#WhyIDidn’tReport

#WhyIDidntReport
I don’t think I really need to elaborate from what others have written. However, I too am guilty of not reporting. Therefore, here is my personal point of view and account. We have all seen the news and have heard of actual accounts where the victim is plagued and further tormented as they are scrutinized, abused, badgered, and ridiculed. Not to mention, not being believed and judged.

Can you imagine the soul crushing fear, shame and pain of having your most intimate parts touched and violated against your will, without your consent or invitation? Then to be so full of shame…fearing the judgment, the doubtful glaring eyes, the because of your occupation what did you expect attitudes, compounded with the anxiety of needing to defend yourself? The act was not provoked, invited or asked for? Can you really blame the victim? Can you firmly stand there and question a victim for not reporting?

I can bet about 50% of the women reading this have at one time or another experienced the unwelcomed ass grab. How did you respond or react? Did you spin around frantically and smack the culprit? Or did you take a step away from the individual to shield yourself from further abuse? Maybe you were verbal and yelled at the individual? Whatever your response, Did you report it? Why not?

Imagine then having just been violated in your most private, personal, and intimate place. At first, the mind races trying to comprehend the degradation, the humiliation, the shame, the unconscionable lack of humanity, the lack of respect, the lack of empathy, the lack of concern and the selfishness of the abuser. Wanting desperately to report it, but your mind fast-forwarding the scenario. If reported…there would be hours of judgment, shameful humiliation and questioning. You are already beating yourself up with questions… How did I allow this to happen? Why did I not know better? I should have fought back? I should have called a cab? Why did I drink so much? And for me personally the added dilemma of my occupation, as an exotic dancer. Stereotyped from the get-go! “Who would believe me?” Yuta, Yuta, Yuta…

If reported, there would also be poking, prodding with instruments, swabs, examinations, photographs, hours of questioning…When all you want to do is crawl in a ball and escape the trauma. Shower and bathe in boiling water to remove every trace of the encounter. Erase every memory. Erase the abusers stale beer and nicotine breath from your nose and the saliva he left on your face and body. Wash and rinse away the sweat that dripped in your eyes, your hair and face! Burn the underwear that was ripped unwillingly from your body! Erase the day, the event, the hour, the whole entire soul killing act which continually replays in your mind. With every breath you take wishing you did this or did that in order to change what happened.

The description of the attacker through my drunken goggles was probably too vague? Even though the manager said he was a safe person to drive me home. He wasn’t. Who would believe that a white male, with graying hair and a stubbly 5 o’clock beard, about 5’8” approximately 160 lbs. wearing a denim jacket with the word “Bandannas” written on the back. Who drove a green pick-up in 1988 and frequented The Bar H, currently Delilah’s Den of Hazlet, N.J. Who would believe this drunken exotic dancer?

…It was very late or early am either way it was dark and desolate and he agreed to take me the hour drive home. Why my designated ride did not return was beyond me. As we traveled down Laurel Avenue, he pulled onto a dark dirt road. I questioned him and he replied, “He had to pee.” He stopped the truck walked to the back bumper and before I realized my error he swung open my door and pulled me out. Without a peep or fight from me he finished. I cried in silence and fear and began walking in the cold dark to the gas station a block away dragging my suitcase in tow. I hid in the attendant’s booth shaking and crying. The attendant asked me if I was okay. But I couldn’t even speak I was so shook up. Suddenly, there was the green truck and the man. He tried to coax me into letting him drive me home, but I never acknowledged or answered him. I never even gave him a second glance. After some long minutes in a heated internal debate to report or not report. I finally spoke…asking the gas attendant to quickly call me a cab.

Thus, No, I did not report! IN furtherance, I never received closure or justice. Alone, I bear the burden of this incident. Alone, I carry the shame, the guilt, and the fear. Alone, until now! As I expose myself and my dark truth. I only hope and pray that this piece of maggot larva didn’t prey on anyone else and that they were not a victim due to my silence!

#SexualAbuse #Rape #ChristineBlaseyFord#BrettKavanaugh #BillCosby#KevinSpacey #HarveyWeinstein#SexualMolestation #SexualHarrassment#SexualAssault #POTUS#DonaldTrump #SCOTUS #USSenate#USCongress #Politics #PPRI#Celebrities #MeToo #PTSD #SpeakOut#PadmaLakshmi

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