When I think about the 3rd of March...

  Warning: The following might appear rather disturbing for some. It contains descriptions of violence and should not be read by minors (like most of my texts here) or those who have experienced sexual assault in their past. 

Please wait for another text then , I’ll write about more positive things again next time.

Every third of March I have the same thought, again and again. I have had it since I was 15 years old. What it all boils down to is ’What did I do wrong’ and ‘Why me’.

The school cafeteria was crowded as usual and I looked around, bored, while I waited for my friend Amy. As soon as she was there, we talked about tonight’s niners’ party, where we would be among friends and dance and have fun. The most important topic was what would happen between René and me. He was from class ten, but would be here tonight and we discussed if there was anything meant to happen at all. He was cute, sure, but more than kissing would be out of the question and I told Amy - again. I’d wear my favourite pair of jeans with a nice red and white blouse with stitched flowers on it. I loved that blouse because it gave me this bit of folk-fashion-look that some of the upper school girls wore. Skirt or dress was out of the question. It was the wrong place (school), the wrong moment (only kissing) and it was still cold outside (March, Hamburg).

Amy would wear something similar to impress her boyfriend. They had been together for half a year by now, whereas I had only had a few dates with René and felt awkward in this situation, because I felt as if I had no idea about anything with him and he appeared so experienced and that was something I liked.

So, we went to the party, and in the dancing crowd, I lost Amy and her boyfriend out of sight. Maybe they had found a place to be on their own for a while, which I found rather romantic and hoped for. I’d love to hear their story in the morning.  So, all was ok for the moment, because I had René. He behaved like a gentleman, was attentive and looked great. A good time later we went out, because he wanted to smoke and meet some of his friends outside.

“Come on, it is too crowded here. Too many teachers too, they’ll only stop us if we start anything here.” I thought about it for a moment. There were eight here out with me. Some barely hid bottles of beer and thought they were cool. If I wanted anything from René, it was alone with him, not with his friends. I did not even know them, because most were not from our school or they were from class ten. They must have been soccer club mates. And I did not like them. They were scary, because they were older and looked as if they knew something I did not. I shook my head and René drew me closer and petted my cheek “It’s ok, we don’t go far, it’s only down the road  in our club house.” He beamed a smile at me “You’ll be back in no time and no one will ever find out that you left this boring party.” He really made it difficult for me, because I didn’t want to appear boring . But I had a feeling that I should not go with them. It was not René, it was because of the others.

“No, I don’t want to go away from here. Let’s get back inside.” “Ah no, don’t be such a spoilsport. Let’s go.” René turned me away from the entrance and some others were right behind us and shoved me forward, further away.” What about Amy? I have to tell her where I am. She’ll worry if I don’t.” I was almost agitated, because the whole situation was out of control for me. René looked at me while we walked on “It’s all managed. I have told her that we’d go elsewhere and have fun there. She thought it was a great idea!” Really? "Are you serious? She said that?" He nodded. She never had said anything like that before. Amy knew it was too early for me and I would only kiss him. We had discussed how far I should go this evening. I was not even sure if I’d let him touch my breasts, but definitely n o t between my legs. I had no intention of ending up with the reputation of the next school slut. I did not feel good with these guys around me, but then again, if René knew them, nothing would happen. With him I’d be safe. I wanted to believe him. But deep inside I heard myself say “No, don’t!” I should have stopped this in time, I really should have and that's where I see my fault in the whole affair.

We went a short while and stopped at the entrance of a soccer club house. One, Finn, opened the door. He had the keys and switched on the light inside. The pitch was all dark, just like the whole area around us was. I felt scared and turned around. “NO, I don’t like that place, René, bring me back, please.” Right then, some brute called Mark made an angry sound from behind me and simply pushed me inside. I tried to reach the door again, but they all started pushing me around and deeper into the building. I could see that Finn locked the door again and I started to panic. I tried to get into one of the other rooms, so that I’d have a chance to escape through a window, but the group would not let that happen. I cried for help but the whole area was deserted. Who could hear me here? Nobody!  They laughed maliciously and I heard the sniggering as they made contemptuous comments about me, while René still tried to get my attention by cooing that all was ok and other idiotic things like that. All the while they pressed me towards a door in the back of the hall. I knew that I did not want to get in there. This is what the mouse must feel like before the cat eats it; they were still playing with me. I stood no chance. They simply assaulted me and carried me into an old kind of office. I screamed like hell and could get free, not really long enough to run, but long enough to grab a lamp from the desk and throw it through one of the windows. That made them all only angrier and I got beaten in the face until I passed out for a second. “What the…” I felt someone’s hands all over me and started screaming again. And then I realized that I was held on the desk by several hands. They’d only have to get rid of my jeans now and I could not do     a n y t h i n g.

