Tag Archives: medicalization

Last summer, I finally gathered up the courage to make a police report about my first boyfriend, who turned out to be a serial rapist.  At the end of the tunnel, I found Alaryyk.

In high school, although I lost my virginity before others, during a stupid drunken parents-out-of-town party, I never had a “boyfriend”.  Any semblance of a “real” relationship, involving reciprocal love, existed only in my fantasies.  My best friend, however, was known for being “the hottest girl” within the group of other high school students that we socialized with during grades 10-12, and always had a boyfriend, and ten other boys pining for her, in line to be next.  At parties, boys just didn’t talk to me.  I realize now that this is probably because they were intimidated by my intelligence – I have never been able to talk just for the sake of talking, I like to discuss topics that require some thought and intelligence.  I took the biggest bong hits and was more than able to keep up with their drinking, but these boys ignored me to the point where I felt like a ghost, and started leaving parties without my absence even being noticed by my best friend or others.

As we are socialized to place such emphasis on appearance, I assumed my looks were the reason that boys were not interested in talking to me or pursuing a relationship with me.  It would take me until much later in life to realize this was not the case, and that I am beautiful, inside and out.  However, back in grade 12, my self-esteem was extremely low.  I did not fit in at all with my other peers – I never had.  From kindergarten to grade 12, first by force and then by choice, I spent more time in the hallway than in the classroom, although I always managed to end the year at the top of my classes.  I got along better with my teachers and workmates than other students my age – I was also the “poorest” girl in my class at the private all-girls school I went to from grades 7-12, and the only one that had a job (a full-time one, at that!) in addition to school.

Thus, when a new employee at work, a “man” called Josh that was a couple of years older than me (17) showed interest in me and then asked me out, this relationship immediately meant more to me than anything else.  I was sooooo in love.  I started dating this older, good-looking and charming fellow in November.  His calm responses when he found out about trauma I had experienced in my life, like the death of my mom, were a welcome change from the awkward responses of others my age.  I waited until our third date, like a good little Cosmipolitan Magazine reader.  However, something changed after I spent New Year’s Eve at a cabin with Josh and some of his friends.  Afterwards, he stopped calling me and his contract at work was not renewed – he had been hired as a “seasonal” employee.

My whole world was turned upside down.  I thought that I would never again find someone who loved and “understood” me.  I started using speed (self-medicating, I suppose) to deal with the deep depression I felt – I thought it enabled me to get my homework done and made the mandatory socialization that took place between me and my peers bearable.  Josh phoned a couple of times during February, inviting me to meet him late at night for sex in motel rooms, and I anxiously complied.  After that, I heard nothing from or of him, but I sent him an invitation to my Graduation in June.  He ended up replying and coming with me, and for the rest of that summer I saw him whenever I could.  Looking back, the time I spent with him consisted of me listening to him talk about his lofty ideas (delusions) about becoming a famous musician, writer, or businessman – something new every week – and having sex.  But I was hooked, addicted to this guy, not speed.

I moved to Montreal for my first year of University, but before leaving he said those “three little words every woman wants to hear!” and we decided to keep up our relationship, long distance.  A million “red flags” came up over the duration of my year away, and my visits back home.  He came to visit me at the end of September, and I finally got pregnant – I say “finally” not because I was trying to have a child with him, but because we had never used birth control.  I still resent my father for never talking to me about sex or birth control, instead choosing to pretend that sex didn’t exist, though I suppose I should have been a little smarter about things myself – I honestly believed I was magically unable to get pregnant.  He encouraged me to come back to Winnipeg to visit him over Thanksgiving weekend (mid-October in Canada), and I did.  When I got to his apartment, or rather the apartment that belonged to the special-needs man that it was his job to take care of (he would soon be fired when he was caught using this man’s computer to look at porn and jack off in the other room), I immediately felt nauseous, and overnight started vomiting…well things were coming out “both ends”.  He was sympathetic, but decided he had to attend a friend’s birthday party, although “he would only be gone an hour or so”.  When he finally came back at five in the morning after doing coke all night, he insisted that I perform a variety of sex acts on him until he came – not an easy task for someone that high on coke – and I complied.  I complied when he insisted on having sex with me two days after I had an abortion.  I complied when over Christmas break, he thought it would be funny for me and my best friend post-grade 12, Jima*, to disrobe and take the virginity of one of his friends (the one that everyone else made fun of).  Then, I listened to him call me every name in the book when he found out that Jima and I had taken some speed to get a little less inhibited, crying and begging for him not to break up with me.  In February, I spent reading week/spring break with him and his family in Florida.  I did not make a peep when he spent all of the money I had brought down for myself on cigars (his newest pretentious prop in the charm-act), or when on a drunken night he thought it would be funny to stick his dick up my ass without permission or warning.  This trip to Florida was the worst “vacation” I had ever experienced in my life, and I remember myself crying all the way back to Montreal on a plane, although I don’t know if my tears were as constant as they are in my memory.  Still, I stayed with him.

