Sam Fazio

Now and Then: To Those Who Have Touched Me Without Permission encapsulates the thought process of a young sexual assault victim, who does not yet understand why no one respects consent. She feels like this is just the way things are, even though something feels very wrong. She stays quiet, because speaking out does not feel like an option. She truly believes she is alone; nobody else is talking about it. These stories have been buried deep beneath fear, shame, and guilt.

Trauma in the more recent years has been the shovel that’s dug up these past sorrows. Now, she has experienced sexual assault and harassment for much of her young life, and is putting the pieces of the puzzle together. After testifying in court, it dawned on her that this was not the first time she had been raped. The first two times she was raped, she cried, she prayed to a God she didn’t believe in for the pain to stop, she told nobody expect her best friend, but even then, she did not use the word rape. She thought she had simply lost her virginity. The rise of the #MeToo movement gave her a voice. Now, she knows that what happened to her was wrong, and that by sharing her experiences, others will relate, and change will be made.

These stories are 100% subjective and tell the perspective from the eyes of the victim.

TRIGGER WARNING: The following content will contain explicit talk about sexual assault, mental illness and eating disorders.

1. THE FUCKBOY

I was 14, anorexic, clinically depressed, and insecure. You were 16, addicted to drugs, sending dick pics to your best friend’s girlfriend, and desperate to lose your virginity. You would always text me things like “if you love me you’ll fuck me”, to which I would reply, as the strong independent woman I thought I was, “if you love me, you’ll respect me”. I would never have had the courage to say that in person, so you took me by surprise one day, after showing me the music video to A$AP Rocky’s song “Purple Swag”, when you asked if I wanted to have sex. I shook my head to indicate “NO”. You then explained to me how “anal sex doesn’t count”, as you removed both of our pants and forced yourself inside of me. I was completely frozen. Tears running directly from my eyes, into the comforter my face was pressed into. Praying to a God I didn’t believe in to make this pain stop, or that his mom would come home so he’d be forced to quit, or that a meteor would hit his house — anything. I thought it would never end. You were so adamant that this is what people in love do, so there’s no surprise looking back that my version of love always included some level of pain. Maybe it was all the times I saw a man my mom loved with his hands around her throat. Maybe it was the time she stabbed the “love of her life” with a fork at dinner one night just so he would stop yelling at us. Maybe the boyfriend who repeatedly beat her, really did love her, and these were just the things us woman had to put up with in order to receive love. I felt your sweat dripping on my back as I laid there. I didn’t know how to make it stop. Every ounce of my soul was in agony. Eventually you stopped, slipped your pants back on, kissed me on the forehead, and escorted me out the door. I sat in my dads truck, legs crossed, body trembling, and I curve my lips when my dad asks how my day was, and I say it was fine. I kept this secret to myself ever since. I thought that this was my secret to keep, when in fact I was keeping your secret. Not mine. I thought I was protecting my innocence out of the deep shame I had attached to “sex”. We did not have sex, you’re right, what you did, did not count as sex, it was rape. You broke up with me over text the next day. There have been countless times I’ve wanted to call you out, and tell you how you damaged me, but I didn’t, out of fear I was wrong, or that my feelings were not valid. I immediately erased this from my memory and didn’t tell a soul.

2. MR BUTTERFLIES

 I had such a huge crush on you. I got butterflies every time you looked at me, and when you asked me out, I could not have been any happier. You were my first “love”. I was 15 and so were you, we went to the same school but I was too anxious to ever hangout there because I thought you were too cool to be dating me. So, we texted a lot. You got mad if I didn’t answer you within 10 minutes. I thought it was sweet that you cared about me so much. One day you ask me when I would “lose my virginity” and I replied “when I love someone, I guess”. You took the word love as the key to my body. Coincidentally a few weeks later you told me you loved me and my heart beat out of my chest with excitement, I had never felt like this before. I said it back and we made out on the playground. Up to this point we had never done anything sexual, and I had no plans to anytime soon. You took me to your mom’s apartment, we kiss a little bit, and without warning you pushed me down onto your bed and force yourself inside of me. I still had no idea what sex even was, and suddenly you force your penis in my vagina and I’m frozen. I am lying there staring at the sweat dripping off your forehead — waiting for it to be over. The second you stopped, I pulled up my pants and ran home as fast as I could. As I was running I phoned my best friend to tell her what happened because I could not process it myself. We were both confused about what happened, neither of us knew what sex was. I took a shower to wash off your cum and sweat from my body and cried myself to sleep that night. We continued dating for a few more months, only seeing each other when you had the place to yourself so we could have sex (suggested change “so you could have sex with me without getting caught”) without getting caught. There are pieces of me that still care about you, and those emotions confuse me. The day that I realized you had assaulted me was when I heard from an old mutual friend that you had been getting girls drunk and raping them. I hate myself for not speaking up before now. If I had shared my story sooner, these other girls may not have been raped by you, too. But I blamed myself for what happened, I didn’t say no. It felt like I should just suck it up and move on so I buried this experience under layers of guilt and shame. I am done protecting you from the harm you have caused to not only me, but countless other woman. I forgive 15 year old me who was lost and confused about her own anatomy, and love.

