Trauma From Being Sexually Assaulted and Falsely Accused of Sexual Assault
Tags: Rape, Sexual Assault, Men, Trauma, Gender

I’ve always considered myself to be a very fortunate person, a winner of the demographic birth lottery encapsulated with privileges. But also, like countless others, I am severely misunderstood. Despite what we might think we notice about one another, we should remind ourselves that we are simply not around each other for most of the day and therefore have no idea what inner thoughts lurk in the back of our heads and come to fruition while we are alone. But I feel inclined to write about these thoughts, specifically on my experiences with sexual assault.

To not only internalize such thoughts but to understand, rationalize and learn from them has proven to be excruciatingly difficult. The picture of each person in our mind is drastically different from the person they really are. I cannot help but be reminded of what a good friend recently told me: “the truth is nearly always counterintuitive.”

I’ve written about two stories, the first about when I was sexually assaulted and the second about when I was falsely accused of sexual assault.

Story One

I was 18, a freshman in college, at a house party with some friends. There were maybe seven or eight of us. All of us were partying and drinking for a long time. There was a girl there whom I was not interested in romantically or sexually. I’ll call her Sarah. I knew Sarah a little bit through the mutual friends we were with, but I definitely did not view her as a close friend or someone I knew a lot about. I knew she was a year older than me and was in this organization that some of our other friends were in, but that was about it.

Sarah was acting very flirtatious around me, increasingly so as the night went on and everyone, myself included, drank more and more. It was little things at first — gently rubbing her hands on my shoulder and arms and hugging me. Then it escalated to her forcefully grabbing me closer to her for tighter hugs. Eventually she even walked into the bathroom right behind me and began trying to kiss me, caressing my face with a comforting touch even if I didn’t want it to be happening since I wasn’t into her. I remember feeling a bit conflicted inside; on one hand it felt nice that a girl was showing her attraction towards me, but on the other hand, I was not attracted to her specifically. She was strong and fit, but I did not feel physically threatened or outmatched by her.

Eventually, Sarah somehow managed to take a picture on my phone of her kissing me on the cheek. Although I was smiling in the picture, it was mostly to appease her. She posted it on one of my social media accounts, but I took it down days later. She would do something like yank on my arm with force only to follow that with some gentle touching to reassure me or (I guess) deceive me into thinking that what was going on was normal and okay. I never reciprocated any similar behavior at any point.

I can’t remember the exact chronological order of events, but at some point, Sarah started confessing a very serious incident from her recent past. She talked about how a guy raped her, although she managed to take her phone out to film the rape as it was occurring. She even showed me the footage on her phone of what did in fact look like rape. Although in a drunken stupor, I understood what she was showing me. I don’t know exactly what I said, but it was probably my attempt at being sympathetic to her shocking situation.

After drinking some more with everyone, we all decided to crash in the basement. Very drunk and close to blacking out, I plopped myself down on a mattress or maybe some blankets or something. Sarah followed and laid down next to me on my left. It was nearly pitch black in the room. Several minutes passed, and everyone else appeared to be drifting off to sleep. I was about to fall asleep myself until Sarah spoke.

“Hey, are you awake?” she asked. Now, looking back maybe I just should have said nothing, but I had the feeling she was trying to hook up in some capacity at this point, and I did not want that to happen. Basically this whole night, I didn’t know how to tell Sarah that I was not interested in her or if that was something I should have even done. For some reason all I managed to do was grunt, “mmm” faintly. I guess I wanted her to know that I was awake but just wanted to go to sleep. One thing I am certain of is that I never did anything to even remotely lead her on — unless repeatedly trying to get away from her is seen as leading someone on.

In any event, her next move was where this story takes a rather unfortunate turn. The next thing I remember is her grabbing my right hand, pulling it across my body, and slowly bringing me closer to her. Very slowly, she pulled my hand down under the blanket and had me caress her bare breasts, folding her hand over mine so that she was controlling what I was touching. She essentially had me gently squeeze her breasts for a few moments. My heart began pounding. Again, although drunk, I was well aware of what was going on. She then brought my hand down against the rest of her body, again slowly. I think she may have only been wearing a bra, or maybe a bra and a loose t-shirt — I can’t remember. But she moved my hand lower and lower on her torso. My heart pumping louder now, I was certain of what was coming next. A moment later sure enough she stuck my middle finger inside her vagina. She had me “finger” her, if you could even call it that, as she moved my finger in and out slowly. I remember thinking my heart was pumping so loudly now that everyone in the room would hear. I wanted for this to not be happening, but I simply froze. I didn’t know what to do or say, if this was considered normal or natural or fun, or if this is what hooking up was supposed to be like. Just frozen.

