#WhyIReported

I've mentioned in a previous post that I've been a victim of sexual assault, and recently on twitter a hashtag has been going around (#WhyIDidntReport) and it made me think back on everything I went through because I did report. But I want to make a point right off the bat, I am in no way saying every victim should report their attack to the police. Every situation is different, and not every victim is the same. If you are reading this and have been a victim of any form of assault or abuse, the choice to report is your own, this is my story and doesn't mean it'll be the same for you. If you need help deciding I suggest talking to a counselor or some other professional who will help you choose and stand behind whatever you choose.

Okay, so onto my own story...

When I was thirteen I had my first boyfriend (we'll call him MF), he was eighteen though. My friends told me he wasn't a good guy, but I thought they were jealous and so I ignored them. MF and I dated for two months, and at first it was really exciting. He was my first kiss, first lot of things. We would meet a park near by my middle school, and sneak around. If I had been completely honest with the police, MF would have been charged with a lot more, but the only thing I told them was the worst thing that happened, and the only thing I remember not wanting. That particular event happened about half way through the relationship. I remember feeling ashamed after, he had been mad after I had left, and I felt like I had done something wrong.

After MF and I had broken up, we had remained friends, and that's when I first felt my depression start. I had boughten a CareBears notebook and started writing poems about everything that had happened between MF and I, and I carried that notebook with me everywhere. It was six months after the break up when I showed someone the poem about the assault. It was a friend who was also eighteen, and who had met in the same place as MF, but he read the poem and just told me to stay away from the guy, left it at that. Later that same day another friend, this time the guy was twenty-seven and worked at the place I met MF, asked me if I knew where MF was. I said no, but that I was told to stay away from the guy. When asked why I showed the guy my poem, he read it and then pulled me into a privet area, sitting me down.

That's when reporting my assault became no longer my choice. My friend told me that what happened to me was rape, and that if I didn't tell my mom, he would. So I told my mom, who in turn made me tell my dad, and then I told the police, and then lastly I told my therapist, and while I had already reported, my therapist said that she would have to report it no matter what.

I'm going to take a time out here. If you are under eighteen and you tell a doctor or nurse or teacher that you are or have been assaulted in anyway it is the law that they report it to local authorities. No if ands or buts. But there are organizations out there who will provide you with the help you need without forcing you to deal with the cops. 

Okay, back to what I had to deal with...

Telling the cops was hard, I felt really ashamed, really scared. There had been no penetration during my attack, and I had said no and MF had stopped, and if I had been three years older. I'm pretty sure things would have been VERY different. The fact that I was under the age of consent is probably the only reason everyone agreed that I had a case.

It took exactly a year from my initial police report until sentencing, and that year was horrible. I reported in July, and it was November before MF was formally charged. And then there were pre-trail hearings in January and February, and in February they finally set a trail date. Now, most people who watch TV know that "the defendant had a right to a speedy trial", but the victim is not afforded that right. They were going to set a trial date in March, but then MF's lawyer piped up and said due to MF's college schedule that he couldn't do it until end of April.

Side note, during this entire time I had to live with the fact that MF was out in public with my home address (because he had to know where he couldn't go because of the protection order). I was suffering from PTSD and this didn't help a thing.

Now, there was one person that knew MF had had romantic interests in me, and knew that MF knew I was only thirteen. This was the second guy I had told (WA), the one who had made me tell my mom. At this point in time though he lived three hours away and the county attorney was paying to bus him down to testify against MF (MF's mad defense was that he thought that I was sixteen, which is MN's age of consent). But I got a call in March from a victim's advocate working for the county attorney, and she told me that because one of the cops who initially took my statement would be on maternity leave in April and that they might have to push my trial back to July. I was already in hell, and now they were talking about prolonging it.

Happily the US Navy came to me rescue. Well, kind of. WA was shipping out to boot camp in June and would unavailable to testify in July. So, after weighing his testimony against the cop's testimony, they decided to leave the trial date in April.

