Life After Sexual Victimization, Freedom in Recovery Pt. 1
PART 1
“It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure.”
I have been sexually molested three times in my life. Once as a child under 5, once as a 12 year old boy and again as 29 year-old man. Today I want to write about some this difficult stuff. Let me restate that. I don’t want to write about this stuff at all, I need to write about it. Two of these experiences fall under the category of child sexual abuse. According to the 2015 National Sexual Violence Resource Center’s Info and Stats for Journalists: Statistics on Sexual Violence, I am among one in six men in the United states who experienced child sexual abuse (Finkelhor, Hotaling & Smith). I find this statistic remarkable and surprising, mostly because only one male in my entire existence has told me that he was molested as a child! To me that is remarkable. I feel like cursing our society for making it so difficult to admit these things- but as this article will go on to conclude, I don’t really need to be mad at society at all. The third case I experienced is referred to as rape. According to the same statistic source and an article from the CDC, I am among a rather small group. One in seventy-one men have experienced rape (Black, Basile & Stevens). I hate the sound of that damn word and even typing it makes my eyes tear up and my fingers sweaty. Thank God my roommate brought home pie after a visit with his family. I don’t feel like eating it right now, but the thought of it helps me get through this.
A 2008 publication by the National Clearinghouse on Family Violence has a few categories of behaviors typical of men who have experienced sexual abuse. The first category that I fit with are those men who were molested as a child by a male close to them. These men are likely to have a fear of intimacy, difficult time making and keeping commitments, confusion over sexual orientation. They are likely to function best in short-term one night stands and frequently engage in risky sexual encounters. They will most likely have a difficult time maintaining close relationships with other males. BAM- that pretty much sums up half of my relationships and sexuality. Keep reading though, because as this article will conclude I hope to show that there is hope. Just because I experienced abuse as a child does not mean I had to act out in these ways. However, because I did, and have lived to tell about it, I can share it and maybe this will help someone avoid the problems that arose in my life. I have learned that acting under fear and hurt is not necessary.
The next category I fit into is for men who were molested by a female stranger. I laid in a hotel room in Cancun one night over Christmas break while all the adults were at a beach party- the younger kids were not allowed. An Asian woman knocked and when I opened the door she took off her robe. She said she had seen me earlier in the day with my family and wanted to show me how to have sex. I was 12 years old- she was a designer who lived in New York. These men are more likely going to internalize the experience as an opportunity, as I did. In effect, they are likely to begin thinking they are objects of sexual stimulation. In response, they are likely to engage in hyper-sexual behaviors. When not objects of stimulation they are likely to feel un-masculine because boys are supposed to be strong and strong boys don't get taken advantage of. No boy wants to admit that the sex he had was due to weakness and that it could not be attributed to his James Bond-like demeanor. This leads to isolation, including heightened anger and aggression to deal with emotions. Most of these boys have conduct disorder and get in a lot of trouble. All of a sudden it doesn't seem so strange that by the ninth grade I had been to eight schools and only lived in two different cities.
Now one more, sense there are three cases in my closet I need to clear up. Rape. God no. I don’t want to talk about this one. Rape happens to adults and I have been a strong adult man (right?). When I started writing notes on this a little over a week ago this event did not even come to my mind. I have worked very hard to block this out, but last night at the gym I ran into one of the only people I had told details about this encounter with, so I figured I better include this one too. He was my boss. The rape occurred following a company party and the perpetrator was an employee who used to work for the company. I went to him because the perpetrator was leaving me messages at work and talking to co-workers, bragging about the encounter. The anxiety and fear I began to feel at work is beyond that which I can legitimately describe in words. When I asked for help he said that he would put a restriction on the individual from coming on campus- the rest I would have to deal with on my own through the victim advocacy office through the flathead county sheriff.
I went to this office in fear and left faceless. I was so scared to go in I missed three appointments. I finally went in the building and told the front desk that I was there to meet with the victim advocate. The gal at the front desk looked at me kind of strange and called the person I was meeting. I sat down in the waiting room for about two minutes and frantically scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed. As my head filled with steam I popped up out of my chair and lunged toward the door. When I went to pull the large heavy wooden courthouse door with a fancy copper handle toward me I heard a woman behind me say, “Mark? Mark Turnipseed.” I was caught.
I let the Viking-like door slide back into place trapping the stale courthouse air within, I with it. I turned and tepidly turn to face the voice that had called out my name. I turned and faced a lady with the warm countenance of a childhood librarian. The victim advocate was quite possibly the sweetest lady I had ever met. She was approachable and comforting in that grandmother with a cookie and a warm glass of tea sort of way. The only thing missing in her office that my own grandmother would have had was a large bowl of potpourri beside a box full of Wrigley’s double mint gum. I figure she did this to maintain the courthouse smell that comforted her through the long hours of law school. Anyway, I had no problem divulging every little detail when she asked me to tell her the entire story.
