In October 1995, I was 22 years old and a second year officer cadet at the Royal Military College of Canada in Kingston, Ontario, Canada. I went to a RMC party one night held at the Kingston base drill hall. I went with two male friends, as we women had been warned when we first got to RMC that we should always go to parties with friends and look after each other.
I had a lot to drink that night, as it was an Oktoberfest party and our glasses were in fact full-sized pitchers of beer. I was with my friends, who were friends with my rapist, when suddenly they seemed to disappear, and my rapist approached me and said "hello." I think now that he must have told my friends to give him some space with me.
I knew my rapist's name, having been introduced to him previously. Other than that brief introduction, we had never spoken, and I did not find him attractive. I was a bit surprised that he was saying "hello" to me, as I was only in second year and he was in third year and held a position of responsibility. He asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. I didn't think anything of it, and I agreed. So we left the drill hall, and began to walk back to the RMC grounds. As soon as we got to a secluded spot, he began kissing me. I had only kissed one guy once earlier that year (at 22 years old, I was really inexperienced!), and it felt good. Unfortunately, he quickly changed gears.
He put his hand on my head and pushed me down to the ground, so I was on my knees. He forced me to perform fellatio on him. I am a mouth breather, so I couldn't breathe as I was choking on his penis. Eventually, as I couldn't breathe, I began to panic (I thought I was going to die), and I wet my pants. He then took me by the hand and led me to a spot of grass not two meters away. He lowered my jeans and panties, and pushed me down on the ground. He then forced my legs apart and performed cunnilingus on me. I thought it was disgusting, because I had wet myself, but I did not know what to do. I had frozen when he was choking me on his penis, and I did not know what to do. I felt stunned..
He then began to attempt to penetrate me. I had never had sex before, so it was really painful, and I was finally able to react to what was going on. I said "Ow, ow, ow" repeatedly, and I tried to move away. But I was on my back, and he just pinned me down so I couldn't move. He raped me. We then walked back to the college together in silence. I didn’t know what had just happened, and I was stunned. He left me at the courtyard, and at that point, I remember nothing more for the rest of the night. All I know is that the following morning, I said to a friend of mine (who was also a virgin) that "now I know what I was missing." Sick as it sounds, I suppressed the events of the assault that I could, but since I couldn’t suppress the fact that I was no longer a virgin, I think my mind just did some sort of weird coping mechanism (from a psychiatric perspective, I believe I dissociated that night).
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Nine years passed after that. I did not think my rapist was a good person, but I never allowed myself to even think that what he had done might be a crime. After all, the rapes we see on TV usually involve a stranger with a weapon, but also, I blamed myself for having drunk too much, and for not being strong enough to fight him off.
During those nine years, I lacked self-confidence. I now know that I was very good at my job in the Forces, but I felt extremely incompetent, and felt that people were being nice when they gave me good feedback. I never had a boyfriend, but if I guy was a jerk and wanted to mistreat me and/or just sleep with me, I felt that that was what I deserved. I never insisted on practicing safe sex, as I felt worthless. I felt like I was a joke to men, so if a nice guy ever showed interest, I figured he was joking and I would not take him seriously. Finally, I felt unlovable, not only by men, but even by women: I felt that my friends tolerated me because I am really nice and I try to be funny, etc.
Nine years after my rape, in 2004, I was offered the great privilege of attending medical school at University of Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. One month into my first year of medical school, I took a self-defense course. When the instructor was speaking about sexual predators and how they operate, I had my first flashback about my rape. I tried to "look normal" for the rest of the course, and apparently was not overly successful. I fell apart after that course, and for a few months, my life was a living hell.
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I never missed a single day of class during the fall of 2004. I would go to class, but I started to always sit in the front row. This is because I was afraid that if I didn't, one of my peers would turn around to say something to someone else, and they would see the look in my eyes. Basically, I went to class, but I was having flashbacks most of the time, and I could not concentrate on what was being taught. I failed my next medical school exam, although I passed the rewrite. I did not tell any of my medical school peers about what was happening to me, because I felt so much shame about the rape, and about my flashbacks (I thought I was going crazy).