Sarah began thrusting her hips a bit and letting out, I think, moans of pleasure. I thought maybe someone would hear that, too. Eventually I moved my finger a little bit in some motion, just to feel in control again for a second, but it was extremely subtle. I’m not sure how long she had me do this exactly, but I would estimate at least a couple of minutes.

I don’t know why she stopped, but if I had to surmise it was because she realized that I was not saying anything to her or moving. She released my finger, and maybe she brought my hand around her body in a cuddling position, or maybe I brought my hand back to my side — again, I don’t remember some of these details.

After a long moment, my heart finally calmed down and the next thing I know I, somehow, am fast asleep.

The next morning, I think a couple of the friends there saw that Sarah’s underwear was off to the side, so they had their suspicions. I didn’t know how to describe what had happened or what to even call it, so I think I told a few people that we “hooked up”. So dumb. I had not even kissed a girl at this point.

I happened to see Sarah a few times after that. One time she came over late at night visibly drunk while my roommate was out. I let her in and she immediately took off her shoes and lied down on my roommate’s bed, talking about how drunk she had just gotten. Before anything else happened, I wanted to be clear this time, so I flat out told her that I only like her as a friend but am not interested in anything more. The truth was I now barely liked her as a friend. She accepted the message, though, and left shortly after.

Another time that sticks out occurred a few weeks later when she was again drunk. We were at a mutual friend’s room, and she forcefully yanked me closer to her as she lied down on a couch. And whenever I say “forcefully” I mean she tugged and pulled on my arm and my back to the extent where if I tried to pull away it would probably look like we were then fighting. So I just sort of complied and let her bring me closer. She looked out of it as she started whispering my name. She brought my hand around her back so that it looked like I was holding her. I think I just tried to calm her down a bit and say everything is alright. Eventually I was able to pull away or free myself — whatever you want to call it. The mutual friend present was also super drunk and later did not remember this night.

Story Two

This other story I’m about to tell happened less than a year after the first story. I knew this other girl, whom I’ll call Trish, through mutual friends as well. I didn’t know much about her other than I thought she was a lesbian since she had a girlfriend. We’ll call her girlfriend, Briana. I thought Trish was sort of cute, and we had talked just for a little. But one time she brought up her girlfriend, and I lost any desire to pursue her sexually or romantically.

One night, Trish invited me over to her place to drink. Thinking that she just wanted to hang, drink and talk about our mutual friends, I threw on a sweatshirt and biked over. We started pouring a couple of shots and mixing liquor with soda. She told me Briana was out somewhere. After drinking some, she confessed that she was actually in an open relationship with Briana and that they both went on dates with other girls. She also said something like even though she’s attracted to girls, she still “does things” with guys. A little more talking ensued before she asked that I come from the end of her bed where I was to right next to her to watch some show on her laptop. I had maybe three or four drinks in me, which will definitely make me feel tipsy but not outrageously drunk. If I had to guess, I’d say Trish had consumed a similar amount, though she was much smaller than me.

We started watching the show on her laptop as she moved herself closer to me. She rested her head on my shoulder and I think moved my arm so it was around her back now. I was okay with this. A moment later we were giggling about something before she leaned in and kissed me. It took me a little by surprise since I still viewed her as a lesbian, but at the same time I was enjoying myself enough and kissed back. Very soon after, she pulled me so that I was now on top of her. The making out turned into both of us dry humping. She tried taking off my pants, but I was wearing jeans and had a belt on, thank God. I knew for sure that I did not want to have sex with her. I think she kind of picked up on that, because she stopped trying to take my pants off after a short moment. A few more minutes passed before she said something that was either “I think you should stop now” or “I think you should leave now.” I immediately got off of her and walked over to the bathroom. When I came out, Trish was sitting up in her bed looking kind of defeated or sullen or depressed as her eyes gazed down. I don’t know, it was a weird look that puzzled me in that moment. She said softly, “So I’ll see you later.” Thinking that she was referring to likely hanging out with mutual friends again, I agreed, put my shoes on and left. A few days later she texted me saying that she thinks she may have liked what we did and that she might like me, but she sounded uncertain.

Maybe a couple of weeks later, I was informed by mutual friends that Trish was accusing me of sexual assault. She never went to administration or the office of student conduct, to my knowledge at least. As far as the college community is concerned, I think she only told friends. I was completely shocked when I heard this from mutual friends. She told her story of that night to some friends, and I told my version to the same friends. The majority of people believed my story, if I had to guess, because my version made sense. I was told that her story of that night was similar to mine except that I initiated everything and decided how far we went. This was a blatant lie. Everything from the invite, to the shots poured, to the cuddling, to the kissing, to anything else was all initiated by her.

