Part 5 – Into The Out Again

***Trigger Warning – contains potentially distressing material pertaining to sexual assault

Into The Out Again

After two weeks of being subjected to remaining inside of my aunt’s apartment, I was finally allowed to re-emerge back into the world again. For me, going back outside into the world was long overdue. There were only so many times I could play records, so many times I could read the same information in television guides, and so many ways for me to grasp concepts in my aunt’s nursing and psychology books. There was just not enough to keep my mind occupied inside of a three room apartment where only two rooms were made available to me.

After that long in isolation, there was only so much I could take. On top of the anger and other emotions that were already building up within me as a result of posttraumatic stress, I felt an increasing insanity arising because I was forced into confinement. I struggled to make sense of the fairness, and I struggled to make sense of the adult conversations that pertained to the “me” that I no longer remembered anymore. Although I was completely aware of conversations that were danced around about the subject of sexual assault, I was completely oblivious that the subject revolved entirely around me.

I was now managing two selves – a self that had experienced trauma but was no longer functioning and had shut off all reminders that an assault had even happened and a self that needed to cope with that missing information that my mind withheld from me. Since the assault, I had immediately learned to function and cope by escaping reality. I frequently found myself in states of dissociation. I was physically present but not always mentally present.

Most times, I could not function without the thoughts of my mind floating to an unknown future. Daydreaming became an urgent need to keep from living in the present. This is one of the reasons I found solace in reading and listening to music. My mind was allowed to frequently escape because I could not go anywhere else. Like being cornered in the back area of an apartment building and restrained from moving by the attackers, I was, in like manner, restrained from being able to leave the confines of my aunt’s apartment because she ultimately wanted to continue to shield me from the attackers.

Once my aunt gave me permission to return to the outside world, she prepared me. She told me that whatever I heard about the sexual assault, I did not need to respond to it. I remember thinking blankly because I was uncertain of what she meant, but I do not remember asking her any questions. She never even used the words sexual assault or rape. Yet, an internal fear within me comprehended her even though my mind and ears dismissed her words.

My aunt’s friend, and neighbor from across the hall, would often come over and fill my aunt in on the latest gossip. There was always information about the young rape victim. To me, this young rape victim was unknown – a fictitious character that was discussed throughout the neighborhood. I never associated this victim with me, but every time something about her was mentioned, I immediately took a step back within myself. This is one way I know to describe the dissociative feeling that occurred as some type of preparation for protection.

Until the attack, I was shielded from most talk about the assault, but my aunt felt she needed to prepare me for what was to come. It was such a big deal that the two other neighbors in the building had also come down to my aunt’s apartment to offer their support to me. One of those women, a woman who lived on the top floor, was with me the day I bought the outfit that I had worn on the day of the assault. She had actually helped me pick the outfit out. Nevertheless, the women were there, and they were also supporting my aunt who appeared more fearful for me than I felt for myself. I just wanted to go outside again.

Stepping Into The Out

Once I stepped outside, I was accompanied by the daughter of my mother’s friend from the apartment from across the hall. She often tried her best to tell me about the grown up discussions she had overheard about the rape victim too, but her stories fell on my deafened and dissociated ears. I had not known until I walked outside that there was already a stigma attached to me. I was “that girl” who had been raped, and instead of being accepted, loved upon, and treated as a survivor, I was ostracized, ridiculed, and treated as if I were a criminal.

I was surprised to walk out of the front entrance to the building to find that an often quiet sidewalk where no one congregated to play was filled with a lot of children. There were mostly girls, and many of the girls were a part of the group that I had separated from on my way home from school the day of the assault. The girls were all gathered around each other as they appeared to be waiting for their turn to jump rope, but once they turned around to see me, everyone seemed to come to a halt.

I could both feel and hear my heart beating extra hard and pumping extra loudly as an inner heat rose up from within my chest. The feeling of anxiety was overtaking me, but I did my best to remain calm. My friend who had accompanied me told me that she would stay by my side, but at some point, she caved in to the peer pressure of the crowd. As I walked over and leaned on the fence to watch the kids at play, the girls invited me over to them to jump rope. It was a ploy for discussion.

