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My phone rang a little after 11:00 last night, HSBF Scott calling me from LA to make sure I was okay.
I was. I am. I told him that it was probably harder in some ways for him to read yesterday�s entry than it was for me to write it. The events I detailed are long since familiar to me. He�d never learned the specifics.
It took me a long time to let myself attach the word �rape� to the events of that August night. Funny what your mind will hide, given the opportunity. I went off to school and let myself believe on a very shallow level that I must have wanted it to happen, the omnipresent and intense physical pain I felt for the first few days notwithstanding. Lorne had pulled my home address off the camp list and my mom forwarded his letters to me. He rather desperately asked if school was so busy I didn�t have time to even say hello. I made myself send him a postcard. I have no idea what it said,
A month and a half after he�d watched me pull away from Deering, he wrote to tell me he was coming to visit. Gordon was hosting the first �Experience Day� for prospective students, and he was coming to see the school, hoping to apply for the next year so we could be together.
I had told no one about the last night of camp.
Experience Day arrived. I didn�t get out of bed. One of my dorm mates knocked on my door in the early afternoon, presumably to let me know Lorne was looking for me. I didn�t answer. Eventually, she went away. A little later, another knock. Again, I stayed silent. Finally, Beth, my RA came to the door and insisted I let her in. She told me he�d been sitting in our lounge for three hours, and couldn�t I just go talk to him?
I told her I�d go see him. I was taking him to the small chapel on campus. I also told her that if I wasn�t back in an hour, she should come looking for me.
Lorne was thrilled to see me when I walked in, all open arms and big smiles. I forced a trace of a smile in return and led him out of the dorm, Beth, confused, watching us from the doorway.
Our conversation took nowhere near an hour. I told him that whatever illusions he left camp with about our being a couple were mistaken, and he needed to let them go. I told him not to write to me, not to visit. I told him that I wasn�t whoever he thought I was, and to please just leave me alone.
The last time I saw him, he was sitting in the chapel, crying. I don�t believe he stuck around for all of Experience Day. I didn�t check.
I still told no one about the last night of camp.
I stopped going to class. I stopped going to work. I stopped leaving my dorm room. I failed every single class. I went home for winter break and fought with Scott. I came back and fought my way into school for a second semester, as Gordon had written me off with my 0.00 GPA. I made up rather desperately with Scott. I flunked out a second time. I finished my year with a 0.067. Gordon asked me to please not come back, ever. I went home, found a nothing job, watched all my friends go back to school at the end of the summer, cheated on Scott, drifted through life.
I told no one about the last night of camp.
I�m sure Scott could tell you exactly when I finally told him. Truthfully, I�m not sure. I know that eventually, I started talking about it. Eventually, I confronted it for what it really was. I started to recognize the places in my life where I was different because of it. I started to let myself heal a little bit.
I�ve never told my mom. I�m not sure she could handle the truth. I�m not sure she wouldn�t find Lorne and kill him with her bare hands. I�m not sure I would feel badly about that.
I�ve never confronted Lorne. I�m sure I�m not the only girl he ever forced himself on. I hope that somewhere along the line, someone else did what I was incapable of.
I have a hard time with the phrase �I love you.� He colored that for me in a way I never really became conscious of until now.
I made some really terrible decisions about my life, sexually. I�m very lucky to not have suffered any physical long-lasting consequences of those decisions.
I don�t, however, hate men. I don�t distrust people in general. I�m able to identify his personal brand of evil as being just that�HIS.
I am very, very lucky in my life to have people�lots of people�around me who care about me, and who would do anything I needed them to do if I asked them (and some even if I don�t ask), who support me and nurture me and heal me and love me, no questions asked.
I am, in the truest sense of the word, a rape survivor. I have done more than survive.
*****
On a different note, I saw Melissa�s sister yesterday. She works in a different part of the hospital, although she told me that she gave her notice yesterday. I haven�t seen her since shortly after the funeral. I wasn�t sure she�d recognize me, or that even then she would talk to me. We smiled and exchanged small talk. As I walked away, I thought, �I wonder if she hates me as much as her mother does?�
That makes me sad.
*****
I also want to thank Bryan and Pussypants and Jen and Jon for their kind words, good thoughts and general support they forwarded my way after reading yesterday�s entry. In your own ways, you�re part of that circle I was talking about up there, and I am very grateful for that.
The world�s a tough place to live. It�s good to have friends!
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