Another year has come and gone, another year of growing and healing

            About a day or two after my ex tried to kidnap me, I met with my therapist. Conveniently enough, I already had an appointment set up. I was seeing my therapist as needed for depression that I was dealing with off and on for a few years, and I had set up this appointment with him weeks before I was raped. I was debating if I still wanted to talk to him, but I went anyways. I thought that if there was anyone who would know for sure what had happened to me, it would be my therapist.

            The session started as usual, him asking me how I was doing, how I was handling my stress, etc. I told him short answers and said I was fine and doing better, and I told him I had a question for him. I told him “I think I may have been raped, but I’m not sure”. I explained to him the situation. I started from the beginning to meeting my ex at the restaurant to talk, and ended with what had happened in the parking lot across the street. To my surprise, my therapist looked extremely concerned, and quite honestly, he looked livid. I’ve never seen him show emotions to me before.

            He said, “Kileigh, here is what you need to do. You need to talk to your parents and tell them what happened. You need to go to the police and report what had happened. You need to get a restraining order against your ex as soon as possible. This young man raped you and you need to turn him in.” I froze. I went numb. I asked him if he was sure that is what happened, and he assured me that it was.

            After the session, even after everything my therapist told me to do, I still questioned telling my parents what had happened, because I still did not believe that it had. It did not make any sense to me. I still thought there was some way that I could have stopped it. That somehow it was my fault. But despite all of these confusing emotions I was feeling, I finally told my mom.

            She took me to my appointment and waited in the parking lot for me to take me home afterwards. When I got in the car, she asked me how it went with the therapist. My heart was pounding, I was more nauseous than I had ever been, and I felt like I was in a movie. Being there with my mom in that moment did not feel real, because I knew I had to tell her something that I wasn’t even sure I believed to be true. I said “Mom, there is something I need to tell you. My ex raped me. 2 weeks ago. I wasn’t sure what had happened so I asked the therapist and he told me I needed to tell you and get a restraining order against him.”

            I remember the rage in my mom’s eyes. I can’t even imagine how she felt. I can’t imagine if my child had been abused and came to me about it. We talked while we drove home. I don’t even remember what was said, or why we went home. All I remember is pulling up to the front of the house, my mom running in, and me getting my phone out, to text my ex.

            It kind of makes me laugh, I don’t know why. Maybe because of the relief I felt after knowing I was finally getting away. My parents were going to protect me, the police were going to protect me, and I was going to be safe. He wasn’t going to be able to hurt me anymore. I remember vaguely what I said to him. I used a very colorful collection of swear words and told him he was a rapist and I was never talking to him again. Then I turned off my phone, and I have not spoken to him since.

            After that, everything happened so fast that day. My mom and I drove to our cell provider and changed my phone number. Then immediately after, we drove to the police department of the city I lived in. I knew one of the police officers who worked there. He happened to be there. We went over to him and said hi, and my mom told him why we were there, that I needed to tell him something. So I told him. Since it didn’t happen in my city, he told me to go to the police department in the city it happened. He said he was sorry and that he hopes everything is okay, and to call him if I ever needed anything.

            Then we went to the other police department. I filed a report, and the police officer I talked to thanked me for my courage to come and report the abuse, that it rarely happens. I didn’t know what was so amazing about that. I didn’t have a rape kit done, and it had happened 2 weeks prior. I didn’t think they would be able to do anything. And honestly, there was no way I could have been able to mentally and emotionally handle seeing him in a courtroom if it came down to that.

            Next thing I know, we are at the city hall, requesting a restraining order. The people were short with us, until we told them the reason we were there. Their demeanor completely changed. They were extremely kind and took care of us. Despite all of this, I was just embarrassed and in disbelief. I did not want to be there.

            Eventually the restraining order went through, was served to my ex while he was at work, and I gave a copy of it to my manager at my job so they knew what was going on. Everything was finally in place. He couldn’t hurt me or come near me or he would be arrested. I thought this was supposed to ease my fear and suffering, but why am I still feeling so empty, broken, dazed? I still didn’t feel safe, and for a long time I couldn’t even talk to men without nearly having a panic attack. Anytime I felt threatened, even if a man got too close, I broke down. I literally couldn’t even handle a regular shift at my job that I had been working at for almost a year.

            I read my scriptures every day, multiple times a day. I prayed constantly. I went to church, school, work and tried to live my life like normal. But for some reason, I couldn’t. I wasn’t the same. Something was missing from inside of me. My breathing was shallower, my chest felt empty. I would go days at a time without remembering what had happened. I would work an entire shift, then drive home with my apron in my hand trying to remember if I had worked or not. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fill the hole in my existence that had been torn from me.

            There was one moment I want to talk about specifically, that I look back on frequently. One of the hardest days I had. I was lying on my bedroom floor, crying and holding my knees to my chest. I was praying and asking why this had happened to me, why I could not be happy. I was trying so hard, I was doing everything I was supposed to do and more, and it seemed like it wasn’t even making a dent in my broken soul. Nothing I did would make it better, or made the pain go away. The pain was so intense; it’s so difficult to explain. I felt like there was a black hole, sucking away my existence from my heart, my physical heart, and my emotional heart. I lacked all positive feelings. I didn’t laugh, I didn’t feel peace, and I didn’t feel safe. I felt like Jesus had abandoned me and was letting me hurt, because I didn’t know how I could pray so much and still hurt so badly. With every breath, I felt like my ribs and sternum were shattered, crushing my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. The pain in my chest radiated through my body. It was unbearable. So I prayed to God, and asked him to please just let me die. I begged him to let me stop breathing. I can’t take this anymore, I can’t live like this. It wasn’t even my fault! I should have been able to stop him somehow. I prayed for my existence to disappear, and for my ruined soul to die.

            As I was exhaling what I thought was my last agonizing breath, suddenly the pain went away. I felt warmness around me, and I felt at peace. I sat up, and for the first time in a long time, felt like I was going to be okay. That I was going to get through this. I felt in my heart that God wanted me to live, and that I still had a life to live, a purpose. I stood up and thanked God that I could feel okay, even for a moment.

            That moment ended too soon. For the first couple of months, I tried seeing a few rape specialist therapists, but it didn’t help. I went a few times and all it did was make me have major emotional breakdowns. So I stopped going. I thought I would be okay. But I was far from okay. I started putting myself in bad situations with questionable people. I can’t explain why; maybe because I didn’t feel anything, and I was trying to feel something. I started hanging out with some people I worked with, and every once in a while, I would drink. I started going to parties with my friends, and would spend the night at their house so I wouldn’t come home drunk. After a couple months of that, I tried turning my life back around, and I stopped for a while, for about 9 months. I was coping, existing, barely, until finally I snapped. I found out that the man, who raped me, would soon be serving a mission for my church.