Two of them held me by my arms and shoulders, as René almost tore my shoes from my feet. They were breathing heavily, it sounded awful. I was kept on the desk and could do nothing but struggle. It was useless. I could see in their eyes that they wanted me, and they would simply take what they wanted from me.

I tried to kick René, but the two others held my legs and unbuttoned my jeans. I was in complete panic. I tried to kick, to get an arm free or a leg, but nothing. They all held me and René laughed and grinned at me “You’ll like it! Don’t struggle, it will hurt, if you do.” He held my jeans in his hands by now and I tried to scream, but was hit immediately and I think my screaming simply turned into sobbing. If you could ever hear despair, it was in that moment. Mark and Finn tore my knickers down my legs where René took them and threw them somewhere. I could hear the others around, but did not really look away from those holding me.  I tried to escape again, struggled like frantic and heard them laugh and make derogatory comments while they looked at me. Everything appeared so unreal, as if I had a nightmare and still I knew that it was no dream. I remember the shade of the bluish cold light, the smell of those around me, like wet clothes, I can hear the rustling sound of one of the jackets next to me up to this day. And I saw them laugh.

 René made a step up and touched me between my legs. It was awful, I wanted to die in that most horrible moment of my life.  Inside I went all numb. I felt so hopelessly trapped, completely helpless and felt his cold hands groping my breasts. 

This was when I had the picture of the dark abyss in my head for the first time ever. I felt I stood at the edge and would fall into this pitch dark place any moment. This is the only place I’d never in my life want to be in, because you are all alone in it and your only companions there are sorrow, despair and hopelessness. You are lost in that place, because everything pleasant remains outside. I have always been one who visualizes everything very colourful, in the brightest colours possible and I love colours. They are a wonderful part of my life. And the abyss is only black.

They tore my blouse open and I heard the distinct sound of my buttons falling down on the floor. "NO!" I think I screamed that but it could also just have been a whisper. One pushed my bra up so that it felt as if the straps cut into me. I was virtually naked in front of them and felt so full of shame about it. I struggled again, but got hit in the face immediately. Once, twice, a third time. I think I was conscious all the time, but the following moments I do not recall. I have no memory of these seconds, and all I remember is that I tried struggling again in a final effort to get away. That came unexpected, for them and for me. It was as if I had almost drowned and tried to breathe a last time. I kicked out again and hit René, who had already opened his jeans and stood there with his private parts on display. I did not want to see any of it. I wanted to be away.

I did not manage to hit him there, but I had hit him somewhere and they were all so surprised, that the two on my left let me go and I fell from the desk. It was all chaos in that moment. I screamed and screamed “Help me! Anybody, help!” before I got a kick in the stomach and face and almost lost my senses. It hurt, but that did not matter, no, but the feeling that I’d give up was there and that mattered. I did not resist any longer, I just could not and tried to detach from the outside and find a hiding place inside me. 

Feet were shuffling around me, someone spoke, and a second later I heard loud, deep calls and something like commands from the corridor. They let go of me and turned away, they tried to escape from whoever was there. I grabbed my jacket and hid in it, tried to cover my body and crouched into one of the corners, away from them and so that no one would see me. I did not want to be seen by anybody. I felt shaking all over and only wanted to get away, to disappear. I was still more naked than anything else and those monsters had seen me, touched me and only a second later they would have done the worst I could imagine.

When the police arrived, they immediately brought a blanket, I recall that. It was warm. I also remember clearly the look in my dad’s eyes, when they brought me out. He was crying and looked as if he had seen his personal nightmare come true. I know that he talked to me, to comfort me, but I have no idea what he said and there are blank spots in my memory from the moment the police arrived to the moment when the doctor came to examine me in hospital. I had to answer questions, if possible. I hated the examination, although the doctor really did her best and was friendly and supporting from the start. It is strange that I still recall everything unpleasant and horrible, but the moments of comfort are gone, for the major part. I don’t know why and would have wished it were the other way round.

Later, I learned that Amy had called my parents because I was nowhere to be found and my dad had been on his way to the school building, to see if I was somewhere around. He had found some who knew the house where we had gone to and since he could not get into the building, he had called the police. At the time when they arrived, it had been clear that something was wrong inside and they had broken the door to find us quickly. Just in time.

The aftermath of it felt like a plethora of embarrassment and shame for me. I stayed home for a few days only because I knew that it would only be worse if I did not show up. Some knew what had happened and more so had heard rumours. You can imagine how easy it is to turn the victim into the culprit, based on rumours. I went to see the psychologists for months and talking about it helped.

