I came out yesterday finally confessing the worst part of my story. It is true that I married the man who raped me. But the best part of the story is that I put an end to his control and abuse.
Here is the Reader’s Digest version.
We worked together at a bar/restaurant. Most of the females working there wanted him. He was sexy and charming. Boyish. A little metro. Occasionally I would see him at parties and he would flirt with me. I laughed it off because I just didn’t take him seriously.
I’d spent my entire life in the church leading worship music and working in the mission field. It had been important to me to remain pure until marriage. That is until about 6 months before I met this man. I had left the church and was just plain being loose, running with people I had no business spending time with.
One night at a party, I was actually trying to catch the eye of another man. I was a size 14 at the time, and thought I was pretty hot stuff. I had purchased a new outfit, laid out in the sun for several days prior, and gotten a mani/pedi. I looked good and I knew it. By midnight or so, I’d had waaaaaay too much to drink. I went outside to get some air. He followed me outside and immediately started kissing me. He pulled me into the backyard of this person’s house, where it was dark and quiet. I was literally too drunk to fight him off. And he raped me.
I had always thought of rape as this violent, horrendous cat fight. Screaming and kicking and biting and eye-scratching. It wasn’t like that. I was drunk. And weak. And though I resisted, and said no about a dozen times, he was stronger than me.
I was devastated.
More with myself than with him. I didn’t leave the house for 3 days.
But once I did, I saw my girlfriends from work. They said they heard we’d slept together, and said how lucky I was to have been with such a hot guy. His friends approached me and teased me about ‘hitting it.’ The next night I had to work with him. He followed me outside and apologized. He said he didn’t realize until he had gotten home that I was a virgin. He was very kind about it, and appeared to be sincere. He even teared up.
And I bought it.
He started doing sweet things here and there. Leaving flowers on my car when I was working. Sitting at the bar and talking to me when I was closing down. Telling me I was beautiful and that he wished we could start over.
No man had ever done those things for me. Or said those things to me. So again, I bought it. We started seeing each other. Sleeping together. Spending time with each others families. And I saw a sweet, albeit very young, man.
Within 6 months I was pregnant. He became very controlling. And mean. And eventually borderline crazy. He didn’t even want me going out with my girlfriends. I allowed myself to become a prisoner in my own home, because I believed his lies that no man would ever love me for who I truly was. My friends begged me to leave him. So I started lying and saying that everything was fine.
Our daughter was born shortly thereafter. By that time I had already gained 100 pounds. I justified that it was because of the pregnancy. But I was binge-eating everyday because I was in so much emotional pain. And once I started putting on the weight, I noticed that he was less and less sexually aggressive.
I was doing my best to passively push him away.
I was miserable. But I couldn’t leave him because of the guilt I felt. And my self-confidence was gone. I truly believed, by May 2003, that he was it. He was all I was getting. I had failed God, myself, and my family, and my punishment was that I would never know real love. So I just agreed to marry him.
A year later our son was born. And I reached my high weight of 353.
Now, 5 years later, after all sorts of abuse, immigration battles, infidelity, (on his part, not mine) bankruptcy, and our son being diagnosed with Autism, I have learned what I am capable of. I lost myself for a few years.
But I’m back.
With a damn vengeance.
Yes, he raped me on June 3, 2001.
Physically.
And continued to do so for the next 7 years.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Financially.
And almost spiritually.
He wrote lie after lie on my heart. Told me I wasn’t good enough. That no one else would ever love me. That I was lucky he ever took notice of me in the first place. He added lies to that paper of my heart every single day for years. And slowly it doused the fire I once had in my soul.
But somehow the very last flicker of flame left inside of me caught spark to that paper of lies. And burned it to ashes.
And the phoenix emerging from this pile of ashes is one beautiful creature. Whatcha think ’bout these Pretty Wings?
I will never, ever allow myself to be victimized again.
353/247/199