When I returned to Winnipeg in the summer, deciding to go to school there instead, he broke up with me after about a week.  I threw quite a fit, which ended in him raping me.  He insisted on having sex “one last time, come on, it’s what we’ve always been good at”, despite my cries for him to stop.  He whispered in my ear, “Every woman secretly wants to be raped.”  Later in the summer he called me to meet him for dinner and drinks, on a strictly plutonic basis.  He was working at a pub downtown.  When we walked through the front door, the hostess immediately broke down crying.  He told me to have a seat with some other friends of his that were at the pub, because he needed to speak with her “out back”.  When I asked him why she had been crying he told me that she had been sexually assaulted the previous weekend.  It would not be until the last few months of our relationship that he admitted to me, as he grew paranoid about his many secrets, that he had raped his coworker the previous weekend.  He also admitted that as a young teenager, he forced his five and seven year-old sisters to perform sex acts on him.  This, not drug use, as he previously claimed, was why he had been kicked out of his house by his parents at age 16.

After that summer, however, I thought our relationship was officially over – I had exorcised this “man” and would have nothing to do with him again.  When school started in the fall I was living with Jima, and he started calling our apartment constantly.  We got together a few times, and in no time I was back “in love”.  The two-bedroom apartment I shared with Jima and another friend was two small to house all four of us, so I agreed to move into another apartment with Josh and two other male roommates.  Josh managed to kick the first roommate out after a mere three months, shortly after he stopped working.  He would never work, or provide any financial support, from this point forward, except for a six-week gig at a telemarketing centre.  The drama he created around pushing this roommate out was a distraction.  I worked full-time, went to university full-time, and ate ramen noodles for almost every meal.  Josh’s sexual demands and temper tantrums were getting worse, and at the end of the day, as excited as I was to get “home”, I was terrified about what his behaviour would entail after I opened the door to our apartment.

At the end of a long, hot summer, he convinced me that our other roommate was a homicidal alcoholic, just as he was supposed to write his G.E.D. (he only had finished grade 9 or 10) and join me at university.  He did neither, and our next year living together, alone, was a living hell.  He often threatened that he would commit suicide if I didn’t have sex with him.  And despite my cries, he found a liking for sticking it up my ass whenever he felt like it.  I spent much time face down, my cries muffled by a pillow.  The emotional abuse was worse.  He constantly insulted my intelligence, threatened to “dump my ass again” (oh, how horrible that would have been!), and one event that sticks out in my memory is when I didn’t cook his eggs the right way and he threw them in my face, telling me that I had “fucked up once again”, and that our plans for the rest of the day were thus cancelled.  I was inconsolable, but lived with him for another entire year, telling no one of what was going on in our household, and believing that one morning I would wake up and everything would be better.

