Friday-10:15am Personal feelings about Kavanaugh hearing

I am listening to our senators right now.  They are each giving their reasons why they plan to vote the way they will later today.  

Yesterday I watched and listened to both interviews.  

The day before this hearing began--Wednesday--on Kate's blog she posted her personal feelings about the "Me, Too" movement.  She usually does not go into controversial topics on her blog, either.  I began a comment...to tell my story...and the following just poured out of me--as is--copied and pasted below.

These days of watching this political, corporate agenda unfold--the past two years--have been distressing on an entirely new level.  Dr. Ford's dignified, calm, heartfelt but stressful testimony.  People not believing her...belittling her.  Repeatedly refusing an FBI investigation to question witnesses and yet using "no evidence" as a reason to discard her truth so they can gain control of the Supreme Court.  Rallying around that angry, defensive, evasive, nervous, boys-will-be-boys innocent virgin who joked about drunkenness...wrote about a devil's triangle in his yearbook (which is two boys and a girl having sex).  The second half of the day turned into a nasty Trump-like circus.  

Was extremely difficult to watch.

I am overwhelmed with sorrow.

I expect they will succeed in the desperate pushing through of Kavanaugh.  I hope I am mistaken.

I fear for our democracy.  

I can hardly wait to vote in November.

Those of you who know me or have followed my blog long enough know this happened to me.  I talked about it before on the blog and saved a copy of that to my other blog.  You can find Love and Rape on my soulcomfort's stories blog.  But I didn't talk about not being believed by the police and them making fun of and belittling me.  I have not talked here about how it affected me and my life.

I know some of you reading right now believe Kavanaugh and support Trump.  I usually do not get into politics on my blog, but I can tell you that I, obviously, do not believe...or support.  I feel that as a woman and as an American they are tearing my heart out and shake me to my core.  Feel free to unfollow me.  

This is my comment from Kate's blog:

I was 17–snatched off the street walking home–crying–from a beach dance. My ex-boyfriend told me to meet him after the dance–turned out his new girlfriend waited in his car while he told me not to show up where he was and look at him like that (broken). I was about three blocks from home–three older guys in a car–the leader grabbed me and dragged me into the back seat. I fought and screamed–he beat my head against the big door handle (older car) until I blacked out (two concussions, two contusions, earring ripped through my earlobe). He told me they were going to kill me. I believed him. They kept the car moving–leader guy raped me. Let me get dressed and then he made the second guy get in the back. They let me get dressed again. Cat and mouse. Driving and driving. Dark. Woods. Leader kept telling me I would be dead soon.

I didn’t realize sex had nothing to do with love–thinking I was going to die anyways–I started talking. About how I knew what it felt like to feel unloved and like nobody cares whether you live or die and how the world looks like such a black place sometimes…about how you can’t take love from somebody…can’t make somebody love you… I don’t remember all I talked about, but I spoke from the heart. I had never been that close to such hate, anger, and emptiness of soul. I didn’t honestly think anyone was going to miss me after they killed me, anyways, so I had nothing to lose. I may as well speak my truth before I go. I know I talked about how I still loved this world, regardless, and believed in the goodness of people…I’m not sure what else. The leader suddenly screamed at me to shut up–(was surprised he listened for so long as he drove and I talked huddled against the back door)–as he turned up the music really loud.

I knew that was all I was going to be able to say, but it did feel good…like a weight lifted…like I had done my best as a human being…the end. At least I had tried to connect with these miserable, lost souls before I left this earth.

The leader was trying to get the last guy in the passenger seat to take his turn. I watched that sandy-haired guy shake his head no…and the leader slugging him as hard as he could with his one free arm–several times. I knew how that felt. But sandy-hair kept shaking his head no. Tears came to my eyes then–as they do now. I was so proud of him. I knew how dangerous the leader was and I knew he wanted them all to be together on this night. Share the ugliness, you know? I wondered what he would later do to sandy-hair.

They ended up driving me back–music blaring–a couple blocks from where they had grabbed me off the street. I was shocked when the leader turned the music down and told me–get out, walk away, do not turn around, keep walking, we know where you live and if you tell anybody we will kill them–and you and your family. I got out and didn’t turn around. I believed them. They had (inadvertently most likely) left me at the end of my own block.

Bloodied, bruised, and a little dizzy…I didn’t go home, though. In a kind of trance (concussions) I automatically headed to the only person I had once thought cared about me–the ex-boyfriend’s. I avoided the streets and carefully made my way through people’s yards, darting across streets when I had to, and when I finally got there I hid in a dark corner of his family’s breezeway. I remember wondering why I was there–remembering he had a new girlfriend. But I just needed a place to hide–like a wounded animal. I’d leave quietly and go home–before the sun came up.

I didn’t realize the ex wasn’t home yet. He found me rocking in the corner making moaning animal sounds. When he turned on the light–I must have looked a shocking sight.

He spent a long time trying to get me to tell him what happened. But I was convinced they would kill him if I told. Finally I did–then he had to gradually convince me to go to the police station down the street. I finally let him walk me down there. I remember how safe I felt walking through the police station doors. (Had grown up being told to trust the police.)

But they didn’t believe me. True–I am, shall we say, a bit on the unique side. (A born flower child before there was such a thing.) I didn’t really realize it for quite a while. I told them everything I told you here and more. How I was glad I had had the intimate boyfriend senior year so that wasn’t my first time…and how glad I was that it had been me and not my little sister or any of my friends. They made me tell them over and over again. (Later it dawned on me how funny they thought it was–me talking to rapists about love was apparently the most amusing.) They insinuated I must have wanted the sex, gone into the car willingly, shouldn’t have been wearing shorts, a tank top and bare feet, or maybe my ex beat me up because he caught me with another guy? I chuckled at the very idea–he wouldn’t have hurt a fly. (My sense of humor is not normal, either, and usually remains during times of crisis.)

That was 50 years ago this past July. The police never believed me. They made me feel like it was somehow my fault. They made me feel small, worthless, and dirty. Reporting to the police–was not something I would ever do again. If the ex hadn’t pushed me to report it I would have done as I had planned–gone home in the predawn, showered, tried to cover up the bruises and blood blisters on my face (leader had a big ring on) with makeup, and never told anyone but maybe my BFF at the time. Not sure I would have even eventually told her. You feel so violated and shocked and scared and worthless and defiled…and why do women usually blame themselves in the first place? It makes no sense. If I had been walking down the street naked that does not give another human being the right to attack me…and how in the world does a crying girl turn a man on? It’s about hate and power. Not sex. You are a thing. You are not a person. Not human. Worthless.

I had other events happen with men–verbal harassment, groping, pinned against walls, fought my way out of cars…and was even date raped a year later. (What happens when you decide to drink away your fears and try to drown the nightmares that steal your sleep–and you get too drunk at a party with those kind of men I will never understand who would screw a corpse if they could…who leap at their chance to take advantage.)

What bothers me the most is the women who don’t believe the victims. The women who automatically assume other women are making it all up…or cannot understand for the life of them why anyone would wait decades to say something. (Very, very few women “make it up”…and only if it is to some kind of great advantage.) Those women who have no more empathy than the men protecting themselves and each other…I’ll never understand them, either, I guess.