Disclaimer: Adult Content.

I am a religious Private Practice viewer. Every Thursday I take a hot bath, drink some wine and watch Grey's Anatomy and then Private Practice on my DVR.
I know I am not the only one who was affected by tonight's episode of Private Practice.
One of the main characters, the tough as hell-no one messes with her ever doctor Charlotte King, was brutally attacked by a man. He lacerated her arm, broke her hand, her shoulder, her nose, her eye socket and then raped her.
For a billion different reasons that you could only get if you watched it tonight, this was one eye opening episode.
But for me it hit very close to home. It awakened memories I thought I had buried deep. A reference point in my life I could gloss over and not have effect me.
8 years ago I was raped.
I was 17. And I thought the world was mine. I had left my parents home in Arkansas and moved back to California to be with my then best friend and her brother, my fiancĂ©e. I ended up moving to a ranch that belonged to an old family friend. A ranch that my mom had worked at, training horses, and where I had worked. 11 years old, spending my summer mucking  out stalls, bathing horses, and wandering the lush country side.
Moving there was wonderful. I was surrounded by horses and dogs and baby sheep. I was in heaven. My boss was a woman. Her husband had left her (A few months before) and the ranch they had spent their whole life building to be with another woman. She was happy to have the company and I was happy to be there.
One night she was going out with some friends and I was in charge of closing up the barn and feeding the horses for the night. Her husband was there that night, he would come and do some things around the property on occasion. She was nice enough to let him still keep cars and such on the property and he would work on them on weekends.
I had finished up feeding and raking the walkways and was drinking some water in the tack room when he came in. I asked him to look at a tooth that was bothering me, he was a dentist. But while he had his hands on my cheeks he was not looking in my mouth, but in my eyes. And it scared me. I was all of a sudden aware of how stupid I was. I tried to make some comment about going home and calling my boyfriend as I shrugged him off and walked away. But he grabbed the back of my hair and threw me into the wall. I was stunned. I kept wondering what I did wrong, why was he mad at me? He was like a grandfather. He taught me how to drive a hay baler. I went to get up and he punched me so hard in the stomach I couldn't breathe. I fell onto some saddle blankets and couldn't get up. I remember gasping like a fish while he pulled my pants down. And my mind could not wrap around what was happening. What he was doing to me. Months of sex with my boyfriend, but this hurt like I was being torn in two. And I couldn't understand what was being done to me.
I screamed. But he laughed. No one could hear me. There was no one for miles. And the dogs just sat there, watching.
When he was done, he was so calm. He leaned in really close to my face and told me no one would believe me. Then he got up and walked away. I don't know how long I had lain there. But eventually I got up and walked the half mile in the dark to the house. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. I just took a shower and went to bed. The whole next day I was in a daze. That afternoon when I went home for lunch My boss was there. She screamed at me. Threw dishes at me that cut me and left scars. He told her that morning that I had begged him for it. I tried to calm her down and tell her but she wouldn't listen.
I was sitting on the floor, bleeding, and she leaned down and said "No one will believe you. Everyone knew your mom and that she was a liar. No one will believe you." Then she left.
I cleaned up the glass, and called my best friend Mike. I told him to come and get me. That I was leaving. He called my boyfriend and they came that night and took me to a girlfriend's house for the night. I made plans to go live with an Aunt and Uncle, and the next day my boyfriend took me to their house.
I didn't tell my boyfriend what happened. He had been my best friend for 6 years, and he would have killed him. And all I could think of was that I could not let him go to jail for me. He broke up with me a few days later.
I told no one what happened.
Who could I have told? I had no mother. No one to hold me and make me feel safe. No one to tell me I would be ok. I was scared shitless waiting for my period.
And I blamed myself. My first step-dad had been very abusive. And isn't that the statistic? Once abused you are twice as likely to have it happen again.
Once attacked you are always a victim.
I can't tell you how to make the pain of rape go away. I can't tell you how to prevent the flashbacks. Or how to stop the nightmares from reoccurring.
I can tell you that when you think you have moved on it will will haunt you unexpectedly. I can tell you that in the worst moment it will debilitate you. When you are all alone is when you will remember and cry and no one will be there to hug you.
February 2003 I was raped by a man I knew and trusted. I was 17 and I was so in love with life. Some stupid TV show that I love brought those memories back to me almost 8 years later.
And all I know to ease the pain right now is to write it out, and hope it won't haunt me all night. 

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