Trish and I never really interacted much after that night until she sent me a long message over a year later. She talked about how her brother molested her daily for months when she was little, and it led her to mistrust men. She said she came out as a lesbian due to being terrified of men. She said she started drinking more and doing drugs after that night and soon broke up with her girlfriend. She met a guy soon after and thought she would try dating a guy for a change, but this guy lied about his age and coerced her into having sex. She said one time he got so drunk and aggressive during sex that she had flashbacks of the night with me. She said she thought all men wanted was sex and that she engaged in self-harm, wondering if she would even survive college. She said that she never apologized to me and that she doesn’t believe that I’m a bad person. But she also said that that night was a complete misunderstanding and should not have happened since she felt violated. She said she lost several friends including me (even though we really were not that close like I said) and that she should not have kissed me because in her mind it made me think that she wanted more. She ended her message by apologizing, saying that this is the last step in her personal healing process. She also hoped that I could forgive her as well and that we could be friends again. I replied, thanking her for telling me all of that and that I’m glad she’s doing better but that we shouldn’t interact. The last thing she said to me was that that’s fine, she knows she did the right thing by “forgiving” me, but she hopes that I’ve learned from this and “don’t do it again to anyone else.”

If you’re confused, I am too. I mean, I don’t even know where to start. It sounds like she apologized but also that she still thinks I did something wrong. Assuming everything she said about her past was true, I honestly believe that she believes that I assaulted her or hurt her in some way because of how her trauma affected her. But I have zero doubt that I did not sexually assault her.

I have not had any communication with Sarah or Trish in years.

How did these experiences affect me? What is there to learn here?

Answering these questions is not easy. I’ve had to do a lot of thinking. Both of these occurrences are etched in my mind like nails on a chalkboard, and both have messed with me, maybe forever.

The funny thing about trauma is that the time spent after the traumatic event is actually oftentimes harder to bear and more painful than the traumatic event itself. The best way I can describe recognizing trauma is it’s like looking for buried treasure, or, a more pragmatic example, looking for a file at your desk at work that’s been long forgotten or neglected among the hundred other papers scattered throughout your drawers and desk space.

The other funny thing about trauma is that you can carry some unknowingly.

The specifics of how these events affected me are the hardest parts to admit for they are either painful or embarrassing, but they are also necessary to convey in order to fully understand my story. It’s never an easy thing to talk about, so here is my best explanation:

During intimacy with other girls, I have

seen the face of one of the girls from these stories flash into my head

felt the need to stop whatever it is I’m doing in the moment for fear of hurting the girl I’m currently with

become very worried or anxious even though nothing is going wrong

felt unable to perform or suddenly uninterested in the girl even though things were just going well

felt like throwing up

And much more that I’m unwilling to share. There’s no point in sugarcoating any of this. I want people to know that sexual trauma affects your libido, how aroused you’re able to get, how you act during sex — that it may lead to your heart or mind racing when you’re being intimate with someone, how it makes you okay with the idea of having sex up until as soon as right before it’s about to occur — when you feel nauseous. Furthermore, there are probably other ways my trauma is being manifested through my actions that I don’t know about.

Why write about it now and not earlier?

I think many wonder why people don’t bring up their trauma earlier in their lives or right after it happened. After all, I waited several years, but I think I’ve developed an answer that may apply to others as well: I simply did not know I had experienced trauma.

So, why write about it? Well, the first step to healing from trauma is the first step to any problem: recognizing and admitting that it happened. I only started writing when I was able to connect the dots between these events and how I’ve behaved in between then and today. I was looking at my life as event A leads to event B, and event B leads to event C and so forth, but I forgot that you reach event Z because of event A. To isolate different periods of our lives and to treat them as fragments is to deny their permanence and relationship to one another.

One thing I’m not sure of is, because these experiences happened while I pretty young, did it compel me to pursue similar girls with a lot of issues — whatever that means — because that is what I was familiar with at one point? My best guess is no, not really. I have had plenty of fun times with other girls and gone after nice girls who have made me feel great.

But at the same time, I have certainly met other girls who remind me of these two, and I’m sure I’ve been attracted to girls with sexual trauma as well. I just don’t know if this is significant because I feel as though everyone has been through something whether we’re aware of it or not. Both of the girls in these stories told me they’ve experienced rape and/or sexual assault themselves, which makes me wonder how much of their behavior around me was because of that. The other similarity with these stories is that alcohol was involved.