During my two-week disappearance from the outside world, I had become the fodder of all sorts of tales. Like cackling hens, the girls all clamored around me because they wanted to know the details. Somewhere in my brain, the cue cards of responses to answer their questions never came to my vision. So I remained silent as each girl, individually and in unison, hammered me with a barrage of questions and responses that were mostly opinion, gossip, and lies.

None of these girls had been around when I was sexually assaulted, yet, they all seemed to know so much about me and what happened to me. I had been the talk of the neighborhood, and for two weeks, my aunt protected me and shielded me from the onslaught of words. These girls were not welcoming me into their fold. They were setting me up. I just wanted to play, jump rope, or do anything that did not require me to engage in conversation. I had no words for them. That part of me that knew the story would not yield on allowing me to remember anything. So I was speechless.

Instead of any consolation for a victim of assault, these girls blamed me for what happened to me. Yet, I sensed that their words were not their words because as typical children, they offered to let me play with them. It was the strangest thing to me. They were talking to me as if they were adults while playing a rhyming game while jumping rope.

In conversation, these girls seemed to blame me for what happened to the attackers. Yet, I stood somewhat aloof and detached from it all while I listened to them. According to them, the attackers had gotten into trouble because they claimed that I had called the police. Because of me, they claimed that I had caused the attackers so many problems because the attackers were taken away in police cars and had to spend time at the police station and in court. Frankly, this was all new information to me and only added to what I considered to be the legendary story of the girl who had been raped.

Despite the venom of anger and hatred that I heard within the girls’ voices towards me, I felt completely unmoved by their words and very detached from the situation. I was inside of myself peering outside of myself as if I was locked inside of my own body – standing back and waiting for some trigger that would send me into a disappearing shadow. I was there with them, but I was not there with them. It was a strange sensation. I did not even know if I was me in that moment because nothing that the girls said made any sense to me. It was as if there were missing fragments of information that I could not piece together. I wondered where I had been in the story that they talked about because it seemed like a story about someone else.

The last thing I remember about the girls was that I was offered to jump rope, and when I did, I felt a feeling of euphoria come over me. It was the first time in a while that I had been able to be a kid – a free child – a free spirit – enjoying a time of fun. I remember wanting to smile and realizing that I could feel my mouth crack as if I had not smiled in a while. However, that moment of exhilaration I felt ended when I was forcefully pushed out of the turning ropes by a hand. When I turned around, I saw a large sized girl standing before me with a mean look on her face.

“You got my boyfriend into trouble. You have caused him so many problems because of your lies!”

I was incredulously stunned, and I had no response. I did not know this girl or her boyfriend.

“Why are you out here? You should go play in front of your building and leave us alone!”

I remember turning away from this girl. I was confused. I did not know her. I did not know her boyfriend. Before I could walk away, the girl pushed me again. She pushed me so hard that I fell to the ground. When I turned to get up, I had not even been aware that one of the attackers was leaning upon a fence in front of one of the apartment buildings. Somewhere in a distant but faint memory that would not fully come into clarity, I remembered that this attacker was the more violent one of the two.

I heard him say, “Girl, you need to get away from here and go inside of your building. Because of you, I can’t go anywhere anymore without people calling me names all because of you running your mouth with your lies.”

In my mind, it faintly registered to me that the girl who pushed me was the girlfriend of this attacker. She lived in the building next to my aunt’s building. He must have been there because he was visiting or maybe he lived there. I did not know. I had never seen either of these people prior to the assault. I did not know them, and my mind – the one that was clearly confused and had no idea of an assault against me – wondered why they were even talking to me and reacting towards me in such a violent manner.

The girl had shouted at me again to go back inside of my own building, and for the first time, I spoke. I said “No!” Over the years when I remembered the beginning of the sexual assault against me, I had not responded to either of the attackers when they insulted me with harsh words. I had frozen in place. I had frozen by their vicious blows against my body when they caught up to me. I only vaguely remember attempting to scream but having my mouth covered by one of the attacker’s hands.

The attackers had taken my ability away to say “no” by confining me to the ground and by preventing be from uttering a word. Both of the attackers had silenced me. They had silenced my voice. They had ruined so many aspects of my life, but here were one of the attackers and his girlfriend laying the blame for their behavior onto me, and now they were attempting to keep me confined from coming into the outside to regain control of my life.

