I have been raped 5 different times by 5 different people and at different ages of my life. I remember my first experience vividly. I was 16 and he was my school father. After it happened, my first thought was to tell my friends at the time and I did, thinking they would calm me down and help me sort out my emotions but they laughed at me. I remember feeling so distraught and looking for where I could buy some drug or something to end my life and these girls told me that if I wanted to kill myself, drinking insecticide would be the best way. I was shocked. After that, I was mocked, bullied and ostracised by my roommates. It was all so crazy. I thought I was fine, I didn’t know the numerous effects the incident had on me psychologically.
When the subsequent experiences happened, I thought I was numb to the pain, numb to the hurt. I thought I had succeeded in building a wall to keep the hurt out but, it doesn’t work that way. I couldn’t sleep at night and I was finding it more and more difficult to smile. I went into drugs hoping that I would always just pass out and not have to think about anything. It worked (or so I thought). I took everything you can possible think of. I stopped going for classes, I would sneak out of school without exit cards and go into Lagos to be allowed the freedom to get high properly. I didn’t want to think about anything. I stated seeing every man as a potential rapist, even my dad. When I’m home, I would stay in my room and not talk to anybody. At night before sleeping, I made sure I always wore something tight. I figured before anybody would do anything, the person would have a long time trying to undress me and I’d have woken up to try and defend myself. My mum and siblings couldn’t hug me either because whenever anybody touches me, I’d shrink back and start shaking. It was a nightmare.
I had curves and had always liked to look good but it seemed like I just wanted to wear sacks and hide my curves. Maybe then, men would stop seeing me as a sex object. No curves, no rape right? I also fell out with a lot of ‘male friends’ because I would go over to their houses, thinking we were just friends and they would make passes at me and upon refusing, throw me out in the middle of the night. Meanwhile all I wanted to do was just not think, get high and pass out.
Then, the suicide attempts started. I would hear how people would die from overdose and I would overdose myself, hoping to put an end to the misery. I would buy pills and just keep swallowing. One time, I saw myself walking out into the highway but I chickened out last minute. There were many times I looked at my wrist and imagined how it would be to just slit it with all the blood flowing out. So, the times I was not high, I imagined all the ways in which I could die. Did I already say that sex was so painful? Sex was like a chore and it was so painful but my self esteem had fallen so low that I didn’t want to be left alone. So, I’d agree to relationships craving attention because I was so scared of being left alone. I was always scared of the many voices in my head and I could already see what I would do to myself if left alone. It was like a bargain to me. “Please your boyfriend with sex and he won’t leave you alone.” So I would just lie there and spread my legs, take the pain, hoping the guy would be done soon enough.
As if this wasn’t enough, I got molested by my uncle. I just couldn’t catch a break. Was it bad luck? What was it about me? Why me? Those were questions I kept asking myself. I overdosed one day and was rushed to the hospital, vomiting blood. I really thought I was going to die, but I didn’t. When I got back from the hospital, my uncle called to threaten me, reminding me of who he was and what he could do if I told anybody what happened. I lost the will to live. Each day was torture for me. I was very lonely, very broken, very angry. I had to quit the drugs that was helping me (I thought I was being helped by the drugs at the time).
There were so many other minor painful things that happened in between all these which I wouldn’t go into but, I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. How? I decided to fight. Fight the pain, fight the emotions, fight the darkness. It was like I had a new resolve and my resolve was to live. I wanted to live. I reached out to my aunty and she started therapy sessions with me (though I ran away after some time because some things were still too painful to talk about). But, talking did a little something for me. I started reading books on faith, healing and books that motivated me. I cut everybody off and started building my friendships again. I tried to smile even when I wasn’t feeling smiley on the inside but there were times too when I’d just lock myself in my room and cry. But what helped me was my will to change my story, to have a better life. I wanted to enjoy life and this time, enjoy the best things life had to offer. I still heard voices in my head but I refused to give in.
The first thing you should do is forgive yourself. It is not your fault. Stop beating yourself up about it. Wearing a revealing cloth is not an excuse for a man to rape you, going out to party is not an excuse either. It’s HIS fault. It’s the man’s fault for being sick and perverted. Next, you should work on your healing. Read books, be around people who make you laugh, don’t dwell on the hurt but most importantly, don’t beat yourself up for not being able to get past it. It is a process and you shouldn’t rush it. Third, make sure you heal properly before jumping into any relationship. Get professional counselling if you can and if you can’t, speak to someone who you can trust.
I want you to know that you would definitely overcome the hurt. You deserve every good thing life has to offer. Live your best life, I’m rooting for you.