Familiar Stranger: Journal of a Rape Suvivor

by Teena Elrod

Overview

After surviving a violent sexual assault, author Teena Elrod thought the worst was over. She soon found out it was only the beginning of a nightmare that would control her life for years. The memories and flashbacks would leave her paralyzed in fear. Doors always had to be locked and curtains closed. Something as simple as a camping trip with her family would prove impossible because of safety issues.

It was only through the belief and faith in the healing power of the God who created her that this woman was delivered from the fear and from the grips of the enemy who had lured her into believing it was her fate to be broken, fearful and unusable.

Now after being totally restored and knowing that God has taken what the enemy intended to destroy her with and uses it for His good, she shares her story believing that others will be healed and restored to live out the destiny they were created for.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781463400392
Publisher:	AuthorHouse
Publication date:	05/25/2011
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	118
File size:	480 KB

About the Author

Teena Elrod is a survivor of sexual assault. After years of not dealing with the aftermath of her attack she found herself burried under fear. It was only after confronting all the memories and trusting in the God that created her was she able to accept her past and take hold of her future. Teena is an aviate against sexual violence and has shared her story of healing and restoration to various agencies as well as local womens groups. Teena lives in Arkansas with her husband. Along with their teenage son they serve as Houseparents at a Ranch for children in need.

Read an Excerpt

FAMILIAR STRANGER

JOURNAL OF A RAPE SURVIVOR

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By TEENA ELROD

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Teena Elrod
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4634-0041-5

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Chapter One

I WANT TO start this first chapter with the events that brought me to this place. As I said before, I started out writing a journal, and it really helped me to write. I want the rawness of my story to be felt. This was not an easy thing to do. The time that I go back to was a very different time. I was young, and I never thought that anything bad could ever happen to me. I thought that I would be able to tell if someone was a "bad person."

The guy that raped me seemed like a nice guy trying to help me out. I was wrong about him. He was not a nice guy—he was a rapist. It has taken me a long time to come to terms with what happened to me. I have worked very hard to put the blame where it belongs, with the rapist. He is the one that committed that violent act that day. He is the one that is to blame. The only mistake I made was going with a stranger, and the events that followed were completely out of my control. I live with what happened to me, and I hope that by telling my story, I can help others who have been there.

This first entry into my journal was the hardest. After I wrote those words for the first time, I read them out loud. It was hard, but I felt a distance between me and the girl I wrote about. One of the things that I have learned through all of this is how strong I am. I had never realized it before. So, on that note, I invite you to begin this journey with me.

December 21, 1998. Today I start for the very first time to put my rape into words that can be read. I have just this morning finished reading Nancy Venable Raines' book, After Silence: Rape and My Journey Back. I was raped 12 years ago when I was 18 years old. I have never gone to a professional for help, unless you can count the lady that I talked to just after, like the next day or so. I only talked to her that once. I only told a few people—my boyfriend at that time, and my mother, whom I was not close to at that time and I did not even remember telling her. I could not even tell you what she said when I told her the first time.

I guess I should start off by just telling what happened the day I was raped. I do not even remember the date. I'm still not sure why, or what it could mean. My boyfriend and I were at a bowling alley and he said he had to go do some things and he would be back to get me. We did not have a good relationship at this time. I waited for hours for him to come back and get me, but he never did. It was getting late afternoon, and I wanted to go home. We lived together. I started looking for anyone I knew to give me a ride home. This "guy" came in and heard me saying that my boyfriend had left me there and how mad I was. He heard me say my boyfriend's name and came over to me and said he was a friend of my boyfriend, and that he would take me home. I don't think I had ever seen this guy, but I had no reason not to believe him, and all I wanted at this point was to go home and yell at my boyfriend. I said OK and walked out of the bowling alley and got into his van.

He started driving, and when we got to a street that I told him to turn on, he did not turn. I told him again that was where I needed him to turn. He said he had to go by his house first to get something. I told him that my house was not far, but he just kept driving. I knew in that moment that something was very wrong. His house was out away from the town. When we pulled into the driveway, he said I had to come in and not to say a word to anyone in his house. It was a two-level house, and when we entered, an older lady and a teenage boy were sitting in the living room watching TV. For a second, I felt at ease—what could happen with his mom here?

