Two years, 730 days, 17,520 hours, and 731,051,200 seconds. Since the event that changed my life forever.
Nearly three years ago as the judge looked into my eyes, she said something that I will never forget. “Help others who are going through what you are. Rape isn’t a joke and others need to understand that. Speak out, make a difference.”

My mom never payed attention to me, instead she beat me. I would sit in my room after a beating and wonder what it would be like to have a nice, loving mother. Things at my Dad’s house weren’t much different. He never payed attention to me. So my emotional detachment from my father grew.

In April 2008, my uncle committed suicide. It was a difficult time for everyone in the family, we were really close to him. He was only twenty one when he died, barely lived a life. When this happened I became very rebellious. I didn’t really care about anything at that point. My mom was getting more strict and my dad still didn’t care about me. So I decided I would mess around on the Internet.

Over the years, I started doing more and more things I wasn’t allowed to do. I messed around on the internet a lot. Which led me to a chat room where you can talk one on one with a stranger. I spent a lot of time in those chat rooms. I met a man on there who I eventually started dating. It was early May when I met him. He pretended to be this sweet man who won over my heart. He manipulated me and said he loved me. Stupid of me to believe him.

On August 1st, 2012 it was an normal day for me. I woke up around 12pm because it was the summer and I could sleep in. I was at my grandma’s house that day spending some time with her. My grandma decided to make a turkey for dinner later that night. I grabbed my book, Table for Five, and decided to go outside to read. Before I left, she had me try the turkey. I still remember the taste of it, the spices tingling my tongue. It wasn’t too hot, but spicy enough to make your nose run. I looked at the clock it was 2:30pm. That time has been burned into my brain for nearly 3 years.
I was wearing a cut off and a pair of red Adidas shorts. I walked to my grandparents woods and chilled out on a tree. I got a call from my boyfriend asking if I was outside. I didn’t really think anything of it so I said, “Yes?” I heard a noise in the background but I assumed it was a deer or something.
“Turn around hun.” He said dryly on the phone. Silently freaking out, I looked around.
“Oh hey...What are you doing here?” I asked, scared out of my mind. He gave me the worst look ever as he was putting on a pair of black latex gloves. It was a horrible look. Happy, but what he was about today wasn’t anything good.  They were too tight for his hands, turning grey where his knuckles were. I took one look at the gloves and knew what he was there for. He was going to kill me.

When I saw him slip on the gloves I took off running towards the field behind the woods. I thought he loved me why would he want to kill me? I tried to call 9-1-1 but my phone kept saying Emergency Mode and would never call them.  The corn stalks were cutting into my arms and legs as I ran. Sweat was pouring off my body. The sweat was seeping into my cuts, burning every gash. Six hours later, he caught up to me. He wrestled me to the ground ripping off my cut off. I was clawing at him, doing anything to get him off of me. He beat me until I could barely move. Feeling the blood run down my face, I gave up and let him do what he wanted. He raped me. The ringing of his phone is what shook me from my daze. He looked at it, then answered. I remember the stunned look on his face and the last two words he uttered before he left me lying in the dirt bathed in my own blood.

“Oh Crap!” At that time I was glad for whatever it was that tore him away.
Eventually, I was able to get up and make my way towards the road. I was scared not knowing how far away from my Grandma’s I was. Hysterically crying, I made my way down the road. Desperately trying to get a car to stop and help me. I saw a white truck and waved to it. The driver saw me, but kept driving. No one was going to help me, I figured. Then that same truck came back. He asked me if I was alright and called 9-1-1. He stayed with me until the police showed up. If I saw that man again, God knows how much I’d thank him for being the only one to help me. When the police showed up I was only wearing socks and a blue tank top I had pulled down so you couldn’t see anything. They sat me down and calmed me before asking me what happened. I heard a car door slam and yelling. I glanced over and saw it was my Uncle Donny. I was hysterical when I saw him because at that point I knew it wasn’t a dream I was in.

When I got to the hospital I was first confronted by my Aunt Heather who works in Social Services. Doctors immediately surrounded me asking me questions and looking at my cuts and bruises. The officer that saw me first looked me in the eyes and said “I will do all I can to find this man.”

That was the first time a police officer lied to me. My parents burst into the room a few minutes after the officer talked to me. They hugged me and said that they were glad that I was okay. A few hours later a nurse came in and asked me to get a sane done. A sane is a test for sexual abuse to see the cause, any injuries, and to collect DNA. I refused, scared of it, but my Mom made me.

After my tests were done they said they would transfer me to the third floor of the hospital, because it was secure and the safest place for me. I was scared to sleep, scared that he might come back. I didn’t sleep for two days. Then they gave me Trazodone, and I fell helplessly into a deep sleep. I woke up screaming because I dreamt that it all happened again.

I wasn’t able to control anything while I was in the hospital, except my own pain. I was wearing a ring, so I slipped it off and rubbed it against my leg until I saw blood. The pain took me to a different place. A place where I was in control again. Shortly after that I graduated to cutting. I have been hospitalized three times for cutting.
The phone call my attacker received that day was from my Dad. He didn’t know it, and said “Crap” when he figured it out. If that phone call never happened, more than likely I would have died and been thrown in a ditch somewhere. So I am doing just as the judge said. I want to help others by sharing my story. Reliving this, even if only through the slashes of ink across a page, is painful. But nothing is more painful than silence. My voice will become an anthem for other survivors to share their stories. They are not alone. They will never be alone again.