Sunday, August 7, 2016

Strength Through Tragedy


I am writing to you from a little cafe just outside of a small village in Crete… a village I had no plans to visit, and I was actually supposed to leave Greece at the end of May. That picture above is me in Sissi, another little village in Crete where I was doing a WorkAway. Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written, but, as so often happens, my plans have gotten completely changed and something actually quite serious happened this time that made me make that change. I have spent almost the last three months trying to figure out if I should, and then how, to share this story with you…  So here it goes…
Trigger Warning: Violence, Rape
My plan was to spend May in Greece visiting friends, with a short trip to an island, and then move on to Kurdish Iraq to volunteer there. I was thinking about going to Crete, but I was fully flexible on which island I would go to, I never know what opportunities will come up. I met a friend who lives on the island of Chios and he invited me to come there for a week of beach camping, which sounded great, so I agreed and was on a boat a few days later.
The first couple of days we spent lounging on the beach, I was doing yoga while he was fishing, or we would go for a drive to visit his friends around the island. But then he had some stuff come up and was unable to spend much time with me, so he took me to stay in his flat near the city of Chios to spend my time there (mostly) alone until I was ready to leave. Of course I didn’t mind at all being left alone, so I spent my days wandering around the city or lounging on nearby beaches. I had met a few people, but no one particularly interesting. One day I was sitting in a little square and an older man asked me for the time. I was bored, and so began chatting with him and his friend, and we were having a nice time. We drank a little wine, and then the man who had asked me for the time offered to take me to a nearby beach for another drink, and I accepted the invitation.
We had a nice time out for a drink overlooking a lovely beach, and then around four or five in the afternoon we decided to go back into the city to meet up with his friend. That is the last thing I remember until I woke up in the middle of the night naked, confused, and with a very sore hand in the bed of his friend. I am not going to go into full detail here, but this is a story I need to share.
I asked for my clothes back, and didn’t get them. I asked to leave and he said he would take me back to the city in the morning. I was terrified. I tried to run away, stark naked, but we were in the mountains, it was pitch black and far away from other people, so I did not get far. I was ahead of him, but after falling down a few times he caught up with me. He convinced me to come back to the house, promising me my clothes and that I would be ok. I didn’t get my clothes, and I tried to run again. This time he was getting annoyed with me and brought me a little more forcefully back to the house, but gave me my shorts. I tried to run again, but still I could not find my way to a road, and after falling a few more times he was on top of me again, kissing me. I tried to fight him off of me, but to no avail. When he was trying to kiss me again, I bit his lip as hard as I could which did nothing but royally piss him off. He began beating me fiercely, and dragged me back into his house. I was begging him to let me go, but he refused. He told me if I was not such a good girl, and he didn’t love me like a sister, he would kill me. But because I was such a good girl, he would only rape me. Crying and terrified, I begged him not to rape me, but he did. I tried to fight, but I knew my life was on the line and I couldn’t run, so I had to be careful.
After it was over, I knew the only way I would get back into the city alive was to play nice. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone, and waited as patiently as I could for the sun to rise, then managed to convince him to take me into the city and let me go home.
I made my way across the city, limping from a sprained ankle, crying, bruised and bloody until I found a little spot on the beach to sit and think for a minute. It was really early, but I called a couple of friends to try and figure out my next move. The man who did it was a gypsy, and while I have some good friends who are gypsies, I am also well aware of how dangerous they can be. If I went to the police, I was risking my life because the other gypsies would know and be looking for me. If I wanted vengeance, I would certainly have found away. I have plenty of friends who would be willing to beat, and possibly even kill, him for what he did to me. But I am not the type for vengeance. I knew, though, that I was not the first girl he had done this to, and I was equally certain I would not be the last if I did not go to the police and get him put behind bars.
I could not walk to the police station, even had I known where it was, as it would have been too dangerous. So I limped into the nearest shop I could find and asked them to call the police for me. They saw my state, gave me some water, and called the police to come get me in an unmarked car.
The next few days were terrifying, and I spent most of them in the police station or in the hospital. They caught the guy who did it, it wasn’t difficult as he spent most days in the square where I met him, but it was still terrifying because I was worried another gypsy would come after me. A brother of a friend from Athens was living in the city, and he came to the hospital the first day, and was consistently in touch to make sure I was ok. The friend I had come there with was around as much as he could be, but his father was ill and he was working so he couldn’t be there as often as I would have liked. Eventually I finished what I had to do with the police, and was free to go back to Athens.

Being home in Athens was such a huge relief. I went back to stay with a dear friend of mine who took fantastic care of me, both physically and mentally. I was surrounded by friends and “family” who were constantly supporting me in every way they possibly could. I tried to cover the wounds and hide my black eye, but was not always successful. I don’t care what people think about me, but the stares were a constant reminder of what happened. With random strangers who inquired about my injuries, I would say it was a motorbike accident, but to my friends I would not lie, even though that would have been easier. Honestly, one of the most difficult parts of recovering from this was handling comments like “I told you to be more careful, why didn’t you listen?” “Have you learned a lesson?” or “Why would you go for a drink with a stranger?”  I know these comments were made out of love and concern, but each one was like another fresh wound opening up. Why was I getting blamed for this? I am careful, I do have a pretty damn good sense for people after being on the road for so long, and above all, when you travel solo, especially with little to no money, your entire life is dependent on meeting strangers, many of whom have become dear friends and “family.” I was so hurt by these comments, I was planning on writing an entire post about the harmful effects of victim blaming.
But now I have decided to write this post from a place of strength and positivity. I truly believe everything happens for a reason. At first I thought maybe the reason was to stop me from going onto the Middle East, or to keep me in Greece for some reason, but now I truly believe it was to save other women. I am strong, I have been raped before, and recovered. I am close to being recovered from this. But the next woman he raped would probably not be so strong… or maybe he would have killed her. It took me years to recover from the first time, but this time I knew I had the ability to recover, and was in the most loving and supportive environment possible. I consider myself lucky it happened in a country where I speak enough of the language to get help, and had all of the support I needed.
I have said for a long time that it doesn’t matter what happens to me, I can be knocked down a thousand times, but I will rise. And I proved that to myself yet again. This was a terrible experience, but I am grateful for it because it reminded me of my strength, reminded me of all of the people around the world who genuinely love me, and I believe it gave me the opportunity to save other women from the same, or worse, fate. So, bring it on. I will keep traveling, keep being open, keep meeting new people. I refuse to stop believing in the goodness of humanity and I refuse to give up this amazing life I have created.
I hope this post can help other women who have been through similar experiences find strength, and I hope it will enlighten everyone else about things that happen all the time. Most women I know, and some men as well, have experienced some form of domestic violence or sexual assault, but many are afraid to speak about it. We need to speak about it, though, men and women, to give power to those of us who have been through it and to take away power from those who commit these acts of violence. If you have experienced domestic or sexual violence, it is okay to say something. Please say something, for yourself and for others. It is NOT your fault. It is your story, and you have the right to be heard. If you have no one to talk to about this, send me a message. We are all in this together.
Peace out and adventure on, I know I will!

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