I had never thought about the concept of secondary assault until I read Aphrodite Madaskis's book last year. Actually, that isn't quiet accurate. I felt the pain of secondary assault but never framed it clearly until I read Aphrodite Madakis. It never crystalized. Therefore, I never gave it the weight that it deserved. After reading about secondary assault and having it named, that pain had a name and a setting. For me, fifty years passed!! yes, fifty years and oddly, via the Web, I reconnected with my old boyfriend...Mr. Secondary Assault. He began by apologizing for his behavior fifty years earlier. He had said he had often thought about me and wondered what had happened to me. I was stunned that he every gave me a thought
In 1967, after a party at my boyfriend's house, my boyfriend and I went to bed and had sex. His parents were away. My boyfriend left the room, a party hanger on, came in the room, locked the door and raped me. When he released me, I was hysterical. My boyfriend took me home, told my mother that we had been in a car accident to explain my battered face and disheveled appearance. I had been so crazy about him.
I was angry, confused and a few days later, when I talked to my boyfriend, he told me that if I told anyone or reported it, that he would have everyone at the party swear that they all had sex with me and that it was consensual. I just collapsed inside. I was done in by his final treatment of me but I didn't have enough strength to say or do anything. His father was a rich attorney and they lived in a beautiful, rustic farmhouse. When we reconnected, fifty years later, my boyfriend was afraid if I pressed charges, his father, or he would be in trouble, scandal, at least. After that, he didn't contact me, didn't call to see how I was, nothing. A few months later he and a friend packed up his car and moved from Penna to California.
At the time, I had confided in a friend who was an attorney and I told my boyfriend that I had talked with him. My boyfriend said that my friend/attorney had called his father, who was a very prominent attorney, and told him my story to try to impress his father. I was further disappointed that my friend had betrayed my confidence. For fifty years, I accepted that story as truth.
Fifty years later, when my boyfriend and I reconnected, I learned the truth. I learned that my boyfriend had made that up. So for fifty years, I had believed that my friend had betrayed me.
Anyway, it was great reconnecting and getting to look at that event and my old boyfriend again. He apologized. We e-mailed for about six months. Fifty years earlier, I felt so devastated, beaten, sad, alone.
During the fifty years, I built a life. I have a wonderful husband and I am happy. It took a great therapist and a lot of work but I survived and thrived. I could look at my old boyfriend with clarity. He was gorgeous fifty years ago. I was so enthralled with his looks, his family, yes...his wealth.
Fifty years later, he was much less important to me. He was not particularly impressive. He had not done much given all his opportunities. He did not seem to have grown into a better person. He seemed to me to be lacking. He seemed to me to be a person who could have been so much but had just kind of remained. He never married. He moved from California back to the area where we lived. For years when I thought about him, I had assumed that he would have soared to remarkable heights. He had not.
Edited by Sutton, 18 May 2016 - 01:24 PM.