Jane Doe Finds a Voice

 I do not love him the way I thought I did. He took advantage and I tried my best to cope with it. I did not ask for it the first time and he pushed his way inside of me.  He did not ask this time. He just took it. Saying I loved him helped me cope with what he did. And I called him back 3 more times to enter my body.

Grief: The Stage of Denial and Shock.

Rape and molestation have been ingrained in the culture of everyday life.  It has been a common occurrence I am never truly able to escape from.  It feels like everyone wants a piece of me. Consumption and conquer of my very being.  Turn grief into love. Tell him that you love him. Tell him that the way he hurt you made you love him.  “I’d give you my life.” But, I never said yes and you didn’t care when I said no.  I realized choice and compliance went hand in hand: choose to comply because it is easier than fighting and it’s hard to win. When someone wants your body, they will take it from you. They see resistance as a challenge and it entices them to want more. How do I tell anyone? I’ll just write it in a story.

Growing Pains

The more I grow and the more I experience Life, the more I am able to remove myself from my mother.  She never protected me from predators nor gave me the correct tools to recognize one.  I imagine my father to have been a good man. There’s good somewhere. I know there are good men with self-control of impulse and desire.  Men with the ability to understand that what’s mines isn’t theirs.

Things such as rape make me hate my body and all these attachments: my breasts, my thighs, my feet, my ass.  I can’t go unnoticed or unseen or forgotten.  I wish to be loved, I wish to love.


I always thought rape consisted of the kidnapping or the restriction of one’s freedom and the beating of a victim as a means of submission, then murder, and if they’re still alive, an unwanted pregnancy, or drug addict, prostitute, or a pimp.  It is a hostage situation.  If you are left alive and unscathed on the outside, the danger of the emotional pain wrecks your insides. Psychologically, which one is better? When it is done by somebody you know, it is harder to call it rape as it’s easy to convince oneself that that person recognized the beauty of your pearl.  I feel like I am an indentured slave to those who want a piece of my peace.  Shut me down so I don’t speak, so that I am reduced to a minutiae of a woman. Reduced to the pattern of a fingerprint with a number dangling from my toe. It becomes my reality that rape is part of everyday life. Even consciously consenting feels like rape. A slave to desire.

Life Must Still Go On

I finally took him off my friends list because I don’t need his approval.  I don’t need his likes or views.  His immaturity in the sense of human connection was enough to rattle my soul. The consistent occurrence of rape convinces me that it is something that is part of everyday life.  It’s just something we deal with as women and we must go on. We have to wakeup and fight the day even when we fear being exposed to the outside world. Bills still need to be paid, hair still needs to be done and lipstick applied.  The world does not stop because I got raped. Especially not for a woman who loves to talk about sex.  Sometimes it seems like there is no justice in the face of a man’s weak ego.  His means of dominance, his need to be in control masks his fragility.  And I struggle to pull the pleasure away from the pain.

I am in constant recovery.