I fought and kicked and struggled. I did everything I could. But he was a powerful and driven man. There was nothing I could do.
When it was over, he got up and crawled out of the tent, leaving me crying on the floor.
*
Over the next nine months, Brian David Mitchell would rape me every day, sometimes multiple times a day. He would torture and brutalize me in ways that are impossible to describe, would starve and manipulate me like I was an animal. Many times I would think, Okay, this is the bottom. Things couldn’t get any worse.
But whenever I began to think that way, I would quickly find out that I was wrong.
9.
Broken
After he crawled out of the tent, I lay alone. The sun was up, but it was still early and the thick trees provided heavy shade, keeping it cool inside. I lay on the dirty blankets, curled in a fetal position, the linen robe pressed against my waist.
I felt disgusting. I felt sick. I felt like someone had crushed my very soul.
I thought about my family and what they were doing. Did they realize that I was gone yet? Were they looking for me? Was there a chance I might be found? I thought about my sister, Mary Katherine, and what she must be feeling. I thought about my brothers. I thought about my mom and dad. Then a terrible idea seeped into my soul: If they knew what the man had done to me, would they still want me?
The question cut me to the core.
Would they still love me? Would they want me? Or would they feel like, “We don’t want her anymore”?
I know that sounds crazy, but that’s exactly how I felt.
I didn’t feel like a whole person anymore. I felt like I was … like not even half, like I was just a portion of a human being. I just felt filthy and disgusting. I felt like, Who could ever want me back? Who could ever want to talk to me? Who would ever be my friend?
I don’t know what the exact definition of despair is, but if it is feeling as if your life is over, as if there’s no point to continue because no matter what happens, you will never be accepted or happy again, then despair is what I felt.
Part of the reason I felt so bad was that my family was very religious. I had lived a sheltered life. In my faith, and in my family, a great deal of emphasis is placed on sexual purity, waiting until you’re married for those kinds of relationships.
Another was the fact that I was so young and so I didn’t have the tools yet to deal with what had just happened to me. But I now understand that what I felt is not uncommon among victims of rape or abuse. Rape is such a violation; the feeling of worthlessness is almost universal. In addition, some women feel like they might have asked for it or deserved it in some way. They think it might have been their fault because of a low-cut shirt, or maybe they were flirting, or somehow they had communicated that they wanted it and then they didn’t want it anymore. There are lots of reasons why they might feel responsible.
But I was not confused. I knew what had just happened to me wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t run away with this stranger. I didn’t marry him. None of this was my choosing.
But I still felt completely broken.
Imagine you have a beautiful crystal vase. Then imagine that you accidently knock it off the table and it shatters into pieces on the floor. We all understand it isn’t the vase’s fault that it was pushed off the table and shattered. But still, it is broken. It is worthless. You don’t want it anymore. So you sweep it up and throw away the pieces.
That is how I felt.
It wasn’t my fault. But I was broken. No one would want me anymore.
So even though I knew the bearded man could kill me at any time, I had already reached a point where I no longer cared.
I thought about other children I’d seen on the news, children who’d been kidnapped and didn’t come back. I thought they were the lucky ones. They were in a better place. I began to realize that there were some things worse than death.
I believe in a God who loves me. I’d never pictured Him as mean or vindictive or anything like that. I’d always pictured Him as a beautiful person, glowing with love and kindness, someone who understood exactly how I felt all the time, someone who loved me as one of his children. I think of Him as someone who comforts and loves everyone.
Even after I had been raped, I still thought of Him that way. He loves us all. Even me. Even still.
I would have happily gone to Him if I could have left that place of pain, if I could have left behind all those feelings of worthlessness and fear, if I could have left behind all of the feelings of darkness. I wanted to go home to this person who loved me, who would take care of me and protect me and never let me feel the hurt and pain again.