Trigger Warning

Why do we have to put trigger warnings for everything now? Is it now everyone else’s responsibility to shield us from the things we wish not to see? I’m not sure how I feel about that. I wish desperately that people would put trigger warnings for pictures of lost pets, mentions of animal death, etc. Am I getting trigger warnings? No.

I’ve been raped. It sucked, but I don’t need a trigger warning for rape. Maybe I don’t truly understand how PTSD functions — even though my therapist thinks I have it — and how a trigger can bring back unpleasant memories. I get a trigger being a specific place, but not general conversations on the topic being a trigger. I dealt with my trauma in a more dissociative manner.

I was 18 (and a half) and it was the summer between freshman and sophomore year of college. It was how I lost my virginity, actually. Back in the days of Friendster. Yes, my rapist came from Friendster. “GKCFist” was an Asian man — I had this weird obsession with Asians at the time due to spending too much time in the Berkeley math department — and a bit older than me. He was big into martial arts. We hit it off in chat and agreed to meet. Against my better judgment, I invited him over to my apartment, the first one I had ever had on my own. That was my first mistake. I can be too trusting for my own good.

My roommate wasn’t home at the time. I answered the door and he sort of forced his way in. We quickly bypassed the living room and headed straight into my bedroom. I could see quickly where this was heading. The room was very dim. The sun was out, but the blinds were pulled tight. He immediately started kissing me, and I reciprocated a bit because it was the thing to do but tried to slow him down. I liked him, or I thought I liked him, but not this much. Not this much so soon.

He wouldn’t slow down. My stomach sank as I realized what was happening. Before I knew it he had me pinned to the bed. I weighed more than he did, but he was a lot stronger than his wiry frame led on. I fought but couldn’t get him off me. At some point I just stopped fighting and laid still, waiting for it to be over. The details from there are kind of blurry. It was a pretty brief encounter all in all. I remember him pulling my underwear down and pressing himself against me. He had a pencil dick but I didn’t know the difference. I didn’t want it, but it felt good. I felt guilty for enjoying it.

I struggled with that a lot in the coming days. How I could enjoy an act of violation, and what it meant if I did. I don’t know if I’m a masochist or what I am, but it’s like involuntary — pain gets me off. I fantasize about rape to this day. (I’m still begging my boyfriend to choke me during sex. Sadly, he can’t be convinced…)

I knew though that I said “no.” I didn’t know him, and I didn’t want to be having sex with him. I certainly didn’t want him to be the one to take my virginity. I always thought of Asians as such good people, and he ruined me on them. Just like men of any color, Asians can be sexually exploitative too. I don’t know why I was surprised. Maybe because when you think “rapist” you’ve probably been conditioned to envision a scary black dude instead.

In the days that followed, he insulted my weight and I allowed that kind of behavior. I didn’t know yet at that point in my life how to tell people to fuck off. I was still learning how to stand up for myself.

We slept together again, at which point I became very confused. How could I have said “no” to him in one instance and have considered it rape, yet invited him back for more? What kind of sense does that make? I don’t even remember what precipitated our second meeting. I think I was very desperate for attention and would take it however I could get it, even from a literal rapist. Maybe if he wanted me for a relationship I could convince myself that what had happened between us was consensual.

I cut contact with him after that second time, because it felt so thoroughly wrong. It was after he made pig noises as I ate ice cream. It fucked with me that he would have sex with someone who evidently disgusted him so much. Clearly this was a bad person I did not need in my life. I can only tolerate so much abuse. People who go after your weight are just the lowest of the low. He got his thrills with me; now it was time for us to go our separate ways. I hoped he was happy with what he had taken from me. I hoped it was worth taking by force. Maybe he couldn’t get it any other way and this is just what he did to various women he met on Friendster.

That summer I spent a lot of time wanting to die without really connecting those feelings to the rape. I didn’t attempt to “date” after that. I stayed off Friendster, Facebook, etc. I also had a lot of troubling feelings of deserving what came to me, especially since he was not uninvited in my home, and also because I came. I knew in my heart though that “no” means no, and what he did to me was not right.

My next sexual encounter would be six months later, when I was 19, in an orgy. That was consensual. And it would take another few months after that to find a boyfriend who I had real, quality consensual sex with. He’s who I truly consider my “first.”

I only told someone (my mother) about the rape a year after it occurred. I forget how it came up. She was horrified and encouraged me to report it, but with what evidence? My word against his? There was nothing to say that the event wasn’t consensual. My usual reaction to trauma is to just try to forget it ever happened and move on with my life. That’s how I processed the rape. Sweep it under the rug. I don’t see the value in rehashing the event through the process of reporting it, going to trial, etc. All that does is put someone in prison for 10 years at best, then they get out and want to murder you for snitching on their rapist ass. Doesn’t sound like the kind of life I want to lead. I’ll just stay quiet and move on with my life instead.

Which means then that men get away with this. I wasn’t willing to do the truly brave thing of reporting his crime, though I did consider it in the days after it occurred. He roams free probably to this day somewhere in the Bay Area (El Cerrito, to be specific). I wouldn’t dare try to find him on social media. That’s just a chapter that doesn’t need to be re-opened. What could I possibly accomplish by confronting him? He knows what he took from me. He was there, too.

The real punishment for men like him comes in the afterlife. I truly believe that. They will face fiery hell, meanwhile I’ll be chillin’ at the gates of heaven. The same goes for all the bullies who tormented me throughout the years. I’m a big believer in karma. It will come back to them somehow. If not now, in the hereafter.