Someone is dead because of me

Hello everyone,

I'm a long time peruser of this site, but this is my first post. It's something I've held on to for a while and have griped with putting it into words, but I feel the guilt will eat me alive unless I finally release it.

This all began when I was 18 and in my first year of University. I was living away from home for the first time, which was particularly exciting for me because I had been raised in a strict religious home and was extremely sheltered. My upbringing also meant that I had incredibly poor judgment about people and situations.

I met a guy who was a complete "bad boy" type, and I felt instantly attracted to him because I was in a phase of rebellion. My utter lack of good judgment meant that while I thought he was sexy and dangerous, I also thought that being dangerous probably consisted of things like selling weed and cheating on tests. He was actually far more than that.

I found this out the hard way. One night, after dating for several months, I was at his place for a party. I began feeling strange and light-headed. I was drinking, but I knew i was a light-weight and had been nursing a smirnoff ice cooler for the better part of the night, so what I was feeling was pretty out of line with what I had consumed. Soon I was a complete mess, not able to stand without getting dizzy, feeling unable to think straight, and getting really scared.

He told me he would take me to the hospital, and suggested I sit in the backseat of his car so I could lie down on the way. As soon as I got into the back of his car, two of his friends got in on either side of me, another one in the front passenger seat, and he was in the drivers' seat. I wasn't immediately alarmed. In fact, I thought they were being sweet and accompanying me to the hospital. This obviously was not true.

I won't go into the details of what happened that night as it isn't the intention of this post - but I will say that I was hurt very badly that night in several ways, resulting in a 2-week hospitalization and surgery.

As I was living away from home, I managed to conceal everything from my parents. I was terrified to tell them what happened. There was a sexual nature to what they did to me, and I knew that my parents were so disapproving of premarital sex and so extreme in their beliefs that I truly felt that I would be "ruined" in their eyes. Adding to this, I felt ashamed for putting myself in such a situation. I didn't want my parents to know I was doing everything they had told me not to -- drinking, attending parties, hanging around with guys, dating... I felt I had caused my own assault. I felt that if my parents knew all the bad things I had done, they would kick me out of their lives forever. I couldn't deal with it.

It was for that same reason that I did not pursue any criminal charges against these men. When the police visited me in the hospital, I lied and told them that I didn't remember anything because of the drugs I had ingested, and that I didn't know who did this to me. They tried many times to get me to talk, but I refused, and eventually they had no evidence to go on (no physical evidence left on me) so that was that.

That night continued to haunt me, but in only the most selfish of ways. I only thought about how it affected me, what a poor victim I was, and how unfair it was that everything happened the way it did. I never once stopped to think about the possibility that these guys, unfazed by what they did to me because of the lack of repercussions, would ultimately hurt someone else.

... But, of course, they did.

The first time I heard about it on the news, I curled up into a ball on the floor and cried for what felt like days. I didn't leave my house for weeks, stopped taking care of myself, and ended up so sick that I was rushed to the hospital by roommates.

The girl they hurt was not as lucky as me. She died.

I will spare you all the details because it is gruesome and awful, but I will say that she suffered an incredible amount at their hands.

I never knew her, but now not a day goes by that she isn't on my mind. I became obsessed with her, reading every news story, attending her (very public) funeral, befriending her friends, just trying to get more of a glimpse into the life of a person who I feel I could have and should have saved.

I carry her with me everywhere I go, continually thinking how different things could have been if I had just been brave enough to tell my story.

I wish I could speak to her parents, and apologize to them for what I have done. The thought itself terrifies me beyond belief. If I were in their position, I would blame and hate anyone who could have protected my daughter but didn't.

Sometimes the pain is almost too much to bear, and I get so wrapped up in asking myself questions I won't ever know the answers to (could I have saved her? why her? why did she die while I lived?), that sometimes I lose entire days not even knowing where they went. I am so consumed with my guilt and don't even know where to begin.

Thank you for so bravely sharing your story. I can only imagine the amount of pain this all must have caused you. But I categorically refuse to accept that someone is dead because of you, harley quinn.

You are not to blame for another person's actions. They were responsible for the evil they wrought, not you. If anyone else is responsible, it's their friends who looked the other way when they said things to indicate that they didn't respect women, the culture who makes excuses for them... but at the end of the day, they are the rapist murderers, not you.

You did nothing wrong. There's no perfect way for a victim to behave. You were hospitalised due to their attack. You were in deep trauma. I'm sure you wouldn't put the responsibility of someone else's life onto the shoulders of anyone else in that situation so please, please, please, please don't do that to yourself.

Honestly. I'm 100% sure it isn't your fault.

And I think it is beautiful that you carry this woman with you... I think that it's her who you want to forgive you. And I honestly think she would. She'd recognise your own suffering. You are on the same side against the pathetic violent criminals who attacked both of you.

A lot of survivors have written on why it isn't the responsibility of a victim to report. Maybe some of their accounts will be powerful or helpful or healing for you. The first one is angry but sometimes anger is needed:

*TRIGGER WARNING for mentions of sexual violence*

https://anotherjiltedex.wordpress.com/2014/11/02/###$/

(the censored word should be the 'f word')

http://www.liberateyourself.co.uk/survivors/why-i-didnt-and-wont-report-my-rape/

(please try to internalise point 37 and know that you aren't alone in feeling 'guilty and ashamed' for not reporting)

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/03/12/madonna-says-her-rape-wasnt-worth-reporting-humiliation_n_6856196.html

Look after yourself. You deserve the best self-care. You did nothing wrong. Have you spoken to a therapist about this? Would it be possible for you to discuss this with one of your friends?

I agree with sprock. But I would like to encourage you to turn to those who love you, including your parents, for support. And feel free to PM any one of us, if we can help you...

May I ask how long ago this was and when from there you heard of the girl on the news? I will say, I think you need to talk to someone in person about this. It's clearly detrimental. Maybe try a therapist, someone who's bound by law to confidentiality?