It's Kavanaugh's Fault (CW: sexual abuse)

[lydy]

So, I have this long, extremely funny story about losing my virginity.  If you know me in person, you may have heard it.  It actually is quite funny.  But part of the reason it's funny is because I take all the personal trauma off the table right up front.  The actual thrust of the story is how terrible my parents were.  It is part of my decades-long attempt to redress the injustices of my childhood by telling family secrets.  It is a pretty good story.  If you haven't heard it, I might be willing to tell it again.  

Or, maybe not.

I want to talk about the things I usually elide.  The things that watching a probable rapist elevated to the Supreme Court has brought up.  And, to be clear, I never really wanted to deal with any of this.  It happened 40 years ago (come April) and is 4/5ths of my life ago.  I had the whole thing carefully boxed, labeled, and put in the back of a closet.  But then all those motherfuckers on the Judiciary committee kept on going on and on and on about how this wasn't really important.  So, I opened the box to find out if they were right.  If maybe it really hadn't mattered.  If, possibly, I didn't matter.

Here are some facts that I don't elide, but I sure don't emphasize:  I was sixteen, and he was 25.  I was a virgin.  And while I really wish that didn't matter, it actually did, for me.  He knew these things.  I was drunk, and he helped get me drunk.  I tend to emphasize my agency in this scenario, but what I don't emphasize was that if I had been sober, I would not have said yes.  I was not blacked out, or incoherent, but I don't actually remember ever saying yes.  I let it happen, I didn't struggle, but I didn't really want it to happen.  

What I never say:  it was profoundly traumatizing.  A lot of the trauma was secondary, at the hands of my parents. But that trauma would not have happened if Alan Campbell had not chosen to fuck a drunk sixteen year old virgin in the kitchenette of a Unitarian Church.  (Weird side-note.  Another man I was dating, also 25, was named Lawrence.  My mother also socialized with him.  After the event, she asked him if he had ever slept with me.  [This, by the way, is even creepier than it sounds, since my mother was fucking him.]  He said, in shock, "No, I would never" and said that he saw how completely destroyed I had been.  So, there's an outside observer confirming the trauma.  Which, oddly, I need.)  For some years after the event, I believed it to be a pivotal, identity defining moment, and it was.  The story I like to tell talks about all the wonderful things that happened as a result, including the divorce of my parents.  And those are also true.  But there's a soul-deep wound there, too.  A profound belief that I was damaged.  Even when I rejected the idea of sexual purity as a necessary element of being a good person, the sense of damage and inadequacy remained.

Another detail I rarely relate:  My parents, when they found out, made me call Alan Campbell and tell him that I could never see or speak to him again.  He said, "Ok," and hung up.  It took me years to admit that what he sounded was relieved.  

I had always thought that rape was a consequential act.  That it mattered.  Not that people necessarily paid for it, or that rapists regretted it.  But I thought that it mattered to them.  I do not think that I mattered as a person to Alan Campbell (who may or may not be a rapist, depending on how you measure these things) but I thought that I mattered as an object.  The Kavanaugh hearings have made it clear...nope.  I was just a canvas upon which he could sketch his masculinity and his dominance.  I didn't even matter as a prize in the game.  I was just the medium.  

I am still not over how devastating this revelation has been.  

The other thing I am discovering is that for forty years, I have interrogated and struggled with my choices, and never once really looked at Campbell's choices.  I do not know, and will never know, why he did what he did.  But the fact that he made those choices, choices which were hugely consequential to me, had actually escaped me.  In my mind, he was more force of nature than a human with free will.  And because I, and society, think of rapists that way, we fail to hold them accountable for their actions.

I wanna circle back to Lawrence, for a moment.  He was the same age as Campbell.  He was, especially by modern standards, kinda skeevy.  He took me to plays, took me to dinners, we took long walks around downtown Pittsburgh admiring old buildings.  He treated me like a precious person.  He was funny and witty and had this gorgeous English accent.  He was also fucking my mother.  He was no one's hero.  But he never made the choice to fuck me.  He gave me the occasional glass of wine, but never, ever tried to pressure me into sex.  He was a gifted kisser, and man, he had lovely hands that did marvelous things to my body.  But he was gentle, kind, and did not have sex with me, even though it must have been incredibly tempting and he probably could have persuaded me, especially if there had been a little more wine.  

