Surrender is NOT Consent

February 12, 2014 — 59 Comments

Rape-1

 

It’s not YES.

It’s abandonment of all hope.

It’s when NO becomes frozen in your vocal cords from the realization that no one can hear you.

No one will help.

No matter how hard you fight this terrible thing is happening.

And you stop fighting once you realize

the sooner they get it over with

the better.

 

And you remember being plagued with nightmares as a child, constantly

to where you taught yourself how to wake up,

how to rip yourself out of a terrifying hellscape.

 

Not this one.

 

This one you can’t push yourself out of

and it’s too sensorially acute to be a nightmare.

The smell of liquor and sour breath.

The heavy weight of someone pressing down on you to where you know

you’ll suffocate and die if it goes on on any longer.

 

You hope you do.

 

Because you lost the ability to fight

once you realized the battle was lost.

It’s happening anyway.

You didn’t say YES.

You never said YES.

So you just go away. In your mind.

And wish it over, quickly.

 

And afterwards you tell no one because who would believe you?

You know how you present.

Even though you’re nearly innocent you know what people will think.

Because of how you look. Or act. Or dress.

Because you put yourself in that situation.

That you got what you deserved.

Your brain is bombarded with these thoughts until you believe them yourself.

That somehow, you asked for this.

And you know shame.

 

So you keep quiet.

You don’t need to be judged by others

when no one can Judge you

as harshly as you Judge yourself.

 

You keep quiet until one day your favorite student, you loved her from day one,

texts you from school

“Please get me NOW,”

And you wonder what could possibly have happened.

 

She tells you she had an assembly that morning on sexual assault and it

triggered the memory of that terrible night when

She didn’t say YES

She never said YES

But she didn’t fight hard enough.

Couldn’t scream loud enough.

Just gave up.

And was ashamed

to tell anyone.

 

And you exchange secrets like fireflies that glimmer quickly and go out.

Too difficult to catch and handle.

 

And you try and tell her not to feel shame,

it wasn’t her fault,

there wasn’t anything more she could have done, and

she did nothing to bring this on herself.

She didn’t say YES

She never said YES

And you realize.

It’s yourself you’re talking to.

 

And she’s tucked away in your house now, such a relief to have her here.

To see her sprawled on the bed in the guest room, hair up in a big pony tail.

 

Like Gidget.

 

She lays on her stomach, feet intertwined, picking her light blue nail polish, texting her friends.

And she’s told you, “he’s the ONE. I really like him. And we’re taking it.

Really Slow.”

 

And you’re so happy she’s found someone like that, because that’s the only way it can ever be now.

 

It exist for you only in your mind now

and in secret journals

under the tapping of keys and flowing ink

because you would need someone as patient and slow as your first

all the while dealing with you pushing them away emotionally.

And really, whose got time for that?

In today’s world, where instant gratification isn’t even

Fast Enough.

 

She looks content now.

And safe.

You’re united in that way that only survivors understand,

Blood sisters.

Mother and daughter, really.

It’s no wonder people think she’s your daughter when you’re out together.

Even though, you really look nothing alike.

 

What you share is the memory that

you didn’t say YES

you never said YES

But at some point, you just realized.

It was going to happen.

 

So you just Gave Up.

A piece of yourselves.

 

For the rest of your lives.

 

 

 

I don’t really know what to say.  But if you want to 

talk to me,  I’m listening. 

 

 

loveisrespect, National Teen Dating Abuse Helpline
(866) 331-9474
Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
http://www.loveisrespect.org

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59 responses to Surrender is NOT Consent

  1. 

    Deeply moved.

    Kind regards

    K

  2. 

    Visceral and disturbing…*long, low, gutteral growl*

    • 

      You are my Guardian Angel. My Protector.

      I would feel sorry for anyone who you actually came face to face with that has wronged me.

      You would end up in jail.

  3. 

    This painful sore needs to be opened in order to finally heal the wounds…. Master Po.. Oooooooh

  4. 

    Again, I’m not really sure what to say but this is a topic that really, really gets to me. Especially with all the incidents that continue to be reported from India (I am completely aware that this sort of thing happens the world over of course). A very moving, real post Samara. Thank you.

  5. 
    ceruleanstarshine February 12, 2014 at 6:34 am

    Many hugs–to both of you.

    • 

      I remember you worked in education- did you ever adopt certain kids?
      This one has my heart.

      • 
        ceruleanstarshine February 12, 2014 at 8:58 pm

        I do…here and there. And then there’s the ones I can’t help at all, and it’s very upsetting. I’m glad she has you. I sure, had someone like that been around when you or I were young, it might have made all the difference.

      • 

        That’s so true. Oh my God – that’s probably why I’m like this. I never even put that together.

        Who ARE you? Do you blog?

      • 
        ceruleanstarshine February 12, 2014 at 9:19 pm

        I used to blog. I got tired of coming up with “interesting” things to write, and since it had become non-anonymous suddenly, I shut it down.

        I’m Jen…not really sure how to sum myself up. My history could make several great jerry springer episodes, and then more drama with it. As of right now..I’m 33, learning to be the kind of mom I wish I’d been when my son (16) was younger…while still remaining myself. Which, I will add, is something I’ve only recently come to terms with.

