympathetically. When I started telling her how guilty I felt, that it must have been my fault, that God must be trying to tell me something, she completely snapped. “I was molested as a kid. Are you saying that’s my fault?” I stared at her, open-mouthed. I had no idea. I shook my head, tears filling my eyes. She softened, tears filling her eyes too. “People are just sick. It was nothing you did. God’s not out to get you. He’s not like that.”
The summer after the assault, my sleeping patterns worsened. Not only was I unable to sleep for long periods of time (no more than 2 hours at a time), but my sleep was punctuated with nightmares. At first it was simply reliving what had happened. Then the nightmares got worse…almost like my subconscious said, “You don’t think what happened to you was a big deal? I’m going to make you suffer far worse in your dreams.” I had nightmares of gang rapes and being sold as a sex slave, each nightmare full of violence and fear. I would wake in the middle of the night, covered in sweat, shaking, crying. But by the time late August, early September came around, all of my male friends, from Bible study and from my summer camp, learned not to touch me without express permission (which was rarely given). I could sleep more normally. Finally, I thought, I’m over it. Everything’s okay.
Fall semester started. My first day, I was so relieved to not see Tom or his mother anywhere. (Believe me. I looked.) I felt like a burden had been lifted.
The next day, however, as I was leaving my math class…I saw him. Apparently his therapy was helping him – he was standing, with the help of a walker and what must have been his father. I broke into a cold sweat and tried to find another exit, but it was no use. I had to walk past him to leave the building. I refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge he was there. I went out to my car, sat, and cried. She must have meant the summer semester, if that, I thought bitterly. But…the fight had been knocked out of me. Every fear and doubt I had about it had been reinforced by those closest to me (save my mom and best friend). I couldn’t think of any justification for demanding to know why nothing had happened to him.
It turns out that semester, I had to see him 3-4 days a week, passing in the halls in different buildings going to and from different classes. I learned how to erase every emotion from my face. I learned to stuff my emotions down as far as I could, to numb myself in public and even in private sometimes. At Bible study, I earned the nickname “Ice Princess” as a result. I didn’t care. I was in full-fledged self-preservation mode. I didn’t realize that my entire personality had changed, morphed. I was no longer outgoing. I was no longer talkative. I was forcibly friendly, but not inviting. I was different – and the change, so far, seems to be permanent.
Spring started. My nightmares came back in full force. I wondered vaguely if they were going to be seasonal, starting in February and ending in August. So far, that’s been the pattern for the past five or six years. (I was assaulted at age 18; I’m now 24.) My nightmares begin in late January, and end in the summer. After I met my now-husband, and we decided to get married, I was ecstatic. Of course, yes, because I loved him with all my heart and couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him. But also because I trusted him, and I thought that maybe, finally, the nightmares would stop.
Our first year of marriage, 2009-2010, seemed mostly okay. Gary* remembers one time trying to hug me from behind in the kitchen, and says that I jumped and snapped at him. He also said that he noticed I was having nightmares off and on for several months starting in January of 2010. Blessedly, I don’t remember them. I thought that my hopes had come true. I didn’t realize how wrong I was. I didn’t realize that after five years of ignoring the situation, that it had festered and was ready to debilitate me.
It was the late fall/early winter of 2010. We were laying in bed, talking, cuddling. I don’t remember what we were talking about. I was laying on my stomach with my arms curled under me, and he was rubbing my back. Suddenly, the world slowed down. Someone’s hand moved to my right shoulder and arm and started rubbing, dangerously close to my breast. I started hyperventilating, thinking wildly, Who’s here?! Who’s touching me?! Why isn’t Gary doing something?! I heard his voice from a long way away, saying my name in deep concern. “What’s wrong?” Someone pulled me close. I screamed and burst into tears, trying to get away. I couldn’t move very well – I couldn’t stand, couldn’t sit. I kept scooting away, and he kept scooting closer. “Go away!” I shrieked. “Don’t touch me!” Suddenly he understood. He moved his hand to the middle of my back, started rubbing methodically, and kept saying over and over again, “It’s me. It’s Gary. Everything’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Please, move back on the bed – you’re going to fall off.” I was sobbing convulsively. It took me about two hours to calm down, to realize what happened. Gary was shaken. I was horrified. After I calmed down, he tried to comfort me, tried to hold me. I couldn’t touch him. He told me later that I slept as far from him as possible and wouldn’t let him touch me during the night.