April came and I had to tell all my teachers why I wasn't going to be in class for three days, that was embarrassing. My mom and I drove the hour to the courthouse and when we got there we heard some good news, MF was thinking about taking a plea deal. Now, if the length of time that this all took didn't make you think Law and Order is complete bull, this will. I was never consulted on the plea deal, like victims are portrayed being. I sat in a room for three hours and waited to hear. He took the plea though. Then came more waiting to see a judge to accept the change of plea. I was sitting in a court room, being glared at by MF's mother for hours. He plead and then he left to talk to DoC, and I left. My mom and I were standing at one of three doors out of the court house, talking to the victim advocate when MF and his mom came down the stairs to leave. Yes, just because he plead guilty doesn't mean he went to jail right away. MF went to leave through the door furthest from me, when his mom grabbed him and marched him right towards me. The victim advocate got me out the door first, and then shoved me into another door so I got out of MF's way, but that was it for me for the day. I broke down bawling, my mom had to go get the car, and then a security guard had to walk me out of the building.

Now because I knew who my attacker was the police didn't initially investigate MF. But now they had too. It took two months until MF was formally sentenced. That's when I learned that even though MF had plead guilty, during a psychosexual evaluation he claimed to be innocent. This was enough to get the judge to throw out the plea deal.

To say I was devastated would be an understatement. It was the end of June. WA was well into basic and it was suddenly a strict he said she said case, and we all know how well those work out. I thought I was going to be sick. Then the judge said while he wanted to send the case back to trial, if another judge would accept the plea deal he'd hand the case over. Another judge did, and the plea deal stood. MF was sentenced to thirty days in jail, with daily work release (he only served twenty days though) and then ten years as a registered sex offender.

I kind of feel cheated by that sentence, and I know I have friends who are very anti-prison and might hate me for this, but I wish he would have gotten longer.

After all the hell, I feel like, I went through. I would still report. In my case it was the right choice. MF wanted to be a pediatrician and him being trusted with young children should never happen.

But like I said before, this is my personal story, and it is no one's but my own. In a few months I will start school to become a clinical and mental health counselor, and while I will report the cases of abuse that I legally have to, I would never force anyone to take it to court, but I would also never tell someone not to report. I would stand behind whatever that person chooses because it's there choice and their choice alone.

Why I'm Voting No this November

There is less than 100 days until the November elections and Minnesota freedoms are in the crosshairs. I'm mainly talking about the Anti-Marriage amendment that wants to amend our constitution to define marriage as one man and one woman. Now this as a law is bad enough but as an amendment it would be that much worse, to overturn an amendment you need a 2/3 majority and we all know how hard a 1/2 majority is to get.

But with all the support I give to MN United for All Families I've been kind of quiet when it comes to why. Yes, limiting marriage is wrong, and come May 19th I will be related -in a way- to two wonderful gay men who deserve to have their marriage recognized by their home state. But that's not my whole story, for me it started back in eighth grade.

My middle school every year went to a young writers conference at a local college. I went every year, it was fun, it was a day off from school. Well, we weren't the only school, so of course I met different people. This particular year I kept seeing this guy around and thought he was beyond cute; short blond hair, punk rocker look, killer smile. Well, me being me I never got up the nerve to talk to him. Until the last session of the day. It was in an auditorium and while everyone, and usually me, was sitting up front within the first few rows of the stage, but that cute guy was sitting in the back all by himself and I decided to try my luck and sit by him. When he started talking to me I thought it was my lucky day, when he had to leave early but gave me his number I thought I had won the teenage girl lottery. So, of course I called him, we talked everyday for two weeks, Then he mentioned a problem he was having with his boyfriend, and I made the comment that of course all the good ones are gay. That's when the ball dropped.

The guy that I was attracted to was actually a girl.

Needless to say she stopped talking to me, was completely offended. And I was shocked, because even though I knew he was actually a she my attraction was still there, and I was confused beyond belief. But I shoved it all away because she would never talk to me again and it was pointless to dwell on it.

