Controlled: Her Story of Losing the Wheel

A month or so ago, I was approached about using my blog as a platform to share someone’s story of being raped. Coincidentally, my recent brainstorms were centered around how to approach the topic of rape on my blog. I believe that this is the perfect way to discuss such a hard weight that too many of our women are forced to carry day by day. I pray that this post reaches victims, friends and families of victims, and even those who have committed the act. Let this serve as healing for those who have been wounded and a wake up call for those guilty of violating or abusing. I have titled this post “Controlled” as a tribute to the young lady who sent me her story. She characterizes herself as someone who values and treasures the idea of being in control. Yet, she is struggling with the fact that she is no longer in control due to this recent trauma. Her control of the wheel has been lost, which is a blessing and a curse in her eyes. This is her story…


This is how most stories start out. You were just going out to have a good evening with your friends. No idea or clue that your night of hopeful good memories would turn sour.

“You know the term, one night can change your entire life? It seems cliche, and slightly impossible in many situations;  but In other situations it seems completely and accurately possible. I always wondered if people had many “nights that changed their life”, but for me, there is just one, and it didn’t change for the better.”

Blurred and Confused

Most people forget the details. Others remember them so vividly that they physically feel every detail as they replay the occurrence in their head. Often times, we block out bad memories and almost erase them from our mind in efforts to erase the pain.

“I remember everything yet nothing about that night. I remember how I felt, what I wore, who I was mad at, where I wanted to be, and where I ended up,but I don’t remember who was inside of me. I don’t remember how my panties moved from my body to the side of the floor, I don’t remember how my bra got unlatched, or why there were scratches and bruises on the most intimate parts of myself. I didn’t know why I was in so much pain, and I didn’t know why I couldn’t remember any of it.”

“It won’t happen to me”

This passage speaks for itself…

“A word popped into my head. A word that I’ve heard a million times but never associated myself with. I sat up in a space that used to feel safe yet unfamiliar and I thought to myself, “I think I was raped.” I wanted to throw up right then and there. I wanted to rewind the past 8 hours and be a fly on the wall so I could know what was missing from my memory. I remember not feeling well, I remember asking to lay down, I remember feeling woozy, but not intoxicated or high. I remember being there to watch over the people who would be intoxicated or high. I remember feeling resentment and shame, and then I remember just crying.”

The Aftermath

What is worst? The actual event or dealing with the aftermath?  If you are aware that a situation like this has happened to someone you know, I encourage you to BE THERE with them in the days to come. Physically and mentally. Speak life into them and help them in whatever way you can to begin the healing process. Let them know that they have a shoulder to lean on.

“The sad thing is, no one can go back in time. When something like this happens,the belief that the butterfly effect exists lingers on your mind for weeks,and even months at a time. You start questioning an entire day’s worth of decisions and think that maybe one thing done differently could’ve changed the entire outcome. I struggled with how I was supposed to deal with not being in control. I struggled with how I was supposed to look at myself and not feel disgusted… and not feel like melting into a mile of nothingness. You feel empty, and like no one can hear you scream when you feel as if you’re being murdered every day.”

Acceptance and Moving Forward.

“Day by day, you regain strength, but day by day you lose some of yourself. You’re no longer yourself. You feel defined by something you couldn’t control, you suffer, and still keep a smile on your face. Day by day you want to be invisible in a world where you feel you’re completely on display. Next week, I start a new school year… and I could walk by my rapist every day and never know… that’s the scariest part of all.”

Usually I would give a meaningful and detailed conclusion but I want to let her words engulf this post and resonate with your minds. Yet, I will leave you with this question…when will this stop?



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