We say that rape is about power, not sex.  Which isn't exactly right.  The implication there is that sex is not about power.  If that were true, there wouldn't be BDSM.  Sex is a complex human behavior, which serves a lot of different functions, and the exercise of power and dominance is one of them.  It is also very central to the way we build our understanding of ourselves.  One of the reasons the LBGTQ movement is what it is is because these things are at the center of how we understand ourselves.  Our innate sense that sexual abuse is qualitatively different from other types of abuse is because of this.  Rapists are affirming their central sense of self.  And, honestly, that's scary.  

I am not recovered from this re-visiting of trauma.  It's actually kind of awful.  I'm not sure what I'm learning, either about myself or my society. I really wish I could put my quasi-rape back in a box.  

One request: please don't admire my bravery.  I am not at risk.  Nothing bad is going to happen to me for telling this story in public.  No one powerful or dangerous will see this, or care if they do. Christine Blassey Ford -- that was bravery.

Comments

[redbird]

Thank you for sharing this.

[lydy]

Thank you for reading.

[sonia]

I didn't even matter as a prize in the game. I was just the medium.

Well put! And I'm so sorry.

I recognize that feeling, but I hadn't found words for it. Ugh.

[lydy]

The most devastating moment in Blassey Ford's testimony, for me, was when she corrected the senator, saying that they weren't laughing at her, they were laughing _with_ each other.

There's an article I have lost the link for which talks about how gang rape acts as a male bonding experience. And I wonder if the reason that works is because sex releases hormones which enhance emotional bonding, and so what's happening in those situations is that the target of that experience is the other rapists, rather than the person being raped.

[sonia]

Sounds obvious when you put it that way. Ew.

I am running out of ways to tell myself this timeline is going to pull out of its nosedive.

[lcohen]

i'll just send you a hug. because this whole thing has brought up a lot of shit for a lot of us about how little our stories might matter. so thank you for sharing yours.

[lydy]

Thank you. I am trying, very hard, not to minimize my pain or what happened to me, because I've tried that and it didn't work real well. But I am also deeply troubled by the many people who have had considerably worse trauma visited upon them. I am unsure what to do. But the hug is very much appreciated.

[kaffy_r]

I am always impressed with how well you write. I'm also always impressed by your ability to write clearly, articulately, logically and lyrically about brutal things, and about the vigor of your logic. I wish you didn't have to deploy all of that in connection with the state of our nation and world; I will acquiesce to your request and say that I understand why you prefer not to be labeled as brave. I will, however, state that you are admirable to an amazing degree.

[lydy]

I am incredibly grateful for the feedback that says that I was able to communicate. One writes these extremely personal essays, trying to connect both with ones interior space and with the structures of society that created the experienced, and one wonders if maybe it was either too personal, or too general, or maybe just too damn diffuse. Sounds like it got near where I was aiming, that's nice to know.

[ckd]

I hear you.

[lydy]

Thanks.

[boxofdelights]

I wish I could give you a hug, if that would be welcome.

[lydy]

It would, indeed. Thank you. I will be just fine, but it was a blow. It sucked a lot. I cannot imagine what it was like for people with worse traumas.

[haertstitch]

ironically it is about the sex
how many one has deflowered, cherries popped.
how many places one has done it
how good the guy felt.

one guy was seriously on how many white women
he'd gotten pregnant just so there would be more black babies. it was his way of taking over the white world?

none of this gave a thought about
did the woman want it?
did she enjoy having sex?
they did not give a rip about the feelings of the woman
who thought they were loved
but no it was about the guys loving them selves
and satisfying their needs and numbers.

this was what I gleaned from the guys
I'd been involved with. I thought I loved them
I cared about the person and considered sex a by product, for me it was part of the whole not the end all be all. someone else would walk by and I was a rag
to leave behind. just a number on a tally.