At least that's what I thought until the summer before my senior year of high school. A friend of mine was hosting a bon fire and I went. There I met a girl who my friend introduced as "the lesbian" (we'll refer to her as P from now on) . My friend meant it as a joke, no one really cared. Well, while my friend played host I got to talking to P, she was really cool, getting ready to go to Ecuador on a mission trip. Well, we swapped cell numbers and started texting and later that week she needed help making stuff to take with her on her trip and I volunteered to help. So we were making beaded bracelets and talking and then I mentioned that the last person I met with her name (I'm keeping the name private by the way) was this person I met at a writer's conference who I thought was a guy and was actually a girl.

And because fate has a way of being funny, she was the one I had met at the writer's conference. The world seemed so tiny at that moment.

We of course talked about before and how she realized that she was gay after she broke up with that boyfriend. And then I mentioned how confused I was after that two weeks, but that ever since if I dated anyone it was a guy. She mentioned that I should explore, but that she was happily taken. We left it at that and she went to Ecuador. When she came back though she said that she had thought of me more while she was gone, then she had thought of her actual girlfriend. I was flattered, but she was still taken.

We went to see a movie, and as we were driving her girlfriend called. They got into a big fight and broke up. Our movie then turned into a date. We dated a few times before she had to go to camp and she called it off to try it again with her old girlfriend. I was hurt but left it at that, we still talked though.

Then one night I was at a release party for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows when I got a text from her saying she and her girlfriend had split for good. So we gave it another go. But after two weeks she called it off for good and we stopped talking.

Now, that was the only time I was ever attracted to a woman, and I identify as straight. But sexuality is fluid, not always fixed. So if I'm ever attracted to another woman why should I suddenly lose the rights I have now? What about me will change so much that will make me less of a citizen? It seems crazy, and wrong. And because of that I will vote no this November and will always support equal rights for every single human being.

It's time to make a change.

Last Saturday my dad's fiance's youngest sister got married, and everyone looked so stunning, that I felt so out of place. Now, a woman not feeling pretty and comparing themselves to other women, is not a shocking thing. And happily, well kind of not so happily, I wasn't in really any of the pictures from the big day. But next May 19, 2013 is my dad's wedding day, so avoiding or being left out of photos will probably be impossible.

As I headed back to work on Monday this thought is running though my head. And then a customer brings up a copy of Meg Cabot's 'Size 12 and Ready to Rock'. She had to run and grab something else and since it wasn't busy I just stood there, staring at this book, and I started thinking, I'd love to be a size 12. Then it changed to, why can't I be that size. And that has led me to my new goal. I want to be wearing a size 12 dress to my dad's wedding.

But I'm not going on a diet. Nope, a diet seems temporary, and I don't want this to be temporary. So, instead I'm making a lifestyle change. I'm going to join a gym and plan to work out for at least an hour 3 times a week. Going to use smaller plates at dinner so I eat smaller portions. Going to limit certain foods. I know it's going to be hard but that's why I'm throwing in some rewards for myself.

I'm a size 18/20 now. So, when I get down to a 16 I'll splurge and get myself a new pair of jeans, it's small but it works. When I get to a 14 I'll buy myself a swimsuit. I love swimming, so I'll want to get there fast. When I get to a 12 I'll get myself a pretty new dress to wear at my dad's wedding. If I manage to get down to a 10 then I'll buy some new work clothes. And if I make it down to the single digits then I'm going to get my belly button pierced. What? It'd be fun.

Now, I know it'll be hard. I'll have to get use to being hungry, and will have to relearn what to grab for as a snack. I've decided to give myself at least one screw it day a month. For July, August, September, and October, I'll just get to choose. Obviously Thanksgiving will be my screw it day in November, Christmas in December, and my birthday in January. And then back to random days of my choosing.

Chances are no matter what size I am I'll still compare myself to other women in my life, and it'll probably still be a chore finding clothes that fit that I like. But at least I'll be healthier. Good health is a nice fringe benefit to this all.

Now. Why am I going by sizes and not weight? Well, I've never been one to weigh myself often. Usually I only get weighed when I go to the doctor. And while my mom weighs herself, if she talks about wanting to lose weight, she only really talks about how her clothes feel. And I get that. I feel happier when my clothes are looser on me. So why change how I judge myself and start weighing myself and create pound-loss goals. Everyone has a different way to judge their body and this is mine. Besides, losing 4 sizes sounds so much less daunting than 100 pounds. Though, how much does the average size 12 weigh?

