I was 13 Years Old And He Was A Marine



I was sexually assaulted as a child. I had just turned 13, and a friend of the family who was 22-years-old at the time was taking me to Marine World for my birthday. Later that afternoon, he invited me to his house to watch movies, as most of the rides were closed for maintenance.

I had never been to his house before. We went into his room where he had a small TV and a bunch of movies. I picked out a movie to watch, and I realized that he locked the door behind me with a key from the inside. From there is where my nightmare began. He molested me for the next 9-hours. I was a virgin at the time, and came out of that room having my innocence stolen from me. At one point, he left the room, locking the door behind him, and I tried to see if there was a way out. The only window in the room was cemented shut. Later that evening, he said that as long as I promised not to tell anyone, he would take me home. I promised.

I grew increasingly depressed, fearful, and angry. I would still see him all the time because, as mentioned previously, he was a friend of the family. About 3 months later, I couldn't hold it in any longer and I told my mom. We went to the police, and eventually they had me contact him over a recorded line. They had enough for an arrest, and because he admitted guilt, it did not go to trial.

They wanted me to speak at his sentencing, but out of fear I did not and he, a convicted child molester, received a sentence of 1 year in county jail and was released in 6 months on good behavior.

Fast forward to my 21st birthday. I was sexually assaulted in a similar manner as the victim of Brock Turner. Yes, I had been drinking a lot with college friends, but that doesn't matter, and shouldn't matter because regardless, it is still rape. The major differences between our two situations is that this individual was someone who I had known (someone who I actually thought was homosexual, actually), someone who I had called a friend at one point, and someone who I trusted enough to let me sleep on his couch when I was too drunk to drive. I was wrong.

Unfortunately, there was no one there to stop him from doing what he did. I did not wake up until after he had assaulted me. I woke up face down, with my dress stretched over my head, and my panties wrapped around my ankles with my shoes still on. To this day, I have no recollection of the actual rape. I have no actual recollection of how I got to his room. What I do recall is that I woke up with my nose in pain because of it being smashed into the couch, my vagina in pain from god-knows-what, and him sleeping comfortably in his bed. I remember waking him up screaming, asking him what happened, demanding him to answer me, and him telling me that I said it was "okay." Right, I said it was okay to have sex with my unconscious body and leave my face smashed into a couch with my panties around my ankles, bare-ass in the air, dress over my head, and shoes still on.

I remember locking myself in his bathroom because I didn't know where I was in the big city of San Francisco and I was still too intoxicated when I woke up to actually walk properly and find my car, much less drive. I remember laying on the bathroom floor, staring at myself in the mirror, screaming at myself in horror, crying my eyes out because I didn't know what I was going to end up telling my long-distance boyfriend (at the time) who I was and still am in love with. I remember sitting there thinking that no one was going to believe me because I was drinking, still drunk, and in his apartment, and that people are obviously going to say it was my fault because my dress was too short or I was intoxicated and duh, why would you be able to say no if you're intoxicated? Every drunk girl wants to fuck. There's no such thing as "no" for a drunk girl in this fucked up society.

I called one of my best friends that morning and she essentially confirmed my fears, so I didn't bother with going to the cops. I did go to the school though and told them, since he was one of my classmates, and they told me the same thing. Without proof, it's he said, she said, and there was NOTHING the school could do. Their hands were TIED.

I ended up dropping out of college with less than a year left before I could finish my degree in advertising, over $70,000 in debt, and a bitter hatred for ever being there, all because I COULD NOT HANDLE SEEING THIS RAPIST'S FACE IN CLASS WITH ME EVERY DAY.

People I ended up telling about this situation (but in wildly less detail than this account I'm typing to you all now--so they may not have understood the gravity of the situation unless they read this) also discredited my situation on the basis that I was drunk and I am simply a more... "open"...girl...yeah, let's call it that. Because I am a nudist and naturally flirtatious, plus drinking alcohol, that mean's it's okay to rape me. People I loved and still love discredit me for this situation and chock it up to alcohol consumption and confusion, and the burning anger that I have every time I think of the words that were said to me after I came out about this rape may never be cooled.

But with a hardened shell from the first assault as a child, I managed to shrug off a lot of the pain of the second assault. I suppose the lack of memory of the actual assault helped, though it doesn't help the memories of waking up that morning and the subsequent judgments from loved-ones afterwards.

Before I finally dropped out of my first college, I publicly shamed this motherfucker and called him a rapist in front of dozens, if not hundreds, of our peers at a school event. I do have the comfort of that, I suppose, but unfortunately this asshole walks about free, and I lost a lot of "friends" who decided that I was a liar in order to make themselves feel better about the situation. "Oh, Antonia, you were just drunk and regretted fucking this guy, get over it. Stop making excuses for your promiscuity."

Anyway, I wish I was as strong and powerful as the young woman who fought her rapist, Brock Turner, and although won the case, lost in justice. I beg of you that anyone who loves me, or loves someone who has been raped before, to read her open letter. I have never read anything that more fully explained the experiences and feelings that I have had in the past. "After a few hours of this, they let me shower. I stood there examining my body beneath the stream of water and decided, I don’t want my body anymore. I was terrified of it, I didn’t know what had been in it, if it had been contaminated, who had touched it. I wanted to take off my body like a jacket and leave it at the hospital with everything else."

On the plus side? All of my experiences have inspired me to be a Forensic Nurse so that I can help put people to justice, as I wasn't able to do with those who hurt me.

2 comments:

  1. Do me a favor...NEVER stop living! Live your life, pursue your dreams, love yourself, and trust God with EVERYTHING. A lot of victims live their lives as such...a victim. I did...but after many years of depression and hate. I decided to LIVE and go forward. You are strong. You got this.

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