Instead, I woke up at the psych ward, and my previous blog posts all speak to what has happened after that.  It was actually him that dumped me, after warding me!  I was just “too fucked up for him”, *tear*, and he cried on Jima’s shoulder, who still had no idea about the abuse.  While I was in the hospital, he raided our apartment of everything that was of any worth – rare books, the “good” pots and pans, the cat my sister had gotten me as a birthday present, the video game consoles and games – all items that I had purchased (except for the kitty, that is).  At the hospital I met my next long term relationship, Evan*, a recovering drug addict posing as someone with “bipolar disorder”.  I did not learn that drugs were the reason he had been in the hospital until after we had both been released and were living together (I really had no where else to go, Josh had severed my relationships with family and friends, even with Jima).  The on-again, off-again relationship – the off periods being during his bouts of mass consumption of any drug he could get his hands on – was a relationship of convenience, and he was supposed to move to Vancouver with me, but (thank goddess) moved on to heroin instead.

It was not until I learned of other women in Winnipeg, including a childhood friend, that Josh had raped, that I decided to report him to the police.  I was interviewed by a female officer, and had to describe every dirty detail of what he had done to me, and what I knew of what he had done to others.  Obviously, this was not a pleasant process.  I have not been called to testify, but wasn’t really expecting much, I just wanted it out of my life, and on official record, in case another brave woman out there reports it immediately, when she has a “night” with my ex-boyfriend, the serial rapist.

Shortly after I made the report, a male friend from Winnipeg who had been friends with both Josh and me, got in touch with me and told me he had been planning a trip to British Columbia to visit friends, and that we should see each other.  I did not feel comfortable seeing him if 1) he had any sexual expectations (we had a bit of a fling after the Josh break-up, during one of Evan’s “I love crack!” periods), or 2) he was still friends with Josh, or would continue to be after I told him about the hell he had put me through for the years that we were together.  I hadn’t spoken to him about the details before, although I thought we shared the opinion that the guy was a loser, so I shared them with him in an e-mail – all was fresh in my mind after making that police report.  This is the response I got back:

scars,

I am not sure if you are suggesting that I suddenly do not, or if you are looking to judge me in some way, but obviously I do.

I just don’t want to have to get in the middle of some major league “war of the roses” or have to wonder about what Is being said behind my back because I laughed at a joke, or didn’t laugh at the right one, OR if someone Is going to try and imagine there is some great sexual need to go ALL THE WAY to BC over. I am sure you know such things are all too easily had right here in Manitoba.

You seem to feel there is alot going on, more than there is.  Some hidden agenda, or some thing to hate over.

You are the one who changed plans, and I cna’t say I blame you. there is no hard feelings but I am beginning think you may have some Anti-male views and see them all as child molesters thieves and rapists.

I think Joch may have his flaws and Any time people split up, there is grounds for acrimony. IT’s understandable.

In the time I have known you you ahve told me things about your father, Jima, Joch, and even had some unkind words about me that returned while I was thinking everything was just fine between us.

Can I ever know for sure the reponse to my face is the same as what gets said behind my back?

I am not pointing fingers, I am not perfect.

Do you look for the worst in people? IS is your chief area of focus, do their other sides matter?

Once there was the slightest, and I mean slightest gap in opinion You immediately jump off the deep end imagining there must be some sexual agenda.

If I ahd been going with that purpose in mind, or If more singlemindedly ahd that purpose only, either way, I’d have enquired to amke sure I didn’t wante my time, but that was NOT anything to do with the purpose.

I have someone in my life that I am initmate with, and I don’t go outside of that agreement. I trust her, she trusts me.

Please don’t take this the worng way but we are not right for each other that way.

Scars, You are well known for having multiple partenrs at once, and I am not condemning that, there was a time, where I didn’t give a damn, either.

THe fact is, I am much more cautious and health conscious for taking those kind of chances.

I hope your life is great, but I don’t care whether you are getitng it every night with 5 different partners or saving yourself for a big Lesbian Wedding night. It’s none of my business. IT’s whatever is right for you, and your concern alone.

IT has nothing to do with me. But thanks for thinking I would hinge a hiuge trip across the countrey jsut for a roll in the hay.

Do you see how demeaning and insulting that is?

DOn’t worry, IT’s forgiven.