Even though I was able to "keep it together" during the day, I would go home at night and sob uncontrollably. I was so full of grief at first, and I was really confused. I could not comprehend how I had always felt that my assailant was a "mean guy," but how the hell had I never thought that I had been assaulted?? I was also grief-stricken because for years I had told myself that I didn't want a boyfriend, I didn't want to marry, I didn't want to have kids. All of a sudden, at 31 years old, I knew that this had all been a lie. I did want a boyfriend, I did want to marry, and I love kids. I felt that I had been robbed of nine years of my life.
I was also suicidal, because I could not take the horrible depths of grief and sadness that were a part of my daily life. I won't write too much about that, but I would never wish what I went through on anyone. The good thing is that at least I knew that it was illogical. Here I was, in first year of medical school, pursuing a career that some would almost kill to do. Not only that, but because of my employer (Canadian Forces), I did not have any financial concerns. I have great family and friends, and so much to live for. Yet I wanted to die, so at least, this feeling was obviously incongruous with my situation. So, in order to avoid any issues, I decided that the only way I could kill myself was to shoot myself, because after all, medical students don't have access to firearms! Problem solved.
After a few months, the flashbacks subsided, but I was still having great difficulty coping with my assault. I had already been diagnosed with one sleep disorder a year or so before my flashbacks began. But now, my sleep had gotten much worse after the flashbacks started, and the doctors were unable to manage it. I barely passed all of my exams in first year. Indeed, in both first and second year, I was usually falling asleep in class, despite being keenly interested in what was being taught. At the beginning of third year, my sleep psychiatrist (yes, I had to see one of those too) diagnosed me with a second sleep disorder. So, another great consequence of my assault is that I am on medication for my Periodic Leg Movement Disorder (PLMD), and I use a CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure: one of those machines that blow air up your nose/mouth all night and look soooo attractive) for my obstructive sleep apnea.
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Between first year and second year of medical school, I finally had time to see a psychologist and to try and undo some of the damage that my assault had caused. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) seems to cause one of two major reactions post-trauma: a person may either believe that the world is unsafe (in the case of a stranger rape, or if you are victim of a mugging), or that he/she is incompetent (seen in combat soldiers). I felt that I was incompetent, because I had not been strong enough to fight him off and had not known how to fight him off. I also felt that I was a joke to men, and unlovable. As you can see, these were some pretty serious core beliefs that needed to be undone! We worked very hard at undoing them. Unfortunately, when someone thinks one way for nine years, it is very difficult not to fall back into that pattern of thinking. Medical school of course does not always help, because at the end of the day, as a medical student, I am incompetent, and I don't always know the answers! :)
A word about avoidance as a coping mechanism: in first year, when I would get home from school, I was so upset, and I would just be zombie-like, spending most evenings watching TV. I did not socialize much. Beginning in second year, I got the idea from a friend of mine whose brother had been abused growing up, that he seemed to avoid his issues by working all the time. It seemed like a good idea, so in second year, I began filling up all my free time with activity. I played hockey three times weekly, and volleyball twice weekly, and would try to do social things on the side. In third year, I was no longer able to play sports as often due to my schedule, so instead I played hockey twice weekly, and took two master's level courses on the side. This strategy of avoidance seemed to work for awhile, as it allowed me to avoid thinking about the incident.
This summer, the wheels came off completely. I tried taking two other master's courses while doing my family medicine rotation, and I had to drop the courses as I was unable to keep up with the group work for one of them. After dropping them, I did not know how to fill my time, so I decided to buy another house, as I hoped that that would keep my activity level high. I also was working all the time, not studying, but doing renovations at my parents' cottage. I could not slow down, and highly resented being told to do so. Later in the summer, I was diagnosed with depression, and put on sick leave. I had to defer my psychiatry rotation until September; fortunately, I will still graduate from medicine with my peers in May 2008.