I had seen more police than I ever wanted to, the boys were charged with sexual assault and according to the rumours some of the boys thought that it would be a good idea to let me tell everything all over again, because they seriously tried to state that I had consented to sexual activities with them. 

When I heard that I was so upset that I felt the abyss come closer again. I missed a few days at school again, went to therapy, hid from everybody but my best friend. She was there when I really needed her and since I was a complete mess at that time, it was difficult for her to be with me, too. I know how much she suffered because of me and I tried to show her how much that meant to me. The haematomas, the buttons of my blouse, my mental state when they had found me and the descriptions given by the doctors who had examined me closely, proved what had happened. Of course, the judge spared me from repeating all that had happened. I should not have listened to rumours in the first place.

They were all sentenced to prison and therapy. As I only learned far later, after I had finished school, I was not the first.

The drawer with the secrets

Now, twenty years later, the 3^rd  March is only a distant memory. But the thought comes back, every year. The pictures come back. Now and then they are like a nightmare, when I perceive glimpses of me struggling, remember the sounds and their faces. I can push these pictures away now, I have learned that, just as I have learned that I am never ever going to be a victim again. I think I’d rather die than let that happen to me. The description of this event  is personal and revealing. Still, I do not put all I feel into words, I never do that when I blog. 

There will always be a little bit left just for my husband and me. It is easy to write about how to spank, describe a scene, a punishment, ramble about whatever. But I have a little drawer with my personal belongings, just like everybody has it – or should have. Not everything is meant for the public eye. I can open this little drawer and put some secrets in, or take them out. Just like I had the story about the 3^rd of March in it and took it out.

I think I have done that because it has grown again, due to my blogging. When you start writing so much about all the things that you do, see and feel, you expose yourself. It is not only that others see you. It is like a new mirror, with a different point of view. And I see a lot from a different angle lately. 

Some I like, some I don’t like. It doesn’t matter, but this new mirror brought the 3^rd of March back to me. I can still push the pictures away, but they linger in the back, longer and with more influence on me than they have had for a long time. Don't worry, I for one think I am not more mental than you are.

Sorry if I sound so melodramatic, but this event has shaken me a lot when it happened and  I actually have a little white chest of drawers which I love a lot and have always thought that’s where my drawer with the secrets should be in. It looks like one built in the times of Louis-Quatorze, You can see some traces of former times in it, but I love that it is not perfect and I love the little imperfections, where the colour has turned into light grey. Hubby would say it has character. :)  

A few weeks ago I realized how these old events escaped my little drawer with the secrets. It happened when I mentioned them online and stated that they were only a past memory. That was when the drawer opened and the memory came out again and it has been part of my thoughts every day for these last weeks. They are familiar thoughts, but usually I can forget them, for another year, after 3^rd March has passed. 

I think this year everything was just aggravated by the loss of a loved friend who I miss a lot because I had expected her to be well again sooner or later and the opposite happened. In addition, a few days later another friend of our family passed away, which I never mentioned here, because the story behind it is another truly dramatic tragedy. So, as a result, this last December was a rotten one for us and we tried –successfully- to brighten up our lives with love and affection. 

I'd also like to apologize to one I spoke to in the D&L chat one Sunday night, early in January. I used that phrase with the rotten December there when everybody else was light-hearted and I believe I caused some embarrassment or irritation in that moment, which was not what I had wanted to. I just broke a basic rule of conversation unwittingly when something like 'How are you' comes up because in that very moment some of this last December came up again. Sorry for that.

Now it is January and I have thought back to the 3rd March all the time. ‘What did I do wrong’? I did not do anything wrong. I know that, but try to tell the subconscious. These things happen to many girls or women and I know that I am among the very lucky ones, because the baddies were stopped right in time. I am very grateful for that and I have moved on from this past event. 

I only wish that I could return and warn myself or help the fifteen year old girl a little earlier. I think I already wrote somewhere in my blog that I am huge fan of ‘Being Erica’. Well, you can probably see one (small)  reason for it in what I described here.

But the truth is, dreary as this sad event was, I do consider myself lucky and I have not only learned to live with it, I have accepted it and can put it aside. I can close the little drawer of secrets, but sometimes I need to push a bit harder to do so, I guess.

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For the sake of anonymity, I changed all names or left them out. Even theirs.

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I don’t think that I’ll be here often this week, because I still have to prepare a lot for our trip home in February and therefore won’t have enough time to write. If I do find time, I’ll write more cheerful entries again because I have written more than I wanted to about negative events now, so that I am craving positive thoughts more than ever. ;)