Essay on Rape: A Living Nightmare

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Rape: A Living Nightmare Is anyone truly a stranger to nightmares? Has anyone not woken up in a feverish sweat with a racing pulse or pounding heart? Whose eyes have never wildly searched their room for the phantoms of a dream? Now, what if the familiar consolation of learning it was all in your head never came? How do you wake up from a nightmare that is, in fact, a reality? I think I’m getting ahead of myself. What I mean to say is, I was raped, and rape is a nightmare. I am a 19-year-old girl, far too old to think I know everything. I don’t pretend to be an expert on rape. Having known the feel of a cold blade pressed to my side gave me no superior understanding of the crime, only a small scar to remember it by. Thus I…show more content…
From consulting the Oxford English Dictionary it can be ascertained that, in layman’s terms, rape is the act of taking anything by force. Legally, it is carnal knowledge of a person by force and against that person’s will. For hundreds of thousands of women each year, it is a guilt-inducing, fear-instilling, and life-altering experience. To me, it was a loss of control, identity, and worth. In the moment that was that night, and in the night that devoured a thousand moments, I felt myself turn into a statistic. I was part of the grand 25 percent of women who didn’t make it past their teens before crying out for someone to please stop having sex with them. “It was her first fraternity party. The beer flowed freely and she had much more to drink than she had planned. It was hot and crowded and the party spread out all over the house, so that when three men asked her to go upstairs, she went with them. They took her into a bedroom, locked the door and began to undress her. Groggy with alcohol, her feeble protests were ignored as the three men raped her. When they finished, they put her in the hallway, naked, locking her clothes in the bedroom” (Ehrhart 1). “This guy I’m friends with basically dragged me up to the attic, threw me down, and wouldn’t get off of me. Eventually, when he realized how much I was crying and begging him to stop, he stopped” (Bode 26). “He then made me lay on my

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