the first sexual encounter I think happened around
2nd grade-its where I lost a year-and i vaguely remember 3rd grade. It only was once, a hot sunny day. I was playing with gary and his brother bruce and maybe a third boy? 2 houses down from home, they had a tent I remember laying down then Nothing nothing nothing. sigh I don't remember seeing them
in school and they never moved away.
they never talked to me again and school became hell.
and I didn't figure out till recently that black chunk of my memory could have been sex ? and its been over 50 years?

years later I was to have a 3 some with 2 guys i love
and it must have reflected then it was a chunk of blank time. I ended up asking a couple of weeks later did we ever have sex from one of them, uhm yes he said- I didn't ask for more. but its a hole in my mind.
the other one never said anything but he wasn't a lover any more. sigh.

the guy who brought me to his prom
would not date me but wanted sex?
it didn't happen he had a girlfriend i'd met once
he married her- guess she was pregnant so she won?

the guy I actually had sex with the first time
had his routine all set up after we did it
he didn't want to see me any more? sigh.

sex really sux, its just not all its cracked up to be
and I don't know how many times I said "don't do that!" and now I have damage that needs to be repaired because guys thought~ they were making me feel better it tore muscle and they did not/would not do what I asked. ;(
if i'd gone thru a complete pregnancy, a surgeon would have repaired it, women in my family have it fixed routinely. until i'm old enough for medicare I have problems.

I'm sorry you had to go thru the older guys playing with themselves and not really considering your needs
and how it affect you. comparing an old sex object
with the younger version is sadly a thing that happens.
so many mothers are crap at seeing their daughters are being messed with.

so many women are hurt its a wonder the world is as good as it is. sigh

[lydy]

I'm sorry for your hurt. I'm sorry the world is so fucked. I hate the fact that pain is the currency of change. I see you, and you see me. Surely that is of some value.

[haertstitch]

I didn't know that there was a hurt

just how frustrating it was over time.
never talked to any one about the holes.
but I didn't remember the black out till I
saw the video about the person who had disassociated
and noticed the lost years.
it didn't hurt ? or i didn't think it did
but it took a lot to trust guys
dating was awkward but i'd read about people dating
so I thought i'd get to eventually?
wrote more in my journal didn't know what all
needed to be seen/written about?

just made me tune into other folks
to feel with empathy
what they were going thru

you are valuable I'd always wanted to know you better
didn't know it would be this way.

it is valuable to have a friend
even electronicly just to be there
and for me to listen to me

[lydy]

Black outs happen because the pain is too great to stay in memory, as a general rule. They are the result of trauma. If you were just generally prone to black outs, that would be one thing, but I don't think that you are. So, even if you can't remember the pain, it hurt. Not being able to remember is kind of the point, really.

Take care, dear one. You are in a hard place, and have been through hard times, but you will make it through this bit, too.

[haertstitch]

yup that's what i know too.
really do not want to poke at it
especially with the lost time,
its only happened 2 more times
and the last one I remember,
only one guy and he's dead now~
going into it and coming out.

just got to be better than my father
and not end up wearing an orange jump suit .

more importantly I don't want dad killing mike.
he's almost done it a couple of times,
mikes got to be smarter than him.

just don't know where we'll go next
Canada looks better right now
but that will change.

I was hoping to visit the cities this weekend
but we have dad duty at the nephews wedding.
Then back here. sigh

meanwhile i'll try just not to get crazy

[mrissa]

Thank you for saying this. I have tried to write some of my complicated personal reaction here and failed several times, so I'll just say: I see you, and thank you.

[lydy]

It doesn't seem quite right to say "you're welcome." :-)

Thank you for seeing me, though. Sometimes, we need other people as mirrors, it can be so hard to see oneself, especially in trauma.

[dreamshark]

I've heard you tell that story at least twice, maybe 3 times. And although you may not have been deliberately eliding it, I never picked up on the fact that the guy who deflowered you was 9 years older than you and one of your mother's boyfriends. I had the impression that he was a boy that you liked, maybe a couple of years older, and that your mother seduced him because she was competing with you. Which is seriously fucked up, but not as fucked up as the real story, which now sounds like two adults using a 16-year-old virgin as a pawn in their pervy sex games. Ew ew ew. If you want to go back to thinking of this insane story as something that you just have to laugh about because the only other choices are hysterical crying or catatonia... well, who would blame you? It wasn't your perversion, wasn't your fault, and maybe you don't need to keep revisiting it forever. Your parents were sick.