Initially on sick leave, I resented being on leave, as I felt that I was fine and wanted to go back to work. However, I was put on an anti-depressant, and this soon allowed me to slow down a bit. It also helped my sleep to improve, because I no longer got angry with the CPAP mask (part of the problem is that if I can't breathe, it reminds me of being choked, and I panic and get very angry). I am now able to wear the mask the entire night, whereas before, I only had it on an average of 1.5 hours/night (and without it, my brain wakes up 9 times an hour because my body lacks oxygen). During my sick leave, I also did exposure therapy. Until I did this, any reminder of the trauma, whether it was thinking about it, seeing a rape scene on a movie or TV show, etc., would provoke a sudden mood change, either to tears or to anger. It was like a wave of emotion that would disappear quickly and suddenly, just as it had appeared. But I had no control over it.
Exposure therapy is probably the toughest thing I have ever done. First, I had to write out all the details about my rape and assaults, including any thoughts I had, anything I sensed (smells, what I heard), how I felt. This was extremely hard, but it also helped to fill in some of the gaps in my memory. It was while I was writing this out that I first realized that I thought I was going to die that night, because I couldn't breathe. I did the actual exposure therapy by reading the narrative I had written about the event. Every day, for about two weeks, I had to spend 45 minutes reading through the narrative. I read and reread that narrative as often as necessary to fill 45 minutes. And I couldn't just cheat and shut off my emotions when reading it. Nor, as I had tried a few times, could I read it with a sense of black humor, thinking as I began the narrative that it was kind of like watching the movie Titanic: you know how it's going to end. Instead, for exposure therapy to be successful, I had to emotionally and mentally go back in time to the event, and "see" myself as I read through the narrative. To give you an idea of how difficult it was, the first time I did it with my psychologist, when I was done she asked me to rate how I felt on a scale of 1 to 10, with ten being horrible, and I couldn’t reply, as I was sobbing so hard – my pain was off the scale. But after two weeks of exposure therapy, I felt that reading the narrative was boring, and it didn't cause me to feel any anxiety or stress. This result is a sign that the therapy has been successful. I also had to test myself, by renting movies with rape scenes. It sounds twisted, but the movies that used to cause me to react, I was now okay with. Exposure therapy was a success!
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Thanks to exposure therapy, I am now fine speaking about my assault, and hearing about assaults in general. When I did my psychiatry rotation, even though I was put on a team where it was believed I would be less exposed to victims of violence, I interviewed a few women who had been assaulted at some point during their lifetime. I did not have any problems speaking with them, and was able to be empathetic, whereas before my exposure therapy, I was very afraid that I might get extremely upset and compromise patient care.
What now? I have a major exam at the end of the year, so I will have to try to study more often this year. Studying, and reading for pleasure are not activities I feel comfortable doing, as it does not keep me busy enough, and I've avoided them because when my PTSD was worse, I did not want to think of the assault. Between not being able to study and struggling to stay awake (which was a problem, even when I was in operating this past year), I have significant knowledge gaps that I need to address so that I can pass this exam. Old habits die hard, and even though I know I should have some down time and some studying time, I am not comfortable having either. I will have to work on that, if not for my sanity, then to make those around me who care about me less concerned for my welfare.
In conclusion, I hope that people may understand that rapes and assaults cause a lot of damage. There was alcohol involved, but no date rape drug, and no weapon. I was not beaten up. However, I do not exaggerate when I say that my rape has almost killed me, on too many occasions to count. It changed who I was, and the person who I have become, way back in 1995, twelve years ago now. Even though I am better now than I was this summer, I still have sleep issues; I have serious impulse control issues; I still have not had a healthy and normal relationship with a man; I experience ups and downs, often within the same day. I continue to try my best to deal with my rape positively, by staying busy, staying positive, and trying to increase awareness about rape and assault. But at the end of the day, my rapist did his job, very, very well.
I should add that I met another "survivor," and we two have started up a national website in Canada, since there was no information available on a national level before. Also, I am going to be trained as a public educator by a local rape crisis centre so I can go into schools/ colleges/ universities (basically, anyone who will listen!) and speak about my experience, and about the law here in Canada. Finally, I am trying to sue the government as my case was mishandled by both the police and the lawyers involved. I feel that we need a national case, and some changes in legislation, as we too have a conviction rate of 6%. This is due mostly to the attitudes and culture of our justice system.
Jennifer Purdy
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