My Dream Job: Part Three

My Dream Job: Part Three

Hello and welcome to Raped 25 Years. At this time, I share with you my journey to heal from sexual assault and abuse. Don’t forget to stay to the end, in order to enjoy my gem of positivity.

This is the third and final part in this small series. Here I end the glimpse into my “dream job” experience. In this part of the series, there are particularly graphic and vivid recollections. I offer no apology. It is my life I am sharing with you. I have lived it.

I found out I was four months pregnant. It happened when I was hit on the head and viciously raped by Bob. The dates matched. In another particularly savage physical assault from Alex, I was thrown to the ground, beaten and kicked brutally. I lost the baby. I was scared, I needed to become invisible at work.

I collapsed at work. It was a result of my efforts to remove myself from the horrendously traumatic situation that my life had become. I was now diagnosed with anorexia nervosa, I was granted sick leave from work. It was during this period of “rest” Alex entrapped me in my home and forced me for involuntary sex slavery. Before going back to work, I made a stand against Alex. He stabbed me just below my throat. But he left. I returned to my “dream job”.

I had been moved to a position where I moved around, working on all the company’s farms. And things went from bad to worse. Every farm had someone who took what they wanted from me — physically, emotionally, mentally. I was even urinated on as a daily occurrence.

On a big farm the assistant manager took me into the farm office. I was made to watch pornography on the work computer with him. That particular farm also had five permanent farm hands (a man I will refer to as Ralph) and the rest of his gang. They often snuck up on me. The men would gang rape and torture me at work. They hurt me in unbearable unspeakable ways. They had  me in constant fear.

 I told the doctor the men at work were brutally and traumatisingly raping me. He told me to not be so ridiculous. “Women can’t be forced to have sex if they keep their legs together”. I didn’t speak up again. My eating disorder diagnosis spiralled out of control.

One day Ralph and the workers snuck up on me and four  of them pinned me down. Ralph had a piece of poly pipe. He said I needed to bleed from my vagina and uterus. They didn’t want me getting pregnant. In the pain, fear and horror of that brutally cruel and unprecedented attack, my mind just went black. 

I regained my senses. The men were gone. I was in enormous pain and bleeding. Thankfully it was home time. I had trouble walking. The pain was unbearable. I managed to clock off and got to my car. I drove home with my eyes mostly shut. Searing ropes of agony wracked my fragile self. I lost the twins I had been carrying. 

At my next appointment with the doctor  I agreed to go in an eating disorder unit. Anything to get away from work. I couldn’t just quit. I would feel weak to quit. Like I was telling the perpetrators of my nightmare they had won. I refused to let those vile beasts claim that honour. I was fearful of losing that steady job. I knew I could not stay. So I went to hospital. All I had wanted was to get my work done but I was never to return to that “dream job”. 

The abiding effects of the traumas described in this series are many. The nightmares and flashbacks continue to this day. There is the shattering of my sense of trust in people, especially men. There is the inability to find safety and security in a loving sexual relationship. Heartbreaking too, is the forever living side effect of having been made reproductively barren. 

The anonymous quote I found for this post, I feel sums the series up beautifully:

“Always defend your right to heal at your own pace. You are taking your time. You are allowed to take your time.”

Although it was not my choice to be traumatically abused in the workplace, it did happen. Bit by bit, over time. I now need to allow myself  the time to heal. And you do too.

Thank you for taking this walk with me in my path of healing. Feel free to leave a comment on how you are allowing yourself time to heal. It may just help another reader in their journey. And until next time,  breathe - and believe.