It didn’t take long for the symptoms to hit me after that night. I went through a myriad of emotions that came at me like a deck of cards beings flung towards my head.
I pulled away from my regular friends, the other cheerleaders, my dad, step-mom and baby brother. I kept replaying the rape but recreating the end result of me kicking his ass. I’d get to a point where I’d want to tell someone, but then remember that I put myself in that situation and it was my fault. I’d become embarrassed to say it out loud. Instead I internalized it and decided to not tell anyone.
I then began to act out which was later suggested was Borderline Personality Disorder, with symptoms of:
- Identity Crisis
- Emotional Instability
- Chronic Feeling of Emptiness
I started to hang out with different clicks that were considered risky teens, back then they were labeled “Mods” also known as “Goth”. I would sneak out at night and go to parties. Cut off all my hair. Wear different clothes. Then became best friends with an extremely emotionally disturbed girl. We started snorting crank and dropped acid once.
Then before I knew it, two and a half months had passed and I hadn’t gotten my period since the rape…oh shit! I had a journal, but I never admitted in it that I had been raped. Writing it down made it too real and scary, but I did journal my concern of being pregnant and “what if”. I had no idea who to turn to or where to go.
After a couple of weeks I came home from school and my step-mom was standing in the kitchen with the bitchiest look of hate on her face. She pointed to the table where my journal was laying. Well shit.
No questions asked, no sit down calmly and talk and no empathy. All she said was “I’ve made an appointment for you at Planned Parenthood. You better pray to God you aren’t pregnant. I mean how stupid could you be? You will have an abortion. Go up to your room I can’t stand to even look at you.”
I now know that because of my changes in behavior she and my dad decided to search my room for drugs and found my journal. Then, all I felt was shame, guilt, fear, horror and sick to my stomach. But with a crazy sense of relief, because I was going to get the help I needed. At least I got the physical help I needed.
By the grace of God I wasn’t pregnant. The Nurse Practitioner said it must have been stress related since I had my first sexual intercourse. She never asked if I was raped, I would have said yes, but she didn’t ask so I figured she didn’t care.
After that day my stepmother hated me. I became her little bitch in so many ways. My father never spoke to me about it until I was like 27 yrs old.
Also during this time, my stepmother Velma, her mother had moved in with us. Her name was Mary. Mary was an alcoholic for 12+ years with moments of sobriety in between. After a couple of months living with us, I was up in my room and I could hear my dad screaming at Mary and Velma. Then he came to my room and came up the stairs and sat down on my bed and calmly asked me, “Katy. I know it’s been really hard on you lately and I need you to be honest with me. Have you been drinking hard liquor?”
Blew me away! Why? Because I hadn’t been. I hated the taste of it, especially the Canadian Club Whiskey they always kept a case of. “No dad I swear to you I haven’t been drinking. I hate that stuff. Why do you think I’ve been drinking?” Then he told me that he and Velma noticed the bottle had been emptier than before, so they spoke with Mary to see if she started drinking again and she denied it. Yet she quickly pointed out my bad behavior over the past 5 months and it was probably me drinking it all.
That night ended ok for me as dad believed me, he knew I wasn’t lying. Plus I was terrified of him and he knew it, his temper was fucking scary! Mary on the other hand got her ass handed to her and Velma got her ass handed to her because she was quick to agree to blame me. That night I slept good, but it was the last of many sleepless nights.
From that point forward I became enemy number 1 for Velma and Mary. Until 2 months later, after I finished my freshman year and moved back home with Joan. Two alcoholic narcissists are WAY worse than one, I had to choose my battles and those two were more than I could bear.
I basically got to run away. I left the rapist and 2 narcissists, thinking I could start over and new. I just didn’t realize that the emotional shit storm of the rape would follow me, coupled with being an insignificant pig to all women in my life…would exhaserbate the Borderline Personality Disorder.