I wish I could say that was an isolated incident. I wish, I wish, I wish. But frankly, I’ve lost count of how many times it’s happened. It can be completely innocent, like that night when we were just cuddling – his hand will wander to my arm or shoulder, or I’ll hear him breathing in my ear, or feel his breath in my hair – and all of a sudden, I’m back in that classroom. Sometimes it’s even more devastating, happening while we’re being intimate, and suddenly I’m experiencing one of my more violent nightmares. There’s almost no recovery from that. I can’t imagine what it’s like from Gary’s end, trying to love his wife and suddenly I start weeping uncontrollably and curl into a ball, not able to allow him to touch me during what is supposed to be a beautiful expression of love between us, pulling us together. I never dreamed that my fear would extend to my married life in that way. I never dreamed I would live in fear of my husband’s loving arms, fear that they’ll suddenly turn into someone else’s arms and I’ll be helpless once again. There have been a handful of times when I’ve reacted in immediate violence, usually clawing towards his face or grabbing his arm. Somehow, in these times, my eyes find his and I realize what’s happening. I’ve been able to stop from hurting him so far. The worst thing of all is that I never know when it’s going to happen. Sometimes, everything is okay. Sometimes I’ll go weeks without incident. Sometimes.
All I can think is that this is a direct result of my refusal to deal with the situation. Of my constant fear and doubt and guilt and self-flagellation, fed by those who reinforced that guilt and fear (however well-meaning they were). I just wish…I wish so much I could figure out how to heal. How to cope. I can’t afford therapy.
Oh God. I just want to be free.
My story continues with “And the world spun madly on.”
I am glad you have found a place to get this out. I hope it helps you to heal. (((HUGS)))
Thank you, Tammy. I think, as hard as it is right now to relive and go through, it’s good to have it out in the open. And it’s so healing just to hear words of kindness and understanding from so many, even though I don’t know any of you. Thank you so much.
Ok, did the disabled guy who grabbed you situation happen at BJU?
No. It happened at a community college 2.5 years before I went to BJU. The blog isn’t just about my experiences with IFBs. I’m just trying to work through things that I’ve tried to keep buried for far too long.
Ok.
I was about to get all fired up that BJU allowed this to go unpunished!
But it’s also bad that the community college seems to have allowed it to go unpunished!!
I agree. Also, I apologize for my tone in replying to you earlier! I’m very defensive, for some reason…I misunderstood your question as implying, “If it’s not about BJU, then why are you posting on the IFB Cult survivor board?” Again – I apologize!
I am so sorry for the non-help you got from so many. And so thankful for the loving support of your Mom, your best friend, and “Gary.” I am NOT a professional, but I think there is a good possibility you have PTSD based on your description of nightmares, triggers, etc. No one can predict what will traumatize another person. Some soldiers have it, some do not. Some accident victims have it, some do not. Some assault victims have it, some do not. Please don’t blame yourself or think you’re not doing something right to get over it. PTSD really does require the help of a professional. Perhaps your community has a women’s abuse hotline or help center — sometimes free help is available there. Or, contact a sex abuse/assault hotline and begin there. Your regular doctor may have suggestions as well. I really encourage you to take these next steps — you are worth it! If you are unable to make the call, ask someone close to you to make it for you. I am praying for you. So glad you’ve decided to tell.
After a particularly horrible episode, I decided to look up PTSD, and I agree with you. My husband and I are getting ready to move as soon as we find jobs – my father has cancer, and we’re moving to be close to him and Mom. So my plan is that once we’ve moved and settled, I’ll get help for my PTSD and also for my health. I was recently diagnosed with PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome), and told that I may never be able to have children. So that’s something I want to look into, as well. Just need better insurance :)
Also, thank you so much for your encouragement here and on Facebook. It means so much to me.
Hi There I was very touched to read what you have just written. i Hope this will help :-
Jeremiah 29 v 11 For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you Hope and a fututre.
i never thought i would have children either then after 9 years of trying I now have 3 . There was a lot of heart ache along the way and a bucket load of tears, But he came through for me. I pray that he does for you and yours too.
Tom forced himself on you in a violent, injurious, sexual way. Psychologically, that’s the same thing as rape. It was a deep personal violation of the same kind. Can anyone question what he would have done if he had been physically able? No wonder at all that you’re showing symptoms of PTSD.
Thank God, He gave you an understanding husband! I pray that you find healing. There are no “verses” that can fix it. There are no pat answers. God can heal you, and sooner or later He will, in His own wise way and time. Meanwhile, what you’re writing will be a help to people you would never otherwise have been able to reach. I know some who will be able to relate all to well.
“Tom forced himself on you in a violent, injurious, sexual way. Psychologically, that’s the same thing as rape. It was a deep personal violation of the same kind.”
Man, do I ever struggle with that. I know it intellectually, but I feel like as it applies to me that I really am making too much of it. But every time I try to put myself down regarding this, I remind myself that no one, man or woman, is entitled to my body.
“Can anyone question what he would have done if he had been physically able?”
This. Exactly this.
