I’m turning fifty in a week and a half, and battling the anniversary of the rape, which has always brought on my dread, anxiety and depression at the beginning of summer. For no reason, other than driving the route from the stoplight to Holiday Market, it popped into my mind. Imagining Matt walking in the middle of the night back and forth. There was a considerable distance from Matt's house to where he knew I laid, passed out and intoxicated. I believed Matt and Billy walked to Becky's from LWW. I was so intoxicated by the time they arrived the first time, at the party, how would I have known? That was a long walk. Almost 4 miles. At night. We were kids. We weren't old enough to drive. They also had to cross the highway. There was no gas station there back then. I don't remember it being there, at least. And he would have had to throw Billy off on the way back. Billy was most likely not cool with his best friend being a rapist. I hope. Billy also lived in Lake Wildwood, further in than Matt did. So Matt must have pretended to go into his house, waited until Billy walked down the road out of ear shot, then poof. He jumped on his bike and returned to Becky's house somewhere between 12 and 2 AM to assault me. Now that I have done a more thorough investigation, I believe this to be the only logical explanation. It makes so much more sense. For 34 years, I always thought how dedicated he was to raping! Walking back and forth. That is a too much walking, then raping then walking. Just like that, my mind is blown. I wasn't a bike rider, I was too clumsy and I lived on steep dirt and gravel roads. I didn't think like someone who lived on pavement. Thank Google and the internet. There is some relief in understanding more. It was a crime of opportunity. It's funny how our brains try to piece together things we don't remember. I was just a random, passed-out, helpless, wasted person. Jenny placed me in Tyler’s bed to protect me. Matt returned to Becky’s home where he was kicked out by Jenny earlier because Jenny found him pulling my pants off, in Becky's room. He had carried me into the room. I don't remember any of it. Dawit and Tony or Ben apologized to me later, for not stopping him. That's how I know he carried me. Jenny kicked him out of the house. I believe she told me that he walked home with Billy. And she moved me into Tyler’s room, and locked the door from the inside. She went upstairs and passed out on Becky's parent's bed. Jenny made sure I was safe. Matt came in through Tyler’s window. It was probably open because it was springtime, the beginning of summer, perfect weather. I can not remember any signs of forced entry. I told Matt, “No,” just a week or two before. He tried to physically push himself on me at my house when Jenny and BIlly were having sex in my parent’s bed. My parents were gone. They were always gone. I had to fight him off me for an hour at my house when Billy brought him over the first time. I couldn’t stand him, It was a game to him. The entire scenario was insane. He just walked up to me without a word and put his hands on me, and he tried to hold me down. Jenny and Billy were out of earshot, enjoying one another and I was fighting off a high school wrestler and footfall player. Even though I was small and thin, I didn't have a problem keeping him off of me. I was mean and unafraid. My mother was physically abusive my whole childhood, fighting back was not a problem and if I had to I would have died before giving in. I hated Matt. I was practically a virgin, I had only had sex 1 or 2 times with a friend, someone I grew up with and loved and was dating, and we left it as friends. Matt was a stranger to me, we never spoke. We had nothing to say to one another. He was the best friend of my best friend's boyfriend. He had creepy, ugly, dead eyes. I can recognize that look in anyone now. Rapist eyes. Serial killer eyes. Sociopath eyes. that time. Matt was also dating a friend of mine named Paulene. A week or two later when he had the opportunity to rape me he took it. I was passed out, inebriated beyond any measure. No fight. Jenny found him pulling my pants off in Becky’s room earlier that evening. She had probably just had sex on Becky's parent's bed with Billy, they dated for almost a year, and when she came downstairs she found me in Becky's bed with Matt attempting to pull my pants off. She moved me, and locked me in Tyler’s room knowing that he was inappropriate and being a psychotic rapist. Jenny kicked him out of the house because she didn't trust him. Dawit, Tony or Ben, I know at least two of my three besties from Ready Springs were in the downstairs living room. They were afraid to stop Matt from carrying me into Becky's bedroom. He was older and scary to them. They were still in 8th grade. I was a freshman in high school, I had just turned 15 years old. It was 1989. Becky left a key at her house so Jenny and I could hang out there when she and her family went on vacation. I didn't think getting wasted was a big deal, because I was there with friends that I loved and trusted. Jenny, Tony, Ben, and Dawit. I didn't know Jenny invited Billy and he brought Matt. I was falling down before they even arrived. I was full-board, smash-shit wasted. I drank a six pack of whatever I brought. I might have weighed 90-100 lbs. I talked my neighbor into to giving me a ride there, and I gave him money to buy me alcohol. I lied and told him Becky's parents were home. “Of course we’re being safe, thanks for the ride.” I drank all of my alcohol and then found Becky’s dad’s liquor cabinet. I drank whatever I could find. I have no