The scent of Camel Menthol cigarettes triggers me into anxiety. They say that smells can spark memories more than any other sense. Id say theyre right. Thats what he smoked. Camel Menthol. I met him at my neighbor’s house one night. One time. The only time that mattered I guess. I had never been to my neighbors place before. He had a few friends over and we were all drinking. I probably should have fixed my own drinks. I probably shouldn’t have drank so much. But the retrospect second guesses make no difference now. Some say I was targeted because I’m a lesbian. The investigators think the whole thing was a set up. For some reason i would prefer to think of it as an impulse action. Its less settling to imagine that those three men planned and plotted my pain and fear.
Anyways, some time into the night i completely blacked out. Most likely because he slammed my head into the wall as I was walking towards the door, as he stated to the jury. Don’t remember. Don’t remember much after that. Just bits and pieces of flashbacks. I can see broken glass and plates mixed with blood that cakes on the white tiles. I remember lying on my back feeling like I was in a dream. It felt like I was watching a movie. I remember him climbing on top of me time and time again as I limply tried to fight back. Even the wrenching feeling as he entered me vaginally and anally wasn’t enough to allow my body to retaliate fully. I was empty. I can remember seeing one of the men walk by with no cares as i lie in my own tears and blood. I remember pain all over my body. A crack in the kitchen wall.
The weeks and months that followed left me in a deeper haze. Trying to explain the 40 something bruises that painted my body to family and strangers as they prodded at my body left me bare. I had no answers, no recollection. I was nothing. Hospital beds, district attorneys and therapists tried to piece me back together. They found it difficult to relate to the fear that left me permanently anxious. I could barely relate myself.
The bit of solace I hold onto is that he is in jail now. Thankfully, my confused studders and pathetic tears infront of a court room found my favor. I did the one thing I never thought I could do. I faced him again. I looked him in the eye and decided he couldn’t take anything else from me. Not anymore. Yea i was beaten severely. Yea i was raped. Yea I cried. But I will never call myself a victim – not anymore!
— Ren, age 25
Dearest Ren, thank you so very much for sharing your experience with such beautiful vulnerability. Your words are filled with such strength and conviction and I feel very privileged to have read your story. You write with such clarity about the physical and emotional pain of rape and the confusing aftermath of it. Your final paragraph gave me chills. It reminds me of the great Nelson Mandela quote, “I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” You were confused and afraid, but you faced him again. You prevailed and now you will thrive. Thank you so much for your post and for your strength and bravery. You will change so many lives. Light, love, and solidarity to you, Alissa
First, thank you for sharing your story. It is a brave thing to do, and i’m glad the piece of shit got what he deserved. Sorry for my language. Alissa Ackerman, i really look up to you, knowing you are taking the time to reply and communicate with the people sharing their stories. I hope nothing but the best for you in your life. Just wanted to share how i felt. Thank you
Dear Ren, thank you for sharing your story of strength and survival with the Brave Miss World community. Your tremendous courage shines through, and I am so inspired by your bravery in the courtroom. You are a survivor and I am honored to read your story.