When I was 14 years old, I attended Storm King School (SKS). There was a senior by in the school who enjoyed taking advantage of girls. I would not say I was molested, as I was much too old. However, the asshole did shove his cock down my throat repeatedly over the course of many months, among other things. He, also, abused me in a physical way in public– i.e. in the cafeteria, etc. to such an extent the nurse (a bitch who refused to report him for what he was doing because I refused to write my name down with his) called for a psychiatrist to evaluate me, and told him prior to our appointment that I had an abusive boyfriend (after I tried reporting the abuse to her). He was voted best-dressed that year, and apparently the asshole got into college — he probably graduated too.

 

Sometimes, I wonder if my karma is shit. I don’t really understand why it would be though, but that is probably just me thinking I am a nice person.

 

This dorm parent was not the first person, nor the last to pretend not to see or

 

 

notice and not care about serious problems I encountered. My parents had money,

 

 

they could afford to treat me, and they could afford to fix me, everyone else was

 

 

simply not interested or too busy. This is funny as technically, back then, they were

 

 

all legally obligated to do all the things they refused to do. My dad will tell me off,

 

 

when I yell for no reason about things that happened a long time ago that there is

 

 

no way of fixing, that I think I am the only good person in the world, or that I am

 

 

simply making everything up. I cannot really respond to that, as anyone who knows

 

 

me or has met me will probably understand. I have no proof I went to any of these

 

 

schools, I have no proof of any of my injuries- I did not scar, and the medication- I

 

 

have no medical records of that kind. The only way I could ever hope to prove

 

 

anything, would be if someone remembered- Yes, you did cry that day, or yes I saw

 

 

you claw the scabs off your wrists, and maybe that would be enough.

 

 

Honestly, it wouldn’t be enough for me. At least not today. I still am stupid like I

 

 

was when I was 16 years old, and again every year after, when I remember

 

 

everything. Still the same me, still the same answer: Is it possible to turn back time?

 

 

Can I start over? I don’t think this is fair- but that is fucked up- I want to at least

 

 

have a reason for all the fucked up bullshit- because I don’t have a reason.

 

 

Someone hurt me, and so did other people, but no one was there? I doubt it, but

 

 

they weren’t there how I would have wanted. I am a selfish bitch or maybe I still

 

 

have not come to terms with the fact that I have to learn to deal with all the bullshit,

 

 

this and more.

 

 

It’s like my whole life is one big freak accident, and somehow I have to get over my

 

 

wish to at least be allowed to figure out how to go back in time and hug myself and

 

 

keep that little girl company before she bleeds and cries for real.

 

 

When I was taken advantage of (sexually assaulted and raped, though I used to say it was molestation because I still felt like a child at that age)  when I was 14, I was very embarrassed. I felt

 

 

extremely humiliated and I could not understand why no one seemed willing to help me. When the nurse refused to listen to me or follow-up on my report of sexual abuse by a senior in the school, I became depressed. The whole year I wrote angsty bullshit poem after another. When I got bored in an algebra exam (because I could not remember any of the formulas) and wrote a poem in a circle (I do not

 

 

know how to draw so instead of sketching/doodling, I write silly bullshit), the nurse quickly confiscated the exam and sent a photocopy to my parents, and called a psychiatrist in for an emergency consult. (who she told I had an abusive boyfriend and who I refused to speak with). I never told my parents that year- I did not know how to explain any of it- I still do not know how. No one put a gun to my head and forced me to do anything. He may have dragged me places, forcibly, and physically abused me, but he never threatened my life, and so why was I so scared and incapable of running away? Why was I so willing? (questions I want to someday be able to answer).

 

 

[Fucked up fact: I don’t know if I am a virgin- i.e. I don’t remember the sex/rape ever, I only remember the assaults. A lot of this time is vague, as I spent most of it drunk to the point of delirium. I found it easier not to cry when I was drinking lots of vodka and whiskey. Even more fucked up fact: The SKS senior asshole wasn’t the first and my parents still thought I was at fault even then].

 

 

 

 

 

My older sister has had very disturbing things happen to her- the first, as far as I

 

 

am aware, when she was 19 years old. And here is where I become very disgusting,

 

 

I am jealous that my parents comforted her. I envy the fact that her friends were

 

 

there for her, and that people still respected her. I am jealous that people noticed

 

 

she was not the same person. I get upset that no one noticed what happened to me,

 

 

and if they did they only thought it was funny. Someone figured out how to shut me

 

 

up, I was very loud, I always thought I was better, I won’t think that now.

 

 

A friend when I was 14 drew a picture of my face, with my mouth gaping open.

 

 

When I asked her, somewhat disturbed by the image, why my mouth was like that,

 

 

she replied because she was going to put something in it. She then asked me what I

 

 

thought would fit best, I was hurt and very shocked. This was the girl who told me

 

 

she had been raped by the same person, I could not understand why she saw me

 

 

like that. I tried not to cry, and holding back tears, I said, ‘I like ice-cream’.

 

 

I cried anyways, like the sensitive piece of shit I still am.