His room was upstairs, and that is where we went. I stood by the door while he went over to his dresser. He turned around and told me to get on the floor. I said NO. He told me, in a very hateful tone, through his teeth, to shut up and get my ass on the floor. I started getting on the floor, at the same time pleading with him not to do this. He said if I said one more word he would put a sock in my mouth, and if I yelled he would cut me with a knife that was on the dresser. I got onto the floor crying, and that's when he put the sock in my mouth. It was a clean tube sock. He pulled my jeans off, and then my panties. He pulled my jeans all the way off, but he only pulled my panties down to my ankles. My feet were together, the bottoms touching, but my knees were all the way apart. He got on top of me and raped me the first time. The only way I can describe what "it" felt like going inside of me was like a "cold metal bar." I thought after he got up that we would just get dressed and go. He told me to get on the bed. I sat on the bed and he pushed me down and sat on top of me and raped me again. This time he was more forceful than the first time. He seemed to be angry at me. But I had done what he told me to do. This time also lasted longer. I felt dry, and it was starting to sting. I pulled the sock out of my mouth and asked him to please stop. He grabbed my throat with both hands and told me to shut up. He said, "Don't make me cut you." I thought he was going to strangle me right then. He got up again and put a sheet over me, all but my face. He went into another room, and then he came back smoking a cigarette. He sat at the foot of the bed and never said a word. After he had finished his cigarette, he came over to me and put "it" in my face. I shook my head no, but he did not move. He never put "it" into my mouth, but he rubbed it all over my face and in my hair. He told me to get on my hands and knees. I did and he raped me again. At this point, I could not feel anything. It felt like I was swollen. I could not even feel the stinging now. When he finished this time, he lay down on the other side of the bed. He told me that he would kill me if I yelled or if I tried to leave. I just lay there and cried. Not loud, but hard. I can't remember if he fell asleep. But I did not move. I remember my arms hurt.

The next thing I remember, it was almost sunrise. He got up and handed me my clothes. I put them on. Everything felt so dirty, and cold, my clothes, his room, everything. He gave me a cigarette, already lit, and I smoked it like it was the very last cigarette on earth. We went downstairs. No one was there in the living room. We got into his van and started down the road. I cannot remember if he said a word up until this point. We were coming into town and it was still kind of dark, and he said, "Where do you want me to take you?" I thought he was going to kill me and drop me off somewhere. "The bowling alley," I said. He pulled up beside the bowling alley, and I got out. We did not say goodbye to each other. He simply told me to keep my mouth shut, and that he knew how to find me and would kill me, and then he pulled off. I sat down beside the building and did nothing. I sat there for at least four hours. The next thing I remember the bowling alley was just opening. I waited for a while longer. I went in and sat down at a table. After only a few minutes, a person I knew came in and came over to me. I could tell by the look on his face that I looked really bad. He said, "What happened to you?" I looked at him and started to cry. He put his arms around me and said, "Let's go." I stood up and said, "I was raped." He sat me back down and said he would be right back. He went over to the counter and called the police. He came back over to me and told me that the police were on their way. I said thank you.

When the police car pulled up, we walked outside. There were two officers, a male and a female. The male officer was the one who asked the questions. The female just sat there. We sat in the car as I gave my report. I didn't give any details, only that I had been raped by someone I did not know. I said I went with him because I thought he was taking me home. I had not asked to go to his house. I told them he drove a van. I gave them his first name. That is really all I remember in the police car. They then drove me to the hospital. I remember going into an exam room and standing on brown paper to get undressed. They combed my hair into a bag. Scraped under my fingernails. Then came the hard part. The exam itself. I remember being very cold. To the point of shaking. I was already very sore. A lady took photos of me. Without my clothes. They gave me a pill, and a shot, of what I do not remember. They kept my clothes and gave me other clothes to put on. The thing I remember most is that no one touched me unless they were retrieving evidence. No one came in and put their arms around me and said everything was going to be OK. Maybe because it wasn't. I remember the police talking to me about pressing charges, and if I went to trial whether or not we would use my real name. At first I told them I didn't care what I had to do, I wanted him to go to jail. I'm not sure what all else happened right after that, but the next thing I can remember is the lady police officer asking me if she could take me home. I said yes, I really just wanted to go home and take a shower. I wanted to see my boyfriend. I was so afraid of how hurt he was going to be.

The police officer dropped me at my house. It was after lunchtime. I went in the back door, and my boyfriend was on the couch. He asked me where I had been all night. I told him I needed to talk to him, and he said he didn't want to talk to me. I'm sure he thought I had cheated on him or something like that, because I was gone all night. I said, "It's not what you think. I was raped last night." I started crying. When I came around the couch, all I wanted was for him to hug me. I put my hands on his hands, and the sleeve of my shirt came up and you could see my hospital bracelet on my wrist. He said, in a voice of disgust, "You went to the hospital?" Like I had done the stupidest thing on the face of the earth. I said, "Yes, I was raped, and the police took me there." He could not believe I went to the police. I told him about the guy who said he would bring me home, and that he had told me he was a friend of his. He said, and these words I can hear in my head to this day, in his voice—and I have not spoken to him in years—"Why in the hell did you get into his car? What did you think was going on?"

