It’s Not That Simple
My Struggle with Sexual Assault By Linda Beigel [Trigger Warning: This is a first-person account of sexual assault.] “Last spring, I was sexually assaulted—twice.” This sentence is true. This sentence is one I have spoken and written many times, with ever-increasing frequency over the past few months. This sentence floats in and out of my consciousness all day, a lens that colors my perceptions, that changes the way I speak, the way I act, the way I think. Most of all, this is a sentence that does not even come close to telling the full story. Because what if, … what if, … and I know not to blame the victim, I know, I know, I know, but what if, … what if the victim honestly fucked up? “If you’re stupid enough to put yourself in those situations, you deserve whatever happens to you.” This sentence, I do not speak or write. This sentence follows in the wake of the first, always trailing just a step behind, to remind me (lest I become too comfortable indulging in self-pity) that I brought this all upon myself.
HOW I FUCKED UP #1 – January 2012
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• Mistake #1: Being a drunk girl at Harris • Mistake #2: Leaving Harris with a stranger after dancing with him for about 30 seconds • Mistake #3: Consenting to sex, even though I told myself before I started drinking that the most I would do that night was make out • Mistake #4: Saying yes when asked if I wanted to “try something kinky” • Mistake #5: Not demanding clarification as to what exactly he meant by “kinky” • Mistake #6: Not immediately kicking him out when it turned out “kinky” was humiliating and painful—so painful I had to ask him to stop almost immediately • Mistake #8: Not punching him in the fucking face when he re-penetrated me without changing the condom, as I had asked him to • Mistake #9: Making out with him at several other parties after the night in question (although I never ended up taking him back to my room again) The “kinky” act in question was anal sex, without lube. He knew what he was doing. He had had anal sex before, and I’m sure he knew that without lube, it is extraordinarily painful. I was not asked or even warned before penetration; he simply did what he wanted to my body without concern for my emotional or physical wellbeing. His sexual gratification, it seems, was far more important to him than sparing me the risk of a bacterial infection, sparing me the shame of the blood he drew from my body, sparing me the humiliation I feel each time I tell this story. He just didn’t care.
HOW I FUCKED UP #2 – April 2012 • Mistake #1: Being a drunk girl at Harris • Mistake #2: Leaving with a friend of a friend and assuming the lack of anonymity ensured my safety • Mistake #3: Assuming he would put on the condom I handed him, as I asked • Mistake #4: Smiling bemusedly upon finding the unused condom on the floor the next morning (Rage would have been a more appropriate response) • Mistake #5: Hooking up with him again many times throughout the rest of the semester, always without a condom, because I never got the nerve to ask him to wear one again after that first time.