 

 

 

I don’t know when it started, but I have had PTSD for a long time.

 

 

 

Let me attempt yet again to tell the story:

 

 

 

Bhavin was 18 or 19 years old when I knew him. I have forgotten which. I was 14 years old and still very much a child, though my body may have appeared adult-like.

 

 

 

Bhavin was the ‘harry potter’ of our campus at SKS or at least that was the nickname the girls had given him. He was an orphan from Singapore, where he lived with his Uncle. He, I believe, was from Gujarat. He was a ‘tortured soul’ as Rachel liked to think, but he really was more like a devil than an accidental sinner.

 

 

 

Bhavin was the captain of the wrestling team at SKS. It was a boarding school. My mom thought I would get a good education and would be well-looked after in boarding school.

 

 

 

I did get a good education from all the places I have been, but I was not well-looked after, whatsoever. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Once my mother came to realize this, she swooped in and did her best to save me, but in a way it was much too late. And I think that was my fault. I reported Bhavin to everyone except my family, the ones I knew I could count on to save me. But it was a choice I made. Looking back I wish I had not chosen to act in this way, but I did.

 

 

 

I thought by pretending everything was alright that it would make it so. I thought I was protecting them from the cruel realities of the world. How wrong I was!

 

 

 

Bhavin and I first met when I started as manager of the wrestling team he was captain of. My roommate at the time, Jae-Yun, begged me to take over from her, stating that Bhavin gave her the creeps. To this day, I do not know if she, also, was a victim of his sexual violence.

 

 

 

I agreed, after asking around about him, and coming to the conclusion that Jae-Yun was just shy or had a crush on Bhavin. She was beyond furious with me when I posited this to her.

 

 

 

Many of my friends were on the wrestling team, so I felt I had nothing to worry about. How wrong I was! My boyfriend, Jeff, of the time was also on the wrestling team.

 

 

 

Bhavin showed me attention and would go out of his way to talk to me. I began to get the impression that Bhavin was creepy and sleazy. I tried my best to avoid him.

 

 

 

Jae-Yun requested to switch rooms and I was given Kristina as a roommate. She couldn’t handle my snoring so she soon moved out too. But Kristina and I have kept in touch over the years. I will probably see her in the summer of this year, when my family and I visit NYC.

 

 

 

Things began to snowball in late October/early November. Bhavin’s interest seemed to finally skyrocket. He began forcing me to be alone with him. He would physically grab me and literally drag me places to be alone with him. I would sometimes shout for help but after being laughed at and catcalled, the hope of someone intervening eventually died in me and I became depressed/sad.

 

 

 

He would force me to use my hands on him to get him off. Then, he started forcing me on my knees and forced my mouth open, shoving his penis inside. I gagged most of the time and he pulled my hair. Once, I used teeth to scare him and he hit me and told  me to never do that again.

 

 

 

I was too scared to ever try it again.

 

 

 

He would beg me to take my breasts out and use them on his penis. But I always refused and found some way to distract him so I could get away.

 

 

 

He eventually raped me when the snow had melted. We were in the gym, the place he loved dragging me to.

 

 

 

He undid my pants while I tried to fight him off. He did a wrestling move on me when I tried to run away and slammed me face first to the ground. He then warned me not to move again, got a rolled up mat and placed it on the floor. He told me to rest my hips against it, while lying on my back. I did as I was told.

 

 

 

While he was getting ready to enter me, I started hitting my head against the floor.

 

 

 

I do not know if I knocked myself out or simply passed out from fear, but I came to with him on top of me, inside me, cumming.

 

 

 

I cried.

 

 

 

He left me alone after that for the most part.

 

 

 

Only forcing me to give him a hand job or blowjob once in a blue moon.

 

 

 

My friend Leah came to me after spring break to confide in me that Bhavin had raped her on the school trip to Disneyland. I advised her to report it to her mother, which she did.

 

 

 

I felt responsible for Leah being raped.

 

 

 

After all, Bhavin had told me to go on the trip and I had lied to him that I was going and then begged my parents to let me stay home. Looking back on it that probably seemed strange to them. This was around the time that my parents decided we shouldn’t be in SKS any longer, as it was clearly not the right fit for us (my brother, Andrew, and I).

 

 

 

Just writing about this is giving me a slight headache.

 

 

 

I remember being very angry when everyone rallied around Leah, as I had been reporting my sexual abuse to the same people over the course of the many months it had happened to me. But Leah had been hurt once and they believed her!

 

 

 

I shouldn’t have felt this way and I feel ashamed admitting to it. But I did.

 

 

 

Years later around 2011-2012, I looked SKS up. I was pleased to see the nurse and headmistress had been sued by a father of a student who had been roofied and raped on campus. They had tried to cover it up and keep it from the parents like they always did. They did the same thing when I was there with me and with Leah to some extent.

 

 

 

That is the bare bones of it. But it still leaves out a great deal.

 

 

 

Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever be able to relate the whole story in one sitting.

 

 

 

But I suppose it does not matter now.

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