I was struck down. I never gave my boyfriend any details about what happened to me that night. I spent the rest of the day in bed. The next day I went to see the lady, the one that the police officers told me to go talk to. She was very nice, and she had brown hair. That is about all I remember of her. I told her that my boyfriend did not believe that I was raped. She suggested that I get away from him. There were other reasons, too. I had nowhere to go. She sent me to a shelter where I could stay, and also talk about what had happened to me. They also feared what would happen if the rapist saw me. He had been picked up, but he was not in jail at this time for my rape; he was wanted for other things. I stayed at the shelter for two weeks. I talked about the rape twice, and I left every day to see my boyfriend. I thought if I would just stop talking about it, it would go away. My boyfriend felt the same way. He forgave me, for the moment, for my "mistake." We stayed together for about another month, and then finally he "left" me. I was heartbroken. He was my life.

The next time I talked to the police, I told them I was not pressing charges. My rapist would not stay in jail forever, and I believed he would get out and track me down and kill me. I also regret that decision; it has haunted me for a very long time. It's like I said, OK, he "let" me live. I felt I was really alone. How could I protect myself? How could I go through a trial all by myself? I just knew other people would act like my boyfriend and say I was overreacting. People would always ask, "Why did you get into his car?"

After that, I stayed heartbroken for a while and slowly began to go on with my life. Without getting into the minor details, I tried everything to get my boyfriend back. I had a real hard time letting go of him. I'm not sure why, because I am almost certain it was not love. A little over a year later, I met Max. I was not "looking" for someone at that time. I had just really begun. I had finally gotten on my feet again. He was a hometown guy, very good-looking, and extremely nice. I had always gone for the "bad boy" type, which drove my family insane. But Max was a "good guy." Not a "goodie," but just good—he has a good heart. We went out a few times, and I think I was in love from the very beginning; I'm not sure about him. He had never had a girlfriend for more than a month. After three months, he asked me to marry him. I said yes, and on April 15, 1989 we were married at his grandparents' home, with only our families.

The first few years were rough, but we loved each other and we worked very hard to build a life together. I don't remember when I told Max about my rape. But I do know that at this point we have been married almost 10 years, and I have only talked about it with him maybe five times. I have never given him all the details. About a year ago, my Mom gave me a book called When Evil Strikes, about a young girl who was raped and became pregnant. Her father was a pastor, and they had a very strong faith. She gave up the baby for adoption, but she and her family keep in touch with the baby and his parents, and they still see him sometimes. It's a great book, one of only two that I have ever read about rape. The girl's mother was a speaker, and she was coming to speak in a town close to us. My Mom wanted me to go with her and some ladies from her church to hear this mother speak of what had happened to her daughter and their family. I was eager to go. I never talked about my rape. None of my friends or co-workers knew. I felt a very heavy, overpowering feeling that I had to tell my boss, who is also a good friend, and has been for many years. I just walked into her office one day and said that I had something to tell her. I told her that I had been raped almost 10 years earlier. I only told her about him giving me a ride home, and not much else. I think I was very vague. And I don't think I cried. She was the only person, other than my husband, that ever hugged me after I told them. I don't think we ever talked about it again, other than maybe one other time, and neither time was in any detail, that I can recall. I told her that I was struggling over telling my Mom. She told me that I should tell her if I felt that strongly about it. That day, as I drove the car with my Mom, we were talking about the book. I said I had this overpowering urge to tell her something. Then I told her that I was raped almost 10 years ago. She said, "I know."

She said I told her at the time. I did not and still to this day do not remember telling her the first time. I'm not sure what that means. She said in a matter-of-fact tone that she was sorry she had not been there for me at the time, and then she asked me, in an almost dreading tone, "Do you want to talk about it?" I said no. She never even touched me, and we have not spoken about it since.

As I said at the beginning, I just finished reading the second book I have ever read about rape. After Silence is about a woman who was raped in her own home by a stranger. I have never related to someone like I have related to her. I read her book in two days, underlining parts that I related to the most. Early this morning, I wrote for the very first time about my rape. This is what I wrote:

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from FAMILIAR STRANGER by TEENA ELROD Copyright © 2011 by Teena Elrod. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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