Mean

So, I’m listing to Mark Salling and Dot Jones singing Taylor Swift’s ‘Mean’ and I can’t help but think back to middle school and my first year of high school.

Few people realize that when it comes to suicidal ideation middle school students have the highest rates. I’m talking pure thoughts, not attempts or completion. No, those have higher rates among other age groups. But no one likes to think of these happy little pre-teens thinking about themselves. I belonged to that group of not so happy youngin’s.

I’ve shared snippets of this story before but I feel like the full, will almost full, story needs to be shared. So, here it is.

My trouble really started in 7th grade. There were some issues going on with my brother and my parents were rather distracted. I was always a good kid. Never got in trouble, got good grades, had seemingly good friends. I don’t want to say I was neglected or ignored, it seems too harsh, but I never got the kind of attention my older brother got and I didn’t really know why. Looking back at it all, I don’t envy the attention he got, but we all know hindsight is a whole lot clearer.

Anyways. I had a small group of friends I made in elementary school, the main one we’ll call MB. This small group grew a little bigger in middle school, but never got bigger than twelve. You could only fit twelve people at a lunch table, and you weren’t in unless you had a spot. MB was the center point, she sat at one end of the table and the closer you were to her the more important you were. For the longest time I was honored with the seat across from her.

In seventh grade MB, myself, and a few others would hang out at a local mall, playing Dance Dance Revolution in the arcade. I had just turned thirteen, was very innocent in comparison to my friends. That when I met the guy that ended up being my first boyfriend. We’ll call him MF. He was a senior in high school, and nice, and took an interest in me when I was feeling ignored. He of coursed like MB. But after a month or so, MB ditched me at the arcade to go hang out elsewhere in the mall. Her parents were pissed she went off on her own, and suddenly I was the only one in our little group allowed to be at the mall without adult supervision.

At this point in time I started to talk to MF more and we grew close. He made me feel special. Something, I’m still not fully sure about the details, happened between MB and MF and suddenly she was no longer friends with him. None of my friends were friends with MF anymore. But I didn’t want to give up the attention I got. You can probably guess what happened next. MF and I started dating. My friends didn’t approve, but they all were following what MB told them, and she had a habit of lying, so I ignored her.

There were so many red flags with MF, I’m surprised at how blind I was to it all. This was about the time my depression started rearing it’s ugly head, and there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t wonder if I wouldn’t be better off dead. MF was the only one who knew about these thoughts, and I made so many threats to hurt myself. I never did, but MF always got mad when he saw me and I hadn’t hurt myself.

Some of you might be wondering how my mom didn’t notice anything. But she went to bed before me. I’d stay up on the laptop in my room chatting with MF. And she was so busy with my brother, and I was so busy trying to keep MF a secret that of course she didn’t see anything. I made sure she didn’t.

I went out with MF for three months. Six weeks in is when he assaulted me. It only happened that once, and there was no actual penetration, and he did stop when I said to, and we had done plenty of other things that I’d been okay with, that I just kept it to myself. My friends didn’t want to hear anything about me and MF, the other people I made at the arcade had no idea what was going on. I kept it all to myself and continued to see him. I remember once waiting in the rain two hours, waiting for him to show up. I listened to him talk about when his family would be out of the town, when he’d have the house to himself. How it’d be the perfect time for me to come over so he could show me he leather collection. Even then I knew he wasn’t talking about a nice jacket.

We broke up mother’s day that year. I was upset he was breaking a promise and he told me to f*** off. That night was the closest I ever came to actually harming myself. But of course we remained friends. I started keeping a journal thought at that point. Poems about what had gone on. I had grown close to another guy I had met at the arcade, RT, he was the same age as MF but he was actually a good guy. He was the first one I ever told about what had gone on. He didn’t say I should report, but he did tell me to stay away from the guy.