After spewing my story she lifted her head from her notebook where she had been watching her fingers scramble to scratch the appropriate words on her paper she expressed to me that she was shocked. She went on to explain that in her years of being a victim advocate it was very rare that a man came in to tell a story of how he had been raped. She continued that it was not the rarity alone that shocked her, but the details I had included and the subsequent behaviors of the perpetrator. Then came the words that I would walk out with that made me feel faceless and desperately alone in this world. This overly kind lady said, “if you were a woman then you would have everything you need for complete protection and prosecution, but as a man if you take this to any court in Montana there is a 99% chance that you will end up being charged with rape.” I do not really remember what happened from this moment on. I know I walked out of the courthouse, because I am not still there. I also know that within a few weeks I was fired from my two jobs within a month, I dumped my girlfriend in a fit of anger and then got a severe concussion while downhill skiing at 75 miles-per-hour. After a doctors visit, that I don’t remember besides advice to stay away from alcohol, I decided to find my own solution. He said if I drank then I may never recover and could end up permanently disabled. Therefore, I decided to drive down to the house of a fella I knew who made the strongest moonshine known to man. I procured 2 gallons. The drive was 45 minutes into the country and 45 minutes back with eight tightly sealed mason jars. I say that because on the 45 minutes to the ranch that he lived I decided to listen to the doctor, only not the way he prescribed. I decided I would drink, I would welcome disability. On the 45 minutes back I began following my new dream.
I have to use a short booklet titled, “When a Man is Raped: A Survival Guide” to document my feelings about this portion of my life. In the portion of the book titled, “common reactions men experience after rape” they describe how many men behave after rape, basically they help put psychological words to some of the things I just described. They claim that because most people believe that rape only happens to females it leads to increased isolation, feelings of shame and loss of self for men. Most men report feeling like they are less of a man because men should be able to defend themselves. Many men feel disgust with themselves because they either could not or did not fight back and most men begin to seek seriously self-destructive behaviors. Most commonly men who experience rape end up increasing their use/abuse of drugs and alcohol, begin to get aggressive with romantic partners, friends and co-workers, and they tend to isolate.
I had to use this book because the truth is that I have not really processed a lot of the feelings surrounding this experience. I shoved them away into a portion of my closet that you can’t see even when the closet is left open and clutter cleared. These things require a crowbar and a key. First you have to lift up the floorboards in the closet and then open a safe that lies inside the enclosure. Childhood abuse made me question a lot of things and are responsible for a particularly peculiar relationship with sexuality. Childhood abuse also affected every relationship that I had as an adult. But these abuses did not completely strip away my will to live and my sense of self. When I was raped and found out there was no help for me I lost everything that I had. I stopped calling friends. I did not answer my phone, unless I was obliterated. I was so far gone I didn’t believe there was a way to feel anything human again. Before this I had used prostitution to make me feel worthy. This can be related to my childhood abuse. After rape I was not even worthy of prostitution. I ceased exploiting myself out on craigslist, adult-friend finder, adult mobile apps and the like. All I had was Xanax, a great pot dealer who delivered to my house, five hundred hits of LSD and a couple gallons of moonshine. I sold LSD remotely and hid in my psychedelic drunk hole of a house. I kept my windows shut and my music loud. The one social thing I would do before my concussion was ski. I could easily make this activity very anti-social by simply skiing faster than any sane person would do. That way I could ski alone. I had departed from life completely.
Towards the middle of April, a month after my concussion, I woke up to my phone ringing. It was my cousin. He sounded as excited as I would imagine a squirrel sounds during fall when acorns drop from their perch like ashes following a volcanic eruption. “I’m coming to Montana!” The sound of his shout vibrated my head like an earthquake. “What?” I questioned. “I came across some time and a little extra money and found a flight out to Montana!” Fuck, I shouldn’t ask him any more questions because the shouting stings like an angry bee rattling around with his stinger out in a cavity that my brain should be. I reluctantly asked, “when?” Quickly he answered, “my flight gets in at 6:30, will you be able to pick me up.” What the shit, I thought to myself, who the hell does this type of stuff? Despite my resent towards his decision to visit I acted excited, “awesome- let me know when you get to salt lake and Ill get ready to come get you.” Salt lake was a reliable cushion location family would have to stop at for their final connection. I could get as loaded as fuck and when I heard they were in salt lake I could begin my regime to sober up enough to pick them up from the airport. “It’s a direct flight so we don’t have to stop in salt lake, I’ll be there at 6, I am about to board now.” My lord was I in a pickle. I decided to get loaded as fuck anyway because this one particular fella knew how to party.
When he arrived he asked if I thought he should drive. I slurred a longer than necessary “nooo” and hopped in my driver seat. When we got to my house we went to eat. I was not particularly fond of food and ordered a few beers. He explained how he was sober and wanted to attend an AA meeting in the morning. I told him where it was.
“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls”