Rape Is Not Sex, Sex Is Not Rape *TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHEN READING #SurreyBC

This Post WILL Be Triggering For People Who Have Experienced Sexual and Domestic Violence. Please Practice Self Care Before, During, And After Reading.


I feel like people don’t hear me when I say that I hear the shit said behind my back, even though I almost never leave my house. People delight in telling me in one way or another what others think of me, or what they are saying behind my back, and recently it’s come to my attention that there a lot of women who think that I “slept with” their boyfriends, husbands, baby daddies, or fuck buddies.

Some of them are mad that I and I quote “got to BE with, the guy they like.”

Let me help clarify my situation for you.

I WASN’T GIVEN A CHOICE THE NIGHT THEY HIT ME OVER THE HEAD, DRUGGED ME, BEAT ME, AND RAPED ME FOR HOURS. I WASN’T GIVEN A CHOICE WHEN “HE” TRIED TO MURDER ME, AND HIS FRIENDS PULLED HIM OFF OF ME ONLY TO LET ME BE RAPED FOR SEVERAL MORE HOURS.

Now that we have that clear, let’s talk about the difference between SEX and RAPE.

Sex implies consent between two or more people who know what they are doing, and what they want, and they communicate this through conversation, laughter, and moments of adoration and respect. They talk about what works, and what does not. They enjoy each other’s company and actually WANT to be where they are.

RAPE on the other hand requires violence, coercion, abuse, and is incredibly traumatizing.

I did not “Choose” on that fateful particular night to walk into a house and be smashed over the fucking head, I walked in the house and I knew the moment that I saw who was there, that I was in trouble. I also knew there was nothing I could do about it.

I was hit over the head the moment I got to the kitchen counter, and then I was pulled into a bedroom where I was stripped, and zip tied against my will. When “he” was drugging me he called me “X’s piece of ass” and laughed like a hyena on crack, while talking about all the horrible things he was going to do to me.

This was not a choice, it was violent, it was disgusting, it was awful. I begged for my life, I begged for water, I begged for a smoke, I spent the entire night begging and using reverse psychology and a bible filled with lies to save my life.

I woke up the next day with the person who lived in the house wrapped around me as I stretched. He looked at me with disgust as he hurried to get up and asked me if I wanted more “after all that,” as if what I had just gone through had been a fucking choice.

I took a shower, I walked home, I took another shower, I changed my clothes and threw out the ones that I had been stripped of the night before, and then I went to work in brand new clothes and acted like nothing was wrong for months.

I had to sit in the same club and pretend nothing was wrong, I had to keep my mouth shut for years, and it wasn’t until I was arrested in 2017 for having a panic attack at the thought of coming home and having to deal with all the shit of my past came out.

So if you’re mad at me because the guy you liked raped me, YOU NEED TO GET SOME GOD DAMNED FUCKING THERAPY YOU PSYCHO FUCKING LOSER.

Does this post sound angry to you? Good, because it fucking should. Women and men who are raped do not leave the situation feeling good about themselves, they leave feeling abused, traumatized and violated.

There are no candles and fucking rose petals you fucking idiot, there is no careful consideration of how we feel, there is no after care, there is just you, being treated like a piece of garbage, being set on fire inside and out by the absolute revolting sensation of having people you love violate every part of your body, not giving a fuck if you live or die before, during, OR, after.

You want to tell people I’m a cunt, I’m a whore, I’m a bitch, I’m a slut you’re welcome to do that. Just be aware that I am fully keenly aware of the fact that the ONLY reason you’re doing it is because you’re so stupid that you’re romanticizing the worst night of MY entire life, to make yourself feel better about the fact that you hang out with, are in love with, trust, or are related to, a fucking RAPIST.

There are some people going around Surrey saying that I was paid that night, that I was there because I had a contract in which I would do whatever was asked or demanded of me in exchange for money.

  1. That’s a load of bullshit. I was lied to, held against my will, and essentially kidnapped for several hours while grown men beat me, tortured me, laughed at me, spat on me, and raped me.
  2. Even if I HAD been paid for what happened that night, it would never be enough to compensate what was done to me.
  3. I was nearly murdered that night, and at least 2 or 3 men pulled “him” off of me, before allowing me to be raped by OTHER men, throughout the evening.

No one came to save me, no one came to protect me, and by the time anyone DID put an end to what was happening, the sun was already up.

I didn’t choose to be there to be a victim of rape, I was a victim, and I FUCKING HATE THAT GOD DAMNED WORD, because these were men I considered friends. These were men that I loved, these were men I both respected and trusted, naïve as I was.

Now let me ask you:

If you’re pissed at me because I “slept with,” you fucking idiot, the guy you like, how pissed are you going to be when I tell you it wasn’t the first time? He used to come into my room when I was 15, many times over, with all his friends, because grown ass men broke into my room and raped me for night after night.

Did I deserve that? Or is it different because they LITERALLY lifted the balcony door off the tracks to get into my fifteen year old bedroom.

The men who raped me that night – or at least several of them – have been raping me for most of my fucking life. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t want it, I didn’t even really know how to say what “rape was” until about three years ago.

So if you’re going to sit there talking about what a cunt “I” am just remember that every single one of those men who raped me, went home and fucked you, and every time they fuck you, they’re thinking about the night they got away with gang-raping a Brown woman.

EVERY time they press into you, they are thinking about me, and THAT’s what’s getting them off and do you know how I know that? because rape is not about sex, it’s not about love, it’s not about respect, it’s about POWER.

Most men who rape other people – and even women for that matter – feel like they have no real power of their own, so while you’re making them like shit for not talking to you or hanging out with your friends, just think about the fact that somewhere in his mind, he’s thinking about all the horrible things he did to people like me, to get through putting up with your INSANE bullshit.

Yeah, that’s the guy you’re dating, and for the record? you can fucking keep him.

My person doesn’t rape women, my person doesn’t treat women like shit, my person treats all people with respect, love, kindness, generosity, friendship, ally ship. MY person actually gives a fuck about more than the size of his own dick, and MY person isn’t worried about what anyone in this two spit pathetic back water racist homophobic bullshit town thinks of me or them.

Y’all wanna sit there and talk trash about rape victims y’all can go right the fuck head, but just remember we’re talking about you too, and we’re not liking what we see.

Eventually more women in Surrey BC are going to start coming forward about the gang rape they’ve faced, what the fuck are you going to do then?

To all the sister Warriors out there, I fucking love you, don’t give up.

Devon J Hall

Author: Devon J Hall

Devon J Hall is a thirty-eight-year-old Writer and Author from Surrey, British Columbia by way of Calgary Alberta. She lives with three cats, one mother, and is addicted to coffee, cigarettes, and weed, not necessarily in that order.

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