Rape
The night our rubber ripped, we’d made love in the woods. Soon after that I began putting on weight. My breasts were filling out like my older sister’s and I thought, ‘I’m a woman now.’ One morning after a hot cup of cocoa, I felt queasy and ran to the bathroom. When I threw up, I figured it was the flu. But it turned out I was pregnant.
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I clicked “Add Friend.” He accepted within minutes. Stunned, I wondered if he had forgotten raping me. Defriending my rapist on Facebook.
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In the speed of your TV remote’s fast-forward author Susan Shapiro will tell you anything you want to know. She walks into a room with a whoosh mark behind her. Though born in the Midwest, she’s more of a New Yorker than the average, well, New Yorker. Within five minutes Shapiro will tell you where she’s … Read more
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Today I am speaking at a class because my New York Times essay, “Defriending My Rapist,” is a required reading for the Victimology course at John Jay College of Criminal Justice, City University of New York (CUNY). The course is led by Jan Yager, a professor at the Department of Sociology. Yager has an MA in criminal justice and … Read more
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This Bill Cosby scandal has triggered memories. Before my rape, I had voluntarily drunk rum and smoked a few hits of pot. Afterward, I was afraid people wouldn’t believe anything I said because I was high.
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I often wonder what it would’ve been like if I had told. Would that have kept me from turning into a drug addict? Would my self-esteem have been higher? Would my attempted suicides have happened? Maybe my relationships would’ve been healthier and longer-term instead of coming and going like riders in a subway car. I’ll never know.
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Feminism is the scourge of society, at least according to some twisted sisters out there. The latest personal affront to us binders of women came in the form of “tips” as presented by Sylvia Ann Hewlett, author of “Executive Presence: The Missing Link Between Merit and Success” and “Princeton Mom” Susan Patton, author of “Marry … Read more
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Written for NYCityWoman The first time I talked about the rape I was 26 and in a therapist’s office. “I can help you,” the counselor, Mary, said, “but it won’t be a quick fix.” My neck tensed up. I started bouncing my knee. Mary didn’t react. Her eyes were looking into mine: It was time to … Read more
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