3. THE NON EXCHANGE FROM BRAZIL

A few months pass, I go to a party in a forest with some old friends. We were 15 so partying outside seemed to be the trend that year. I had just started taking antidepressants and had never been to a party before, so I didn’t have anything to drink. I was meeting new people and chatting when I was approached by you. You started off by just talking to me, common small talk, you told me that you were an exchange student from Brazil, then things escalated quickly. You tell me to kiss you, and as I say no, you grab my frail body by the hips. You’re a lot bigger than I and you do not let go. You brought me closer and I kept moving my face so you could not kiss my lips. This makes you angry and you start telling me all the ways you are going to violate my body in the forest behind us. I make eye contact with one of my friends and yell the word “help”. I knew I was much smaller and weaker than you and that you could easily pick me up and take me into the woods — away from everyone. My heart sinks to my stomach when my friend just laughed off my cry for help and nobody came to my rescue. You, now even more angry at me, start dragging me away from everyone. Ignited by the anger I was feeling, I kneed you in the crotch as hard as I can, and thankfully it was hard enough for you to fall to the ground in pain long enough for me to run to my friends. All of the anger and frustration overflows out of me as I yell at my friends for not helping me out of that situation, and I run home, to cry myself to sleep. At this point I kept questioning “why me? Why do these things keep happening to me?”.

4. THE FAMILY FRIEND

It was the summer before grade 11 and I was camping with my family and friends. After a day of hanging out in the sun, drinking beer and swimming, a group of us fall asleep outside. I woke up to your hands wrapped around my breasts and your lips on my neck. I freeze. Every muscle in my body halts as my young, intoxicated mind is trying to evaluate what is happening. I have known you for so long, and you have a girlfriend, and you are basically family — what the hell?! I turned around to face you and you took this as an invitation to kiss my lips, I tell you to stop and I get up to go inside. Someone was awake, drinking water, and with tears running down my cheeks I told them what had just happened. They replied saying I should not have been drinking or hanging around the boys if I did not want that to happen. This infuriated me deeply. Why did men feel like they could touch me without permission? I had no idea that other women were experiencing this too. I thought I was the only one. I have forgiven you since this experience, for myself. I realized forgiveness does not excuse what you did to me, but I am no longer seething with anger when I see you.

5. THE SCHOOL JOCK

It was grade 11, and I went to a party with hundreds of kids my age. I was with my friends, dancing, having a good time. Out of nowhere, you come up behind me, grinding your body against mine. I immediately turn around and tell you to fuck off, but of course, you do not, you are wasted, and are only concerned about yourself. I have no idea who you are; later I found out you’re one of the top students and athletes at my high school. At some point you leave, but only for a few minutes, and soon you are back; grabbing handfuls of my body and ignoring me as I scream at you to leave me alone. You keep leaving and coming back for more. You do not stop until two of my male friends grab you and take you away from me and tell you to stop. You listened. You ignored me when I told you to stop touching MY body, but you listened when two men told you to stop. This is when I was reassured that as a woman, society does not value my body or emotions.

6. CANADA’S BROCK TURNER

February 28, 2016, I went to an after grad party in downtown Vancouver with a big group of friends. The party was for another school, but we went anyway. I do not want to go into too many details from this night, as the trial is ongoing, but you raped me in the bathroom stall of this club. I was found in a pool of my own blood, half naked and hyperventilating. You were arrested with my blood on your hands, literally. You were somewhat of a friend to me before this night and yet you did this to me. You were not the stranger that adults warn us about. You scare me.

You took pieces of me that night. Nobody has ever made me feel as small and as helpless as you did. People always ask me why I never fought back, but my life was in the palm of your hands. All I wanted to do was survive. I do not know everything you did to me in that stall, nor do I want to. I do not know how you mutilated my vagina, causing me to need emergency stitches that night. I do not know why you raped me. I do not know what was running through your mind or how you forgot I was a human being; I felt like I was a doll you were using to fulfill some dark fantasy. I was holding myself and crying when security came. I could not catch my breath or even speak a word. When you took my anatomy away from me, I broke.

I was in a hysterical state of being with blood rushing down my legs. The security guard kept trying to wipe the blood away, but more would fill the space immediately. They walked me through the crowded dance floor. People started rumours that I was on drugs, unaware of what had happened. When I saw my best friend, I was finally able to speak. I just kept saying your name. I told her you raped me. I was done protecting the men who touched me. After one and a half hours of a man stitching my vagina back together, the cops were sure to question me about my actions that night.

They asked me what I wore, how drunk I was, what I was doing, and I felt like they were blaming me for being raped. I was furious and hysterical. I had to redo my interview days later when I was able to process everything a little bit better. I was told that I was pressing charges, and everyone kept saying you would be an idiot to plead not guilty, but alas, you did.

It’s three and a half years later and the trial is still not over. The entire court process has furthered my depression, anxiety and post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). You were found guilty of forcible confinement, aggravated sexual assault, and sexually assaulting my friend months prior. You were 16 when you did all this, and your sentence is two weeks in a juvenile facility, and you are appealing this. You are so in denial of your actions that you are appealing a two week sentence in a youth facility.

I have come a long way, but I suffer from PTSD every single day. I am so scared of running into you or your family. I am so scared to leave my house some days. I am so scared of people who look like you. I share my story because I now know I am not alone. I know there are millions of people who know how it feels to have someone like you take pieces of them. People who have been sexually assaulted are more likely to commit suicide or develop a drug habit than people who have not.

We need to stop protecting those who abuse us. We need to stop carrying their shame on our backs. Nobody asks to be raped. I truly hope, from the bottom of my heart, that you get help, and accept the fact you raped me, and make a conscious decision to never do that again. I am most afraid of the appeal because it means you think what happened that night was consensual. You have not denied that you were in the stall with me and it disgusts me that you’re claiming a consensual sexual encounter involves blood, tears, the word no, and my lifeless body.

I am a survivor.

I have hidden most of these stories in my bones, creating aches and pains in my soul.

I am letting go of my role as victim in this life.

I want to heal, I want to grow, and to do this, I need to let go.

I share my stories because I know that I am not alone.

I hope that by sharing, I allow you to grow.

We must let go of the shame, guilt, and fear that keep us from living life to the fullest.

These secrets are not mine to keep.

Sam Fazio

Vice President of Content at SHE(BITES) MEDIA