How people reacted to my rape

I tried to explain it to someone once. It’s like surviving your own murder, sort of. Ever wonder who would show up at your funeral? Or, more to the point: Who would actually be sad? Rape taught me: fewer than I’d thought.

It is November 11, 2010. Eleven-eleven! It is a Thursday, it is Veteran’s Day, it is the birthday of one of my closest friends, it is the day after a record release party at a bar that is hidden underneath another bar, it is a day I am most certainly skipping class.

By 2 o’clock in the afternoon I will be in the hospital, nurses and social workers reciting health risks and injecting me with things and swabbing and scraping the “evidence” off my body. Later, I will be billed for this: over a thousand for the kit, a few hundred for the ambulance, two hundred or so for the doctor who finally appeared after I sat, waiting, glassy-eyed with ringing ears, for some hours. But for all the hours that pass, the handprints are still around my neck, a broken circle of red and gray.

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http://www.salon.com/2015/04/19/how_people_reacted_to_my_rape/

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