I thank God every day for my husband. He is one of three male friends who DIDN’T tell me to get over it or rejoiced in it, and he’s the only one who made it perfectly clear to me that I was safe with him – by his words, his actions, and his attitudes.
I’m slowly getting a little better…whether because it’s summertime now (the end of the cycle) or because of writing it out. I’ve only had two episodes in the past month, and they were extremely minor. I’m praying desperately that I’m really starting to heal after all these years.
I am so sorry for what happened and for the repeated re-violation from those whom you trusted and went to for counsel.
As I read this segment I went from anger to angrier, How dare those people deny your experience and your suffering. And that former mentor and her total misunderstanding and misapplication of, “God hasn’t given us a spirit of fear,” How unloving. And the daughter’s response about fighting back. That crap is all well and good until they’re the one in the situation. You did what you could do at the time and NO ONE has any right to say you should’ve done anything differently.
Then as I read abut how you suffered in the aftermath and how that suffering continues to this day I began to weep because your trauma is real and heartbreaking. I am glad you have a loving, compassionate, and understanding husband.
There is something called the Genesis Process http://www.genesisprocess.org/ that works to re-set the limbic response. What happens in trauma is the mid-brain limbic system gets set in response. It is this system that plays a role in PTSD. Genesis Process helps you learn a different response. I suggest this because it can be found at many churches around the country. Otherwise a process called EMDR might be beneficial, but it requires a couple months of counseling. I know around here that there are churches that have licensed therapists and offer counseling. Then there are the county clinics.
You and your husband will be in my prayers.
After a particularly hard week dealing with this emotionally, your words are healing. Thank you so much.
i can’t seem to find a single greeting or opening word that expresses what i am feeling and thinking right now. my heart is so heavy for you. i am so sorry for the violation you experienced, not just from tom, but from his mother and your school and your friends, mentors, etc. sometimes people think that the assault/molestation is the only violation; in reality, every time it’s marginalized, belittled, questioned, etc. is another violation. i’m just so sorry.
and then satan violates you too, trying to convince you that it’s your fault, that you should have/could have done something to prevent it or to handle it better. such lies! only designed to destroy you further.
i don’t know what i can possibly say or do that might be helpful, except to say that tom and tom alone was responsible for what happened. you were (and still are!) so young, and innocent and he preyed on that in attacking you. he preyed on you because you were friendly and innocent, and that makes him the guilty one, not you. those people that made you feel like it was your fault or you could have stopped it or should have behaved differently ARE WRONG. those feelings you have that make you doubt yourself or wonder if God is punishing you–they are LIES!
i also want you to know that you aren’t alone. there are more of us than we know. and i am so glad you are speaking about this, getting it out. bringing it to the light will expose the lies. satan wants us to isolate ourselves so that we are more vulnerable to him. community with your loving husband (i praise God for him!) and with sensitive, loving friends and family brings healing.
i haven’t talked much about my molestation on my blog, but eventually, i will. i certainly relate to you in the experience of being assaulted, and in the experience of the damage people can do with ignorant, thoughtless or poorly chosen words.
regarding EMDR: i personally can vouch for it as a tremendously effective therapeutic tool. in my case, i think i had 4-10 sessions around a few specific, personally devastating traumas. the efficiency of EMDR was astounding to me and i cannot recommend it highly enough for people that just can’t seem to get past a trauma. it sounded totally crazy to me when my friend told me about it, but i’m glad i trusted her, because it was an absolute godsend for me.
i’ll keep reading and keep checking in. and i’ll be praying for you.
Thank you. Truly, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you.
It is frustrating to hear what everyone’s responses were. The trauma is normal; don’t let anyone ever tell you it’s not or that others have “had it worse”. WTF? As if what you went through wasn’t real or painful or traumatic?? I totally get it though – I used to work with the elderly and one 91-year-old, wheelchair-bound man grabbed my breasts once. People made light of it saying things like, “Well, they were at eye-level! Had take the chance when he saw it!” but I still wish I could go back in time and punch him in the face. A good man would never have done that, and I just think of how many other women he molested in his 91 years. Ugh.
As this post was written almost a year ago and I haven’t read the rest of your blog (yet) I’m curious as to how your emotional healing is coming. Praying God walks you into full freedom and emotional health and that He continues to use you as a voice for others.
(hugs) to you. I hate it when any sort of sexual assault is downplayed. HATE it.
I’m doing a little better. I think. The nightmares haven’t started up again yet this year (knock on wood), and I haven’t had a full-blown panic attack for a couple of months. I’m still touchy at times, usually when I have a migraine and my brain is fuzzy anyway. I’m still hesitant to talk about it in real life under my real name with people, for fear of the reactions I’ll get. But I’m starting to, slowly.