I was young and had no frame of reference for how unfortunate those experiences were; I simply thought that what I went through was commonplace and normal, whatever normal means. But, I do realize now that what I experienced was not ordinary nor healthy.

Another prominent reason I did not write about this earlier stems from traditional masculinity and what we think of when we define what it means to be a man. It usually revolves around values like sexual conquest, athletic ability and salary. What we need to change this to is that being a man means taking responsibility for your actions, communicating well, respecting others and asking what you can do for others instead of pursuing more ego-driven endeavors. It’s 2020, nobody cares how much sex you have. The amount of sex you have should merely be another arbitrary part of your life, not a goal to work towards out of fear of not being viewed as a man.

Many men feel we have two choices to operate under traditional masculinity: start having a lot of sex so that that societal expectation is met, or shift the value you place on sex to something else. Eventually I came to realize that I don’t care if writing this somehow harms or impedes my chances of getting laid because I simply don’t place value on that anymore. I know now that I have enough appeal from engaging in my interests and projects I’m involved with.

Gender is irrelevant

I know this happens to so many other men, too, it’s not even a question. Break away from the blind rhetoric and narratives that say otherwise; they likely serve a divisive purpose. I have talked to other men who have gone through worse occurrences than me, and just like me, they usually feel trapped and afraid to tell more people. The way I break it down is to consider two pieces of evidence: 1) men feel societally conditioned to not express their feelings and emotions and 2) hearing things like “rape and sexual assault does not happen to men often.” Has anyone ever considered how both of these statements can’t be true at the same time? We’re not talking about our feelings because stuff like this happens, not in spite of it. We don’t talk about our sexual trauma because we’re told to not be emotional, not because it doesn’t happen. We need to acknowledge that men deal with many of the same problems as women —non-consensual sexual acts, assault, self-esteem, body image, abuse, self-harm, etc. We feel like we have nowhere to turn, no one who will listen. Tell a friend, they might make fun of you. Or not believe you. Or tell you it wasn’t that bad and to get over it. This is playing right into traditional masculinity.

Other Notes

Bear in mind how eye-witness testimony to trauma is probably the most unreliable source given how our biology changes from trauma. That is to say that the way we recall events changes each time, as well as our memories. That’s why trauma should be classified as a biological issue more so than psychological.

It’s easy to say “this thing happened to me a long time ago and therefor has no effect on me today”, but we forget that we are a culmination of our environmental experiences and biological wiring. I’m not saying to take my testimony with a grain of salt; these stories are, after all, 100% true, but I have retold them in the most non-biased way I am capable of providing.

I would encourage others to think about their behavior today to see if they can trace their patterns back to an event or events from their past. I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but I have reason to believe that even if you don’t think you are carrying any trauma, you probably are. I mean, I didn’t think I was carrying any for a long time.

What I’ve been through is probably a walk in the park compared to what many of you have been through.

I didn’t grow to hate women at all, but I did learn to not trust people so easily in general. I don’t wish Sarah or Trish any harm; I believe they have gone through worse than me.

Statistically speaking, I am one of the most prone races, genders and age groups to commit suicide according to sources like the National Institute of Mental Health and American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. But who really cares? I know there are answers you could give, but really, who actually does care about this? I am afraid of speaking and of being ridiculed even when the data speaks. And so far I have tried mighty hard in my 20s to not sell out. Interpret that as you may.

Closing Thoughts

If you’ve made it this far, thank you, I’m almost done.

For a good portion of my life thus far, I could not picture myself writing about this, let alone talking about this. I struggle to even find the proper words to accurately convey how challenging this has been. It has truly been a struggle trying to understand my past and make sense of my behavior in between then and now. But, I am happy to have finally written about this as my hope is that others can relate to, at least, the premise of trauma that I’ve attempted to describe. If we conversed more about these kinds of traumatic anecdotes, we’d find that we have dramatically more in common than we think. That is the first step to my solution to prevent stories like these from happening again — to be absolutely vulnerable and talk to each other. Part of me wants to say that men can talk to me, but that would be defeating my purpose. So, I will say that if anyone, regardless of your gender, wants to talk about their trauma — sexual or not — I am here to shut up and listen. I don’t care if you want to talk for hours. But most of all, I am here to do my very best to understand what it is you’ve gone through, to perhaps draw parallels that lead us to the inevitable cliché but silver lining conclusion: you and I are not alone.