Warning: This blog contains mature content that may be triggering.
The effects of being raped and the emotions it produces are more complicated than a lot of people might realize. I remember all too well the mixed feelings I often had when my "dad" would come for me.
His visits often came at strange times, such as during chore time. My siblings and I would take turns going up to the haymow to throw hay down for the cows. While one of us was doing that, the other two would distribute the hay for the cows to eat. Between the ages of 11 and 15, my “dad” would often come up when I was the one in the haymow and have his way with me.
Those times up in the haymow are some of the most memorable, and definitely not in a good way. I was trying to do my job – because there would be severe repercussions if I didn’t do it correctly – and then my “dad” would show up. I had a love-hate relationship with seeing him enter the haymow. I knew he was there to rape me. Of course, I didn’t know that word at that age and didn’t even considered it rape until I was much older. But even though I knew what he was going to do to me, it was good to see him – because he was there just for me. He thought I was someone special, his little girl. The other part of me, the part that knew this wasn’t really right, was scared and nervous about what would happen. Often when he came to interrupt my work, he would be quick so that I could get back to my job. He would pull down my pants, no matter what the temperature was outside, and then he would pull down his own pants just far enough to pull out his penis. Then he would lay me down on a bale of hay or shove me up against a wall and rape me.
Everything would happen quickly then, and I remember him spasming in orgasm. It all seemed so weird, though I wouldn’t really think about it until I was older. I just remember feeling gross after he spasmed on top of me. When he was done, he would just get up, put his penis back in his pants and zip up. I would just be lying there, and eventually, I would get up as well. I never had any kind of towel or napkin or anything, so I would pull up my pants while semen was rolling down my leg. I would have to continue doing my chores – for several more hours – like this. The winter months were the worst because the semen would get cold REALLY quickly and feel as though it were frozen on my leg. But no matter what time of year, the sticky substance made it hard to focus on my chores.
No matter where it happened – in the haymow or in the bedroom – being raped was an emotional rollercoaster. I was just a kid, and the man who should have been protecting me was abusing me instead. It made me feel special, and it made me feel wrong. It would be a long time before I could make sense of it all.