idea why drinking this way is acceptable in American society. But I did it, as often as I could. I started falling down. and accidentally broke Becky's dad's butterfly collection. It fell, or I may have possibly dropped it. That's one of the last things I remember until I woke up being raped by Matt. I probably had alcohol poisoning. Matt repulsed me on a regular day. He just saw an opportunity and took it. I had trouble processing the mutilation. Even though my body was gutted, with irredeemable scarring and other damage, it was my mind that took the brunt of the violation. I shamed myself for letting my guard down. And I told no one. Even though I washed the bloody sheets in the morning and left them in the dryer, I wasn't me anymore. I was a broken, shattered soul, one that you read about in the Native American stories. One who has to spend the rest of their lives finding the puzzle pieces and putting them back together. Then I walked home in what I label robot mode. Every year at the same time, for 34 years it comes on again. Auto pilot, doing what the world expects of me, zero feelings. It is the anniversary of a memory that implanted into my physical body. The weather, this beautiful, perfect sunshine and springtime, in California, triggers the memory in my cells of when my power was stolen from me. The following weeks after the rape are a blur, I equate it to a black out that lasted years. It is PTSD. I read a book that explains it well, called the “Body keeps the Score.” It always comes back. Every year, about this time, at the end of May, I feel cold and distant and reminisce about the injustice. And I try to piece everything together, because I can't remember, only the worst of it. It eats at me. I'm trying to heal. I had a dream that I did this, opened myself up to sharing everything. It's time. I need no justification. There is no statute of limitations on the truth. #memotherfuckingtoo I apologized ten years ago, to Becky, for losing our friendship, and for any damage we may have done to her home. We met for dinner right before our 20 year high school reunion. She lives out of town. After the (assault) gathering at her house, she got into trouble for letting Jenny and me into the house when her family was gone. I heard this from John B, Jenny's older brother, who was best friends with Tyler, Becky's brother. The house was was probably still messed up when everyone left. I'm sure the boys on the couch and abandoned Jenny didn't clean as well as Becky's family did. And the last thing I remembered before blacking out was breaking glass. Her parents knew we were there and called our parents. Becky and I just stopped hanging out. Our tight group of friends from our small junior high had expanded to the enormous high school. It was 10 times the size of our tiny school, we had other opportunities. Beck and I still said hello in passing, during school. I became self destructive and shut out most of my old friends. I already had a difficult time processing the abusive childhood neglect, and after the assault, I became worse. Friends were wise to go their own way. I told Becky about the rape, and why I abused so many drugs for the rest of my high school years. Becky revealed that Matt tried to attack her too, at a camping trip at the Deer Creek Falls. A group of us used to camp and party there. Becky shared that she was passed out in a tent when Matt found her and dragged her by her hair away from the other campers, over rocks. He might have been attempting to take her out of earshot. Kristen, our mutual friend, caught him, and chased him away. She helped get Becky to safety. Thank God for Kristen. I took the blame for my assault from the beginning. It was my fault because I chose to be wasted. I handicapped myself and allowed myself to be in a vulnerable position. But I was fifteen, just turned fifteen, like a week or less fifteen. I was a child. He was maybe a year older than me, but the same grade, and an athlete. He was strong enough to carry my dead drunk body from the couch into a bedroom. Matt’s girlfriend was the first person I told, right after it happened, Paulene questioned me in disbelief, “Why would he rape you when he and I have sex all the time?” Maybe that’s something you should ask your boyfriend, the rapist. I spray painted "RAPIST" on his locker in red. I don't remember doing it, but I remember it being there, and that I did it. He saw me watching him when he was quietly scrubbing it off. Matt's cousin, Troy, found me at school after it happened. He told me that Matt told him everything. Troy cried real tears, and he apologized to me for his cousin. I remember Troy saying the words, but I was already gone, my body was in robot mode, and my spirit was wandering. PTSD trauma was already in full effect. I got drunk at another party and kicked and dented the door of his car, when he got one. The next person I told was Mike, my first boyfriend. He acted empathetic, but he didn't really care. We only dated for about six months. I needed therapy, not a love affair. After high school, he ended up moving in with Matt, for college in Chico. Ouch. What a betrayal that was. I assumed he was either fine with rape, rapists, or that he thought I was lying or just forgot. Either way, our friendship is void. Knowing and condoning is unacceptable. I finally told my first love, Bob, when we were on acid, I was nineteen. I couldn't stand being sexual, or certain types of physical touch, especially being in the dark. I would freeze and become violent, if he surprised me by a caress without verbal warning first. "I'm going to touch