The Voices Consumed Me

The phone call I dreaded rang through my body like a fire alarm, and there I stood, motionless, unable to comprehend how this was happening—and why now.

I couldn't believe that my happy, perfect life had crumbled so quickly. I couldn't believe that one minute I was selling real estate and the next I was sitting in the police station talking about a court case. I couldn't believe that I was going to be the one on the stand watching everything fall down around me, and that there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I had no idea how I had managed in this situation with the police or how the court case had even been initiated. It was as if someone had taken over my life and made me a very unwilling participant. This policewoman, Joan, wanted to know all about the rape, why it had happened and when. She constantly asked me questions, and I had no idea how to answer them. I mean, God, nothing had ever happened, no one had ever been charged, it had never been reported to the police, and it had happened eighteen years before. Why bring it up now?

As I sat in the police station talking about the rape and how it had occurred, I realised that if this ever went to court, it was not going to be a pleasant experience. I worried about what my friends and family would think of me, whether they would still support me and want to know me.

Sexual assault—rape—is an insidious thing; it is unbelievably soul destroying. It was never meant to happen, but it did, and from that moment on, it changed the way I lived and the way I interacted with people. Rape makes you second-guess yourself every minute of every day until you've learnt to deal with the vile intrusion into your life and your body.

Yes, I was raped, and yes, a family friend—someone I trusted very much and held a lot of respect for, raped me. Never in my life had I felt so dirty and so disgusting. Never in my life had I desperately wanted to die and disappear forever. Mind you, I was only twelve when it happened!

Joan explained to me over the phone that they had found me through a contact that thought I might have been raped just like someone close to the contact had been. From the evidence the police had, they were 97 per cent sure that my rapist and hers were the same man.

For some reason, I was the lucky one. I had received the call to step in and save others from being raped as I had been. I was the one who could make a difference to everyone by baring my heart and soul, regardless of what it cost me. I was the one who had to show this man that what he was doing was wrong, that it was so degrading to women and children that it couldn't go on any more. I was the only one who could stop this man.

It was a big responsibility, and my husband was none too happy about it either—and understandably so. Like me, he didn't want our life to change, and he didn't want my name dragged through the mud.

I knew at that at the very least I had to hear what Joan had to say. I had to hear more stories, and I had to know that this man wasn't still hurting people. That may sound wrong, but if I was going to be the one to stop my rapist from raping again, then I needed to hear others' horrible stories to jolt me out of my comfortable, nicely ordinary life and shock me into helping.

At least, I had to know what I was refusing if I did refuse to help. I had to know whether I didn't want this and whether others could help instead of me. I had to hear that I wasn't the only one who could stop this. I didn't want this role, I hadn't asked for it, so why oh why was it thrust upon me now? Why was I the one to take the reins and blast through the thickness on my white horse? No, I didn't want this. I wanted my ordinary life. I wanted my safety and security, and I certainly didn't want that threatened. What if I lost my job or my friends or my family or even my husband? No, I couldn't stand that kind of pain.

When I had agreed to meet Joan over the phone, I had told her that all I could do was talk and fill her in on my story. I didn't want to take this any further, not ever. When I finally met her, I thought, Wow, you have a childlike innocence about you, yet with the wisdom of an eighty-year-old. In that moment, I knew I could confide everything to her and help her as much as I could.

Apparently my rapist had raped a couple of kids, possibly more over the past two years. I don't remember the exact details of what he did to these two children, and quite frankly, I don't want to know, but I knew that it was my duty to do something. I couldn't let my rapist keep on raping innocent kids just because I was too afraid to take him to court. I decided that this man—this monster, as I termed him—had to be stopped, but I didn't feel that I was the one who could stop him.

Mum and Dad had accompanied me to the station, and they knew as well as I did that this was not what I needed, but they said that no matter what I chose, they would always emotionally support me. My husband, too, he had agreed to support me and be there for me if I needed him, although he wanted anything but this. I was grateful that I had the right people on my side; now I just needed to let them all know that I wasn't as strong as they thought I was and that there was no way I could take my rapist to court.

When I was once again on my own, I screamed at the top of my voice, "Why me? I can't do this!" This isn't fair, I thought. I have gone through so much. Why do I now have to go through this as well? I hated my life and I hated the world. At that moment, if someone had shot me or run me over, I would have been eternally grateful. I did not want such pressure, and I certainly didn't want my life to change. Even more than that, I didn't want to live that night again and again and again in such a public way. I had managed to block out most of the pain quite some time before.

When I returned home, for the longest time, I sat and cried, unable to move and unable to think. My head hurt, my mind was blurred, and I had no idea what I was meant to do next.

I think at some point I managed to fall into bed and sleep and dream. I felt as if my world had been ripped apart once again, and all I wanted was to be swallowed up by a big black hole. I figured that if it happened in movies it could happen in real life too. If only.

So that you can better understand why I was so reluctant to speak out against my attacker, I'll take you back a little to give you a clearer picture of what my life was like before and after the rape.

Before an older adult male family friend raped me, he was a mentor and so much more than just a friend. I trusted him with all my secrets, and I confided in him more than in anybody else.

He was the one person in my life who treated me...