But this quality of jumping to look for the very worst possible triat in people whether true or not, logical or not, doesn’t send me a good message.

Jima was your best friend for years but still you resent like hell, you think she stole money from you, and yet you are willing to go into business with her. [personal comment - ???? - he is referring to a spat Jima and I had over $300 when we were 18...as for "going into business", I guess that's how this guy refers to a "friendship"?]

You claim she took some $2000.00 form you but she maintains you were paid abck and spent the money on drugs yourself.

If she were lying, why on Earth would you go back in business with her unless you knew her to be honest and not a thief?

So who is lying?

Or do you just prefer to focus on the fact that the money was taken and then forget about the repayment?

SO you are not crazy about Jima, sometimes, OK.

SO Josh is the  Child molesting anti Christ, rapist.

SO too now is Evan?

Me?

THe only thing in common with all of these people and you, Is..YOU.

SO is it that everyone is a thieving raping evil doer, or is it jsut your version.

I have met Josh’s Girlfriend many times, and she is neither threatened by him nor a rape victim.
[personal comment: a mere few days later, Jima would tell me about Josh's break-up with who was, indeed, his latest victim]
I have over 25 girlfriends and never once and kind of accusation.

Jima has been honerable in all her dealings with all who know her and no one seems to question her character for any reason.

Until we get ot Scars, who maintains ALL of these people are guilty sinners of heinous crimes.

Are they? Are we?

Are you?

Yuo say you ahve been raped multiple times by Multiple men, yet you also showed me a paer indicating you’d have sex with anyone who dared to lay beside you. [personal comment - ??? a "paer"?  I cannot for the life of me think of what this may refer to...]

If you see a credibility issue here let me know.

I have never known anyone to begin a sentence “I woke up without any pants on and with two strange men and similar types.

Multiple rapes by multiple men. DO you know pattern behaviour is?   Have you ever known anyone who puts themselves at risk more often than you?

Are you so free from your own harsh judging eye, that it is easier for you to paint everyone else in the role of the villain and you the victim, or is it a card played to perfection?

Are you honest with yourself about things?

YEah, I was looking forward to seing you, and I DO enjoy your company, and you have an incredible mind.

You also have little regard for the reputations of others.

I was a little troubled about what you had to say about Josh. Not because I disbeleive you, but rather how carelessy you make accusations.

None of your other friends or former friends say things about you that are exaggerated or focussed on the lowest common denominator or demagoguery.

That is why Jima believed Josh over you.
Me over You. IT’s why Josh believes Jima over You. Me over You. It’s why I believe Josh and Jima.

Not because I think you dishonest, or misinformed, but I know if you want to undermine someone’s reputation, You don’t care whether what you are saying is fair. If you ahve all the facts, or If it comes off a little turmped up, as long as you get your digs in.

It’s reckless and mean. and worst of all, It makes people distrust you.  You may well have all kinds of facts in hand, but the character and principles to keep honest and fair seem lacking at times, and that Is why people have reservations about you.

Not because you aren’t bright or insightful or they want to have sex with you.  IT’s about the repsonsibility that comes with being a fairminded person.

But don’t take my word for it. Ask all your closest friends.

Personally, I hope you do become a lesbian, but what will you claim when they run afoul of you?

Not much pity out there for the victim of abusive woman is there?

I hope you find this to be of some use.

Good Luck Scars.

*end e-mail*

For about 20 minutes, after skimming over this unexpected response, I felt like I was going crazy – maybe he was right!  Maybe I had brought upon all of the abuse myself.  Maybe it is normal for boyfriends to force sex on their girlfriends.  Aside all that, I had kept it to myself for so many years.  I went to sleep feeling very confused and upset.

I woke up realizing how wrong this guy was, and how his response represented the response survivors of sexual abuse often get.

It is your fault.  You are vilifying people.  You are exaggerating.  You are just trying to make so-and-so look bad.  You were drunk.  You were asking for it.

I shared the e-mail with several female and male friends, from both Winnipeg and Vancouver, and they assured me that I was in the right.  And so I responded to his e-mail: