Content Warning: Description of r*pe and after affects, mention of r*pe, abuse, assault, an*l sex
Click to enlarge gallery images of screen shots – our web skills still suck (sorry).
Before I begin, I just wanna shout out all my fellow r*pe, abuse and assault survivors. As someone who has lived through r*pe and abuse at the hands of three different men as well as a tonne of sexual assaults, harassment and aggression, I deeply feel your pain. Whoever you are, I hope you’re finding ways to survive and heal. Your feelings and experiences are valid and real, and you CAN get through this shit. Fuck the dumbass system and fuck the dumbass piece of shit humans who caused you pain.
For anyone else reading this, I want you to take a second to acknowledge how hard it really is for survivors to do shit like this. I was r*ped in the summer of 2015. I couldn’t face what had happened until the summer of 2016, when I finally got the courage to google the definition of ‘r*pe’ in UK law. This was after a long process of googling shit like “If ______ happens is it consensual?”, dancing around what I knew deep down was a straight up violation. When I had the facts, in black and white, staring back at me, is when I couldn’t deny it anymore. It took me months after that to even be able to say the words “I. Was. R*ped.” out loud without feeling completely uncomfortable – associating ‘r*pe’ with yourself and your life is not easy. It’s fucking surreal.
In September 2016, after months of wishing someone would put me in a coma, I eventually took myself to the doctor, and said the words out loud. The first time ever saying such a thing, face to face, with a complete stranger. I couldn’t say it without crying. She referred me to get counselling at the North London R*pe Crisis. It was another 4 and a half months before I could get an appointment. During those 4 and a half months, I ended up dropping out of my masters degree for a year because I hated being alive so much that I would just cry all day for no reason. I also left Radar during this time. So yeah, as you can imagine, dealing with r*pe, sexual harassment and billion pound Sports Direct NDAs all at the same time is not the one.
It was in February 2017 that I finally got counselling. Over a year and a half after the r*pe took place. That’s over a year and a half of being in denial, not being able to talk about it with anyone, and only just being able to say those words out loud. The counselling took a further 5 – 6 months. I had an appointment around the 2 year anniversary of my r*pe, where I realised just how long it had taken over my life for. It was the counselling that gave me a space to speak my truth, out loud, for one hour a week. This is the ONLY reason that I can speak about it now. I’ve been working hard and fucking practising.
I’ve had access to crucial services to help me do this. Not everybody does, and not everybody is at this point in their healing. Additionally: everybody heals differently. For me, its through communication and expression. For others, who knows. So please don’t assume that just because people don’t mention what’s going on with them, that there’s nothing wrong. Please always check up on your friends anyway, because it’s nice to know that someone IS thinking about you.
It’s been 3+ years now, since my r*pe happened, and I’ve been thinking about it this WHOLE. FUCKING. TIME. I’ve actually tried to write about it so many times I can’t count, but it was always too painful. However, since the launch of this site, I’ve become more empowered than ever before – so the other day, I thought I would test the waters to see what happens and how I felt saying his name out loud, publicly. I outed my r*pist online.
I began by posting his name, and what he did, in my Instagram story. The short version is: his name is Yusuf, aka Rara Fatale, aka Riz, or whatever the fuck he goes by now. He started the label/collective Gang Fatale, with Neana (who’s also associated with night slugs). We had a consensual experience which quickly turned non-consensual when he decided that he would shove his d*ck up my ass in the moment with no lube, no condom, and no fucking permission. He didn’t give me a chance to protest, he didn’t ask if I was ok, and the joke is, we’d been speaking for a month and I’d said multiple times that anal is not my fucking thing. He knew exactly what the fuck he was doing.
Let’s take a second. To acknowledge. I just fucking said it. I just said it online, to whoever the fuck follows me. 3 years ago, I couldn’t even say it to myself. Hard work and looking after yourself – it really pays off.
Posting a story made me feel more confident, so I then posted about it in Classical Trax. Then I posted it on Twitter. I didn’t try to make a big deal out of it, I just wanted to see – what would happen? Would anyone notice? What would they say? Writing a Tweet, just leaving it there. There’s something so funny about it. Nobody seemed to even clock on. No big deal was made. But it was, and still is, there. And now it’s here too. I outed my r*pist and nothing really happened. I’m still the fuck here, chilling, staying hydrated, getting a tan. Life goes on.
HOWEVER. If you post shit online – people do see it, and it does get shared around, even if just behind the scenes. To me, this is cajj. If I put shit online feel free to share, I wouldn’t publicise it if that wasn’t the case. So let’s talk about what happened next: my r*pists label co-founder, Neana, messaged me on Instagram, through the Gang Fatale page.
He didn’t do this out of nowhere. And he didn’t do it just because he’d obviously seen my posts. He did it to apologise for his own past actions. The backstory here is: last year, when I finally told a newer friend of mine what happened to me, they posted in their Instagram story saying that Gang Fatale had a r*pist. They did it on a whim, feeling angry and defensive of me. They @’d Gang Fatale. They didn’t give a fuck. That’s why I love them. It wasn’t the right time though, so we discussed it and they took it down. But not before Neana saw it, and this was his reaction:
He was a gaslighting ass piece of shit. He obviously hadn’t for a second considered that it might be true, or even the possibility that my friend could have been talking about their own experience. My friend did not message him later that day. Fuck that shit. Fast forward to now, 2018, I had to come back and bite man in the ass because that’s the type of bitch I am. When I said my r*pists name online, I also said Neana’s. I always keep the receipts. This time, man slid in my DMs with a very different tone:
I thought for a while what I should do about this. How should I react? What do I say? What even are my feelings right now? I was triggered as hell being messaged by my r*pists’ mate through their label’s page – don’t forget that in the DJ community, everyone knows everyone, and It’s been 3 years of me seeing these pricks on Boiler Room. Seeing these pricks on NTS. Seeing these pricks making money and getting a fanbase, profiting through my fucking trauma. Seeing these pricks living life, everything being cool for them, while I wanted to fucking die every single goddam day, because I still can’t even go to the damn toilet to take a shit without re-living the physical pain he caused me – and that’s not even the tip of the iceberg when it comes to how gross the effects of forced anal are. It wasn’t just pain in the moment – it was pain for ages after. It was still painful when I took myself to the sexual health clinic and had to stick a swab up in the same fucking place to make sure I hadn’t caught anything from the wasteman. Can you imagine how sick I felt? How sick I still feel writing this?
I’m not even gonna talk now, because I can’t believe I just said that either. I’m just gonna place my reply below:
When dickheads come to me to try apologise, I always wanna test them. I always wanna see if they’re real. So I always suggest action they can take to show they really care. I’ve experienced too many non-apologies and too many gaslighting assholes at this point to just say “hehe don’t worry it’s fine lol”. It’s not fucking fine. Change your fucking dumb ass attitudes, because they’re just as dangerous as your piece of shit mate’s actions. The world is not gonna change for the better if we ALL as individuals make no effort at all. Actions speak louder than words, especially when you’re way more privileged than the person you’re apologising to. It shouldn’t be my job as the gay brown female r*pe victim here, to undo the toxic masculinity in your straight cis male social circles. Can I catch a fucking break please? Can you help with some of the work so I can focus on healing?
Apparently not, because this *Danny Dyer voice* TWAT straight up aired me. Here was our last correspondence:
LOL. I mean, what else can I really say? This is so typical of the shit people like me deal with every damn day in this stupid ass dick sucking industry. For a second, I thought he would actually make that statement, as it was his own idea. For a second, I thought there would be a breakthrough. For a second, I thought there were some men who actually had the balls to stand up and take responsibility for their actions and privileges. For that second, I was almost as ignorant as their dumb asses. I’ve done my bit. The ball is in your court now, asshole.
*Destiny’s Child – Survivor plays me out* (but bun Kelly’s part cus I’m not better than that 😈)
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