you, now," kept him from an elbow to the face. How romantic. Bob was kind and persistent. I trusted him. I told him everything. Bob betrayed my trust and told my best friends about Matt's assault. He told Roy, Jerry, Jeff and to my horror, Jenny. He said he couldn't handle that kind of information on his own. Understandable. It was like a ricochet of trauma quietly bouncing through my psyche for years. After I scream cried and freaked out on Bob, I was interrogated by Jenny. Jenny didn't believe it. She didn't hear it from me, she heard it from Bob. And she remembered locking the door. I saw it in her eyes, it was too unbelievable. And I was so wasted. My memory must have been wrong. I would have told her. It broke her heart to think that I would tell Bob before her. But she didn't try to touch me in the dark. I was ashamed. And it actually felt a little bit better to tell someone, whether they wanted to believe or not. I wasn't alone anymore. A year later Bob and I ran into Matt at a party. Bob beat Matt’s ass in the driveway. That was a pivotal moment, something cracked inside. I was afraid, I was embarrassed, I wanted Bob to stop. But then an acquaintance ran up during the fight, to stop Bob’s blows to Matt’s face. Roy, one of my best friends, was with us and he held Jerry, Matt's friend, back. He explained that the beating was necessary. Jerry ran up to me and screamed in my face, “Get over it! It was five years ago!” I’m still not “over it,” and it's been 34 years now, so Jerry can eat shit. I guess you can't really understand something like this until it happens to you. That was the first time I stopped hiding from what Matt did. I allowed the rage to course through me. I’m not a rapist. What happened is not my fault. Why have I been protecting my rapist for 34 years? I feel terrible that it happened. I felt responsible, because I was careless. I was just a kid that thought alcohol was a clever way to numb our existence. Rape is a criminal offense that is rarely prosecuted. Because the spotlight shines on the victim. We don't want a spotlight, we want to hide, we want to die, we want them to die. But instead, we have to prove that we're not "deserving" of a sexual attack. That's how our society rolls. "But was she wearing a short skirt?" "Did she have make up on?" That doesn't justify anything. Even if you're dressed to the nines, with tons of make up you don't deserve to be assaulted. I was wearing jeans without make up for the record. I'm not worried about hurting anyone's feelings. Just relating facts, not my feelings. This is going to piss off, and/or trigger some. Matt is popular. People like his pretending to be human façade. He's charming, a bit like Ted Bundy. When Facebook pop ups, “People You May Know," he always is the top of the list. We have too many mutual friends. Yes, I know him. He's the person that broke my heart and I never even liked him. Seeing his face makes me physically ill. My stomach, my solar plexus chakra becomes misaligned and I want to vomit. He also plays the drums in a close friend’s band. Maybe now Emile will know why I never attend their shows. Sunshine said Matt saved a show a few years ago, when Jason, another drummer, fell off his stool while playing (he had a stroke). Yep, a real hero. "I fucking hate Matt." I shocked Sunshine and Jake, they both looked at me like I was insane. May the venom that spewed from my lips be released now, because I don't want to hold it in myself anymore. I forgive Matt. He'll always be sociopathic rapist, but I want it off of me, out of me, released. Any violation that he put on me, I give back to him. Oops, that sounds like a curse, not forgiveness. Whelp, baby steps. We'll see in time. If I keep saying that I forgive out loud, maybe I'll mean it. Or not. I tried. If you don’t want your name dragged in the mud, stop raping people. To my friends that came clean after being raped, thank you, for teaching me to be brave. Better late than never. We need to support one another and stop defending the guilty. Our US Supreme Court Judge is a rapist. I guess that’s one of the triggers for my “outing” mine. I’m tired of hiding. I did nothing wrong. Unfriend me if you must. I’m done protecting people who don’t deserve my shield. MORAL OF THIS STORY: There are people out there that prey upon your inebriation. Always have people you love and trust, and that are sober or able bodied enough watch out for you, when you imbibe. Be a Kristen, not a Mike. And NEVER a Matt. The year my soul was stolen 1988/1989 ![]() My deduction: Matt walked home from Becky's with Billy, (when Jenny kicked him out). They might have gotten a ride there, but I believe they walked. He must have pretended to go home, waited for Billy to leave and go toward his own home. Billy lived about a 1/4 mile away. Billy wasn't an idiot. Then Matt rode his bike back to Becky's, to assault me, and then rode his bike back home afterwards. He traveled 3.7 miles by foot, found his victim, and then during the 3.7 mile trek home, he planned his attack. He then took the same route by bike, logically, alone. He traveled 14.8 miles, total, half by foot and half by bicycle.
I hope Billy wasn't with him, or didn't know about Matt's return, because that would make him an accomplice. He seemed like a decent person. He has been charmed by a sociopathic rapist, but so have so many of our mutual friends. This was a year before any of us had vehicles or driver's licenses. Matt's dedication to raping passed out girls. is terrifying, especially if you have young ones. True crime solved.
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