Another guy, Z, 25 at the time, found out, and threatened to tell my mom about what had gone on if I didn’t. I was stuck. I had to tell her, and from there I had to tell my dad, and the cops.

And this is where I say screw Law and Order. It took exactly a year from reporting to sentencing. I reported June 29th, 2003. He was sentenced June 29th, 2004. That year of my life was like hell. Eighth grade hell.

I knew MF would be pissed. I knew his lawyer mom would be pissed. And now, thanks to the court system, he had my address, and he knew where I went to school. The court handed the information over to him, because how can someone be told to stay away from a person without knowing where said person lived.

I was paranoid. And every time I felt like I was getting better there would be another pre-trial hearing that would open the wound. I;d have to sit in the same room with him with all these strangers who knew what had happened.

Around February when an actual trial date was being set. (A quick side note. The defendant has the right to a speeding trial, but he also has the right to ask for a trial date three months away, and no one asks the victim if that is just like salt on an open wound.)  At thing point in time my friends, mainly MB, started to think that I had actually asked for what happen, and even told me that they thought I only told because I was pissed he broke up with me. I was slowly losing my lunch spot, until one day I had been replaced. I sat in the corner on the floor that day, and the next few days. No teachers ever commented.

When I finally found another table to sit at I started noticing that anyone who wasn’t an outcast had BIAC written on their hands. After lunch I noticed the same written on whiteboard in 8th grade classrooms, surrounded by a box and the word “save”. All our teachers shared classrooms, so this “save” box was common place. So of course no one questioned it. In the hallway I noticed two of the people who I use to eat lunch with had an N on their hand, and I finally asked them what was going on. They wrote N for neutral, and had been told to tell me BIAC stood for Bible In A Church. After some begging they confessed that it actually stood for Becky Is A Cow.

I was crushed. But it was hearsay, and the bullying rules were rather non-existent. Yeah, we had harassment rules. But I wasn’t being harassed because of race, or gender, or orientation. So, in other words. I had to deal. I walked into a classroom and saw that one of my former friends had drawn a picture of me in a grave. I knew from the drawing style who it was, but since I didn’t see them draw it nothing could be done.

High school only got better because I had the option of spending my last two years as a full time student at a community college. People think I did that because I was smart and wanted to get a head start on college. But I really did it because I didn’t know if I could survive two more years.

Not exactly what I wanted to start with...

So, I had been planning on making my first blog post and introduction. You know a "Who the Hell Am I" type post. But then I thought of something that is a little more important. An explanation of sorts. I'll probably still do a who am I post, but this needs to be said.

It was Tuesday night when I started to get into a sort of funk, an emotional downturn. I've been dealing with clinical depression since I was thirteen, so it's nothing knew, but this one seemed to be aimed at Twitter. I was blaming my friends on Twitter for ignoring me, that they didn't actual care because they never mentioned me unless I replied or mentioned them first. I was angry and depressed for some reason, thinking that they didn't actual care. I decided that night to go silent for a while, see who actually cared enough to notice I was gone. I didn't have to work, so I read and watched Twitter. Occasionally I wanted to retweet something or comment, but I didn't because I was stuck on wanting to be missed and be noticed.

I increased texting though, to one person in particular. On Wednesday night we were talking about Twitter in the abstract and she made a comment that "Sometimes twitter brings out that middle school mentality in people". I know she wasn't talking about me specifically but it made me stop and think. How was what I was doing anything more than trying to start petty middle school drama? I continued my silence on Thursday, but this time while my depression still wanted me to interpret the lack of mentions as not being cared for, I tried to stop the thoughts before they progressed further.

My mom was noticing my sullen mood but also knew I was blocking her out. So, I finally tried to open up, just telling her small things. It wasn't enough for her to know exactly what was going on but it was enough for her to stop worrying. We went out that night for dinner and I was able to cheer up. Was still silent on Twitter though, but mainly because I didn't want to start anything so soon after regaining my normal mood.

This blog post, I guess, is my way of explaining myself and admitting to myself how childish I was acting at first. I guess this way, making it public, will help me be accountable to other people, a way to help preventing me slipping into childish ways.