I do not know what clicked inside of me, but I said “no!” It was a matter of fact “no” without a flinch. I remember a foreboding silence that broke into the atmosphere, and everyone around me stood back in astonishment, but no one was more astonished than the girl and her boyfriend, one of the attackers.

I remember standing so firmly when I said, “You can’t tell me what to do. I don’t have to listen to you. You can’t ever stop me from coming outside.”

It appeared to take a moment for my words to register to anyone, but once the words flowed into the atmosphere, I remember seeing the eyes of the girl glisten. There was nothing about the attacker that even stood out to me. He appeared to be irrelevant as if my brain could not make a connection to the part he played in my life. He was but an imaginary dark figure, and for the life of me, I do not recall ever feeling any fear in his presence. He was that irrelevant – like a nonfactor. However, the girlfriend seemed to be a real opponent, and I was not backing down from her.

So I was not stunned when the girlfriend threatened me and then proceeded to push me again, but I did not take the second push lightly at all. It was such a hard push, I felt a wind blow out of my chest – like a gulp of air. I remember wondering to myself why this girl was so angry with me – a person she did not even know. Until that day, I never recalled seeing her before in my life. By this point, the other girls and whoever else was standing around were talking and chanting, but I do not remember what they were saying.

Before I could get up, the attacker grabbed his girlfriend by the arm and took her inside of a first floor apartment. As for me, I wish I knew a better way of explaining what happened next. I can only describe it as an out-of-body experience. I saw myself walk myself to the back of the apartment building. I never said a word, but I was very aware of my surroundings. I knew where I was going. I ended up in the same area where the attackers sexually assaulted me. Although something in my brain was aware of this fact, I had no emotions about it. Nothing about the area seemed to register to me. There were no flashbacks or any memories, but my brain knew my location.

I reached down to pick up a piece of a brick that had seemingly been shaped to form a rock. Then I walked back around to the front of the building and knocked on the first floor apartment door where I had seen both the attacker and the girl enter. When the door opened, the girl stood before me. With all the force my body could muster up, I heard myself say to her, “I plan on being outside everyday, and you can’t stop me.” Then with great force, I threw the rock and hit her and walked away. I do not know where the rock landed or if it hurt her. I simply walked away, but immediately after doing so, I felt a great remorse come over me. Why had I done that? I thought. Then another part of my mind answered me with only the explanation, “Now they will leave you alone.”

Now I do not condone violence, and I do not believe that violence should beget violence, but in that instance, the dissociated part of myself reacted to protect me in a way that I could not protect myself before. There is nothing that I can justify. It is something that happened, and I do not believe that the girl deserved it. I regretted what I did immediately afterwards, but I also could not explain why I did it. Yet, after that situation with the girl and the attacker, they seemed to all but disappear from even the peripheral of my life. I never saw them again.

Once I got into the out, I knew that I never wanted to be contained on the inside. I wanted to be free. When I went back inside to my aunt’s apartment, she and her friends had been peering from the window regarding the whole scene. They saw me being pushed, but instead of coming to my aid, they only looked on. This was baffling to me, but I suppose they all thought I needed to fight my own battle.

My aunt scolded me for hitting the girl with a rock. I do not recall how she knew before I did unless the friend that took me outside told her. Needless to say, my aunt required me to apologize to the girl. So, it was either a few hours later or the very next day that I returned to the girl’s first floor apartment in the next building to apologize. The girl, however, refused to see me, and instead, I relayed my apology to the girl’s father on her behalf. I was sorry for what happened though. It was never in my nature to be violent even if it was for a matter of defense.

On another note, however, I was free from the girl and the attackers, and they just faded out of the picture of my life for the duration of my summer stay with my aunt. I do not know if their fade out from my life was a part of the dissociative state I lived in during that time or if that is simply how the mind of a child works, but I quickly moved on with my life for the better in some ways, but for the very worst in others. I was far from healed, and was sadly heading into a descent towards the hell of depression, anguish, and rage.

Stay tuned for the next post.