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HangingOnByInkAndPaper
443 M Embraced 3
PathStep 22 Compassion hearts16 Forum posts3 Forum upvotes10 Current upvotes10 Age GroupAdult Last activeDecember, 2017 Member sinceJune 13, 2016
Bio

I'm an aspiring illustrator who loves to sing from the top of my lungs when nobody's listening. My favorite times with friends are when we are singing karaoke (me and my best friend absolutely kill it singing Rent and you will never convince me otherwise). I come from a long line of strong and troubled women. Bipolar disorder leaves no stone unturned in my family, and I fight it everyday. I hope I will never require medication, but have learned to accept that there is no shame in it if one day I do.

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Betrayal (Trigger Warning)
Trauma Support / by HangingOnByInkAndPaper
Last post
 June 15th, 2016
...See more It has been six months since my 21st birthday. Six months since I woke up on my pallet in my best friend's house to the feeling of an unwanted body beside me and unwanted hands all over me. I managed to break free, but I can still feel those hands. I still wake up panicking, thinking that he will be there and I won't get away this time. This is not my first brush with sexual assault, but it has affected me beyond anything that came before. I had thought I was in a safe place, I was in my best friend's home. We were celebrating my birthday, and there were no strangers there for me to fear. But it hardly ever is a stranger is it? In this case it was my best friend's uncle. I still remember sobbing in the shower as she called the police. I also remember how caring a friend we had just made a few months ago was, bringing me comfortable sweats and letting me use her own shoes so I could go outside to speak to the officer when he arrived. I remember how angry the officer was on my behalf, and how I thought, as scared and shaken up as I was, sitting there with him drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette, that this man was going to do something about this. This man was going to help me put my attempted rapist away. He escorted us to safety, we all huddled at another friend's house and I somehow managed to sleep. I wouldn't have been able to at all if it weren't for the fact that my friends had made a point to pile in bed with me so I was warm and sheltered and safe. Telling my mother was hard, but going to the police station to file another report was much harder. This is where I learned that the other officers were not nearly as caring. After I had to go through a statement all over again, I was subjected to silence as the officer calmly flipped through his paperwork. He prodded me about my love life. Prodded on why I had been drinking, at my own 21st birthday party mind you. Prodded on why we had chosen there for my party. Prodded on whether I had ever seen any signs that this man was like that. He gathered all my contact information, gathered all the information of the witnesses, then never did anything about it again. He never took the statements of another soul, no matter how often we called. I did everything I should, and the police did absolutely nothing. Nevermind the fact that this man was unable to give a good reason as to why he was in that room with me. Nevermind the fact that I was sleeping, in bed, not drunkenly hanging all over him. And even if I was, he had no right. No, the police hear that you had some drinks and immediately your words are worthless. They put you through the emotional trauma of telling them every detail of the event and of your life and then they do nothing for you. Because when it comes down to it, he is a white man, and you are a woman, and in America, and ESPECIALLY in the South they'd rather have the betrayal of an innocent woman than turn on their own. In their eyes men can do no wrong, and so what if you can't sleep at night, they're sure you did something to deserve it. Six months after my attempted rape, and I have seen no justice. And the part that hurts the most is I know I am far from alone.
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