        Your blog strikes something in me-almost like I recognize much of what you write or perhaps you’re my long lost best friend. No creepy intended!

      • 

        If you ever want to, please email me. You don’t creep me out at all.

      • 
        ceruleanstarshine February 18, 2014 at 1:53 pm

        I’d love to, but there’s no email here to send it to! 🙂

      • 
        ceruleanstarshine February 12, 2014 at 9:22 pm

        Please excuse the typos, I’m typing around the seven year old camped out on my lap on my iPad!

      • 

        I didn’t even notice!

    • 

      Pardon for the off-topic drift, but I am going to the local SF/fantasy/gaming con in two days (or one, time zone differences, I’m sure) and I’m going to see if there is any mention of a Minecraft con.

      Yes, I remembered. Unless I’m mistaking you for someone else.

  6. 

    Society and its shame strangles the innocence, as you show with this punch to the gut, Samara. Thank you for putting it out in the world to help the young people.

    • 

      I just wrote to Sean that 30 girls left her school yesterday.
      Will what I wrote make a difference? Who knows.
      But it came pouring out of me, and that’s what blogs are for.

  7. 

    You listening to your friend (and sadly, having experience to understand her) might help her realize that it was not her fault.
    Regardless of what the rest of the world says, and whether she pursues justice against him, hopefully she’ll learn and know (as deeply as possible) that what happened is on him, not her, and she did not do anything wrong.

    And either way, she has you to listen, and that’s something.

    • 

      Thank you.

      It happened 2 years ago, so no, it’s done.

      And she’s here with me. She’s taking a “mental health” day from school. She asked me to post that hotline number. In case it helps anyone.

      I hope it helps even one person.

  8. 

    I don’t know what to say either.
    People, the general “they,” the faceless mass, the horde of bumbling fools, make me sad.
    Thank you for posting. I hope someone who needed to see it, did, does, will reach out for help.
    :-/

  9. 

    so freakin’ powerful…

  10. 

    Oh, Samara. I cried so much. Briefly, the thought came into my head, “but I did say yes.” Then I hear the grown-up mature part of my brain reply, “you were a child. Had you known, really known, what you were agreeing to, would you really have agreed to do it?”

    No. No, I wouldn’t.

    I’m sorry you had to go through that. I wish I could give you a hug. Think I might need one, too. Please, promise me you’ll take care of yourself, dearheart.

  11. 

    I love this: “And we’re taking it. Really Slow. And you’re so happy she’s found someone like that, because that’s the only way it can ever be now.”

    So true. And I don’t remember what I said the first time, I was only 3. But the second time I definitely said no. I said no till I lost count. It didn’t make a difference either way. The end result was the same.

    • 

      I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.

      I am fast on paper. Sexy and snarky and hot.

      Not in real life. It’s an illusion. Smoke and mirrors. In real life, it takes a long time for me to open up to someone.

  12. 

    Samara. I’m not even ready to talk about the fact that I can relate to every line of this.

  13. 

    I know what it’s like to be a child without a voice… to not have words for the trauma that happened over and over again.

    I was abused, not like this, but i was.

    I was also falsely accused of rape. Very long, ugly story. But I have no doubt in my mind the issue cuts and hurts loved ones, too. It was difficult when I didn’t have words for my own anguish and suffering, to see someone I love so hurt.

    As Cimmorene already said, she wept. Sobbed. Lots. I give as much as what’s inside me, and trust The Divine to do the rest.

    • 

      I almost wish I hadn’t written this.
      I really didn’t.
      It just wrote itself.

      The worst part is I think, that I got way more followers today than most days. But they didn’t comment.
      Still not talking.

  14. 

    Samara, I don’t have words. May yours help someone today. Sending love and peace to you both.

  15. 

    Follow you samara, follow me?
    I’m from Brazil, I loved your blog ❤

    http://gilvaniagil.com/

  16. 

    Women should never, ever have to bond over this… but as it does happen, over and over again, at least we can support each other and learn how to create safe spaces. I’m so sorry. And I’m so glad Gidget has you. And I’m not the least bit surprised that she would call you in a moment of crisis. You’re a good person, Samara.

    • 

      I think I told you she was in my house, didn’t I?

      She’s my girl. I remember the post you wrote about being a teacher and trying to establish boundaries. Sometimes, they just disappear. And I fall in love. This one, she has my heart.

      And my guest room, at the moment.

  17. 

    Profound, tragic, and touching post. I can tell you needed to write it. You’re an angel for being her sentinel.
    xoxo

  18. 

    This is so powerful, like every other post of yours. You are so talented. I am so hooked to your blog that you should be ready to alert the authorities of lanky stalkers anytime now. Don’t give in to those puppy eyes. They are probably planning the odds of burgers and fries making them lethargic while sticking like a leech to your office building’s entrance.

    • 

      This is either a compliment, or a warning?

      Hahahaha.

      Stalk away. I’m not worried. I’m so flattered that you’re reading older posts of mine.

      Thank you.

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