The winter outside was frigid and cold. Ice had over taken the roads, and a cool mist of snow had stuck to the ground which is rare for Portland, Oregon. The traffic outside was almost nonexistent which I could normally hear and feel in my trailer. It was my first real winter since being divorced from my ex-husband. My self-esteem was at an all-time low and I needed some male attention to not only satisfy primal needs but when it gets super cold outside I like to cuddle and be held. I went to craigslist to find some 'no strings attached” (NSA) attention. I put up an ad and within minutes I had several hundred replies. I started zooming through pictures, and deleted my ad to stop new replies. I interviewed a few guys and within a few hours I picked someone who seemed rational, normal and sexy.
He had a washboard stomach, not perfect but more like a swimmers body, blond hair and very little body fur. This masculine tool was a little over average, cut and do I dare say, delicious? After months of reflection I can objectively assess what did happen and be honest about what I got myself into. He had a few drinks, and I stayed sober out of habit just in case things went south. I put my dogs in the living room and we headed to my bedroom. It wasn't long before I realized he was not a good choice. His personality flipped in a matter of seconds since removing his clothes. He was aggressive, angry, and bossy. I’m used to a little bit of rough foreplay and even welcome it upon occasion. We had discussed this prior to starting the evening. I told him that first encounters tend to be pretty vanilla until I've built up some trust and can allow myself to be more submissive in nature. I find that I’m pretty egalitarian in bed but I do like to be more submissive than being the aggressor.
He was being 3rd, 4th date aggressive and I didn't know how to handle it. I tried to fight back but the more I fought the angrier he became. He choked me unconscious, and within seconds everything went black. I awoke a few minutes later to him inside of me grunting and slapping me. I had a rope around my neck and he alternated between slapping and punching me. Every time I caught my breath he'd take it away again. I know I passed out more than a few times but I lost count how many. I don't want to give the act too much attention and so I will end my description there. He left, with a warning not to ever say anything. Otherwise he'd be back to get my fagotty ass, and teach me a lesson. I tried to talk back but found that my voice was completely gone. He picked up one of my dogs and motioned that he'd break her neck. I begged, mumbled, cried and he eventually let her go. He slammed the door behind him and I never saw him again.
Questions I've asked myself over the past few months is what will I write about? What will I add to the American culture of rape towards transgender people? Will I hurt more than I expect to educate? Will I be able to withstand the ignorant replies like: did you report it? What did you expect of craigslist? Why do you do this to yourself? What were you wearing? You got what you deserved!? …..my hands shake upon the idea of a 'friend” or foe even mumbling those things under their breath, let alone thinking them privately and sulking while they silently judge me. A good essay not only tells a story but answers objections, and raises new questions. Then it dawned on me that this is no ordinary essay. I’m just telling my story and I have nobody to answer to but myself and whatever I consider to be my higher power. This isn't to be printed in literary journals, or be used for educational purposes.
I’m a writer, and by default I crave to constantly tell my story, what I go through and to show a fraction of what it is like to be a transgender person in the 21st century. For the next few days I called in sick to work via text message because I had no voice. I learned that I had an unbelievably painful rib cage, a sore throat and I was bleeding out of my other end. I eventually went to the doctor and found that I had broken ribs, and had gonorrhea of the throat. And so began courses of antibiotics after antibiotics combined with weeks that I called in sick to work. I'd go in for a day or two and the pain became so unbelievably agonizing that I almost passed out. My cover story was that I fell on the ice, and had strep throat. I didn't have the emotional energy to deal with the reality of my circumstances. Let alone answer millions of unwarranted questions that would no doubt shrink me, myself esteem and diminish me to the point I no longer wanted to exist.
I feel little to no guilt for lying about my circumstances that happened in January because truth be known I wouldn't have been able to defend myself, and go through what I was going through. Soon I headed home to live with my parents. I couldn't live in my home anymore. The idea of going back to that room where things had happened made me sick to my stomach. I slept in a lazy boy chair for weeks and would spend most of my time with my parents. Never at any time telling anyone the truth. I didn't even tell my best friend until April when I could barely get the words out. It was comforting to hear her daughter say that she never believed my 'cover story' because it didn't add up. She too was a survivor of rape and said, she could recognize the signs/symptoms of what I was going through.
I lost my job, my house, and a few friends along the way but most of all I lost a part of me that was carefree about sharing my body. Now even the idea of having sex with a stranger frightens me beyond belief. I have to be drunk to even ponder the idea. It took me a half a year to tell you part of my story, a fraction of the lies, and let you into my truth. Some of you will betray that and leave negative or judgmental comments. Others will say them in private messages or think them in the simple protections of your home behind a keyboard. I’m prepared to be judged. My self-esteem has grown immensely since the experience and so has my confidence. I don't know why it took such a horrific experience to bring out my inner warrior but here we are. Never the same again.
I hope to find a job soon, or return to school. A choice that I will make in the coming few days. I would apologize for lying the last 6 months but that would be a fake apology. I needed to protect myself and I’m not sorry. I will faithfully always remain, your friend despite what you choose to do with the truth, now that it is known.
-Savannah Veronica Jackson
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