Serendipitea
By: Madison Pham
Tags: Healing, Acceptance, Reflecting, Sexual Assault

TRIGGER WARNING: rape, sexual assault

BEFORE

Three years ago, I met Harvey* during my spring break. I joked to my sister about how he looked like a guy we knew in high school. I didn’t think too much of him since he left shortly after introducing himself.

Fast forward about six months later, I moved to Florida to be with my sister. I had recently broken up with my on-again, off-again boyfriend, M*. I had no interest in getting back with him, despite his efforts of wanting to try again. Instead of trying again, I thought, “Why don’t I go on Tinder and give this thing a shot?” And so I did that. I swiped and swiped until I came across Harvey’s profile. He was still as cute as I last saw him, so I decided to swipe right on him. We ended up matching and got to talking.

On September 21, 2016, he asked me to go to meet him and his cousin, Nic*, at a bar nearby. I wasn’t 21 at the time, and he knew that. He said it was fine, and I went only with the intention of hanging out. He convinced me that it was okay for me to drink, and no one carded me. One beer became three, shots were given out, and we were kissing each other. I had drank so much that I didn’t remember leaving the bar. Harvey had been drinking before I got there, so I can only imagine how much he had. He ended up driving my car with me slumped in the passenger seat. Somewhere throughout the night we stopped at Nic’s house. Three things are ingrained into my memory when I think of his house: 1. It was dark out, and there were barely any lights. 2. There was a small yapping dog. 3. Outside on his front porch was where Harvey would proceed to rape me. I honestly can’t remember how it happened, how long it lasted, if anyone saw, etc. I was blacked out, but I may as well have been unconscious. I remember staring at the floor of the porch, bent over with the upper half of my body dangling towards the ground, and being held upright so he could have his way with me. Otherwise, I looked like a limp, human spaghetti noodle. After he had enough, he drove us back to his apartment, where I woke up not knowing where I was, where my clothes were.

The next morning, I had asked him, “Did we have sex last night?” To which he nonchalantly responded, “Yeah.” To say I was confused was such an understatement. I tried so hard to remember all the details of the night before. I kept denying that this happened to me, that maybe I was just imagining it, or maybe I said that I wanted to do that. When I finally got home later that morning, I felt like I was hit by a train. I cried for probably two hours straight as I started to realized the grim reality of what had happened. I rushed to the shower, attempting to wash away what had happened to my body. I wanted him off of me. I wanted his trace to go right down the drain instead of enveloping me in. I cried so hard that that was all my body knew to do: cry.

My brain couldn’t configure itself that day, and to add to that confusion, I get a text from Harvey saying,

“Thank you for coming last night. I had fun. I hope your interview went well.”

It’s disgusting to know that the guy who took advantage of me while I was blacked out “had fun”. This wasn’t an embarrassing college hookup; it was a serious violation of not only my body but my whole being. Things like this don’t happen by mistake, and they certainly don’t happen because it’s “fun”.

Two hours of crying turned to ten. I spent the rest of the afternoon at the hospital with my sister getting a rape kit done. Earlier when I said I mistakenly took a shower, I didn’t know I would be at the hospital soon after. I might have washed away any evidence of him on me. It was a grueling night, retelling my story to different health care professionals, police, investigators, etc. As a precaution, I was loaded up on so much medicine to make sure I didn’t get pregnant, HIV, STDs, and so forth. Looking back that night was such a fog that my mind and body gave up.

For the days and months that followed, I was interrogated by several officials regarding the case that was being built. All the mundane questions that seemed relevant to the case were asked. “What were you wearing? How much did you drink? How often do you drink? How much do you normally drink? Why did you go out that night? Did you want to have sex with him before you got drunk? Are you sure that happened? Are you sure he did that to you? You don’t remember saying yes to him? Where was your car that night? And next morning? Do you have a history of drinking excessively? Perhaps it could be a good thing to drop the case since he went through a lot of pain. There’s only a 20% chance of you winning the case so you might as well drop it. See the thing is..it wasn’t that brutal of a case. Yes, I understand what happened to you was unfortunate, but the case would be different if you had been beaten to oblivion, like in some other cases we had. If you proceed with the case, you’d have to fly back and forth to Florida and that might be too much for you.” These words coming from the people representing an organization sworn to protect the citizens hold no empathy as they protect one of their own to ensure their credibility. To the Air Force “officers” who questioned my sanity and shamed me for speaking the truth, a big fuck you to you, and I hope that you’ll be better at your jobs and be useful for once. I hope your wives, children, nieces, friends, colleagues don’t have to endure the guilt and steaming humiliation I did.

My brain rewired itself to thinking that in order to be safe, I can’t be around anyone, not even the ones I trust. My best friend Lily* and I were having a silly fight, and I felt too ashamed to reach out to her. My college friends were busy studying and partying, it’s probably not a good idea to add to their burden my troubles. There’s no way my parents could know, I’d never hear the end of it. I shut everyone out because I couldn’t put myself in a position to be hurt again. I couldn’t face my loved ones knowing I could be judged harshly on top of strangers who had done it not long ago. Watching everyone’s lives go by while mine remained stagnant was the worst feeling. While I was happy that my friends are moving forward and being successful, all I had wanted was to move forward, but I was so far in the deep end that I didn’t how to swim back. It felt like drowning in waves that made tsunamis look like ripples while everyone I knew was safe at shore.