-------
"We say that rape is about power, not sex. Which isn't exactly right. The implication there is that sex is not about power."

Wow, so well put. You have a way of putting things into words that I have been struggling to find a way to say.

[lydy]

I feel the need to rush to Lawrence's defense. He was genuinely kind to me, and he is not the man who took advantage of me. He is also this fascinating, contemporary counterpoint. I went on dates with him both before and after Campbell fucked me. He was the same age as Campbell, and had even better opportunity to screw me. Given that he was also involved with my mother, and that he was dating a teenager, I think it reasonable to say that his sexual ethics weren't entirely up to par. But he was good to me, and I retain incredibly fond memories of him, and no bitterness at all.

My mother...was not exactly competing with me, I don't think. She was also a victim, trapped in an abusive, loveless marriage to a man who made her feel like wanting sex was a perversion. The real problem, of course, was that my mother was the wrong gender, but he didn't share that with her until the fall-out from me losing my virginity. My mother once told me that the reason she fucked my boyfriends (Paul and Lawrence, not Alan Campbell) was because they were the only men she had access to. Which I am sure is true. Remember, her life was highly circumscribed, and everyone else she knew she knew through our church. In the end, she was the adult, and I was not only a child, but a child in her care, so yeah, her behavior was pretty terrible. But I don't think that sexual competition was the primary motivating factor. Although, who knows? It's not like it's a topic we can discuss, you know?

[dreamshark]

I didn't say anything about Lawrence, I was referring to Campbell (I think? Who was Paul?? There were THREE of them?) Anyway, I was referring to the one who actually had intercourse with you. Lawrence sounds like he was generally less despicable and probably really liked you. But seriously, kissing and fondling the teenage daughter of your lover? There's a creepy and disturbing pattern in these GROWNUPS' behavior, whether they actually fucked you or not. I'm not trying to poison the few happy memories you have of this whole circle of people, but ... the whole thing was deeply weird and you're doing pretty well to be as composed about it as you are.

Clearly your mother's life was no bed of roses, and what with all this I would not be surprised to learn that she had been sexually abused in some way as a child herself. If you are able to forgive her for her appalling behavior, that is a wonderful thing. I don't think there's a lot to be gained from lifelong raging anger and bitterness towards your parents. But still... she was a grownup. You were a kid. And these 25 year old men were also grownups making their own decisions to drag an innocent teenager into a situation that was already pretty damn creepy.

It's all very Mrs. Robinson, carried to its logical extreme. (Surely I was not the only person who thought that "The Graduate" was a highly disturbing movie, not in the least a cute and adorable romcom?)

[lydy]

Yeah, mom didn't fuck Campbell. Paul was the boy I wanted to be involved with, who wasn't interested in me. He features in the longer story. He was four years my senior. I was actively dating Lawrence, saw Campbell exactly two times, at SCA events, and was unsuccessfully courting Paul. Hey, even then my romantic life was complicated. :-)

It has always been a challenge to describe how irreducibly odd my family is. It would be lovely to say that I have forgiven my mother, but probably not entirely accurate. I can see that she acted out of pain, and I have sympathy for her plight. I am still unhappy that she failed to notice her eldest daughter when she was struggling, though.

I very much like "The Graduate" but never thought of it as a romcom. It's a movie of angst and despair. The very last scene is the two of them on the bus, staring at each other with growing dread, as they realize that this really isn't what they want. It's a story of people who are pushed around and fail to ever achieve agency. How anyone thinks of it as a romcom is beyond me.

[pameladean]

I could never laugh at that story the way that I felt I ought to. So yeah.

I'm sorry you had to take that box down and open it again.

Pretty much everywhere I go online, people are telling their stories. I wonder if the weight of all of them will move the world. I don't know.

P.

[lydy]

Yeah, appalling people doing appalling things isn't really your type of humor.

The world has changed. There was a time when these stories could only be told as humor. Have you seen "Nanette?" You really should.

[laramie]

Thank you for sharing this. It means something to me to know you recognize the hurt in getting that message of not mattering to a person who has gotten so close.