You Are Not Alone - A Post For Gi Wizzle

Sis, your post last night has caused me to dig up some more 360 blogs.  Awhile back I was heavily depressed and after having Erykah Badu's Bag Lady on repeat for several hours, made a promise to myself that I was gonna start tossing baggage a little at a time because I was so tired of carrying it with me everywhere.  I'm sure I was labeled an attention whore at some point, but I didn't care.  I finally had my feelings about certain happenings out in the open and then I was able to free myself from the depression that locked me down.

I'll be the first person to say that I think I've been through an ungodly amount of shit to begin with and my life would probably make a great Lifetime movie.  Here goes...

College, the fun years, the dumb years.

All about the party. Kappa House. Western Illinois University.

Hangin’ with about 4 of my girls.

Alcohol from a trash can. Not Q-Oil, can’t remember what the Kappa’s called it.

Safe sleeping in the living room with everyone else, right? Not. People with alcohol induced sleep often hear nothing.

He came in to the living room. Woke me up and told me I could sleep in his bed instead of sharing the couch with someone else. That sounded cool at the time DUMMY!!

I get in the room and cuddle up under the covers. It’s a big bed. Made sense at the time.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! Stop! Scratch. Hit. Scratch. Hit Scre-(hand smash over my mouth)

Forearm across my throat.

Hand pulling down my pants. Do I scream and hope someone hears me? If I do will he hurt me more?

If I calm down and just let him do what the hell he wants to do, I’ll be able to leave sooner and maybe it won’t hurt as much.

I give in and figure a little hurt is better than a lot. That’s not really consent. Is it? He gets what he wants and rolls over and goes to sleep. Yes, just that confident. He’s KAPPA ALPHA PSI---BLACK PRETTY BOY. I run to the bathroom and curl up and cry. A knock at the door. I yell go away. It’s a friend.

I don’t let her in. I can’t face anyone. I feel dirty. It’s my fault. I should have fought.

She finally says she’ll go to the bathroom and we can leave. I let her in. She sees I’m a mess. Doesn’t know what to say. I say how about “Let’s go”.

We walk out the door with the other girls. I don’t say a word. Neither does she.

We sit at the Amtrak station and hope someone from school drops someone off. I’m ready to walk 20 miles back to school. We finally get a ride. Silence. Get back to school. Silence. I try to shower my skin off, but I still feel dirty. Silence to the shower floor. I cry silently.

My friend later tells me she heard the commotion, but her boyfriend convinced her we were having a little fun.

Silence. Graduation. Silence. 1^st job. Silence. Present job.

Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. 13 more years of silence.

Everything I’ve been through finally weighs so hard on me I have to tell someone. I talk to them, I feel a little better, but more silence. I never report him. I finally tell my sister last year. I need to get it off my chest and out in the open again so I can deal with it and it can stop haunting me.

360. Tell it all. Don’t try to comfort. Comfort has already come. It’s out. I finally have gotten rid of the load. One more story. This one is finished. Pray that it will never hurt me again. I have overcome. The lust of a Kappa whose name I'll never forget.

Originally posted February 2006