ladies, can we talk?
#cz30daysofthankful...installment #1

she had to tell it first...

gentle reader, this has weighed heavily on my heart and my mind and my soul.

so many times i wanted to write but i couldn't.

it had to be on her terms. in her own way. in her own words.

i am going to tell you that it is absolutely gut-wrenching. it is something you hope you never have to deal with as a parent of a daughter.

this is why i have been so silent for so long. 

i feel this journey must be talked about. and every time i sat down to write, this is what i wanted to write about but i knew i couldn't.

not yet.

not a single moment goes by that i don't want to rip this guy's throat out.

not one single moment goes by that i don't want to take away his piece of mind.

not one single moment goes by that i am not grateful for the support of those that knew what was going on.

and for those that didn't know, it was not a personal issue. it was an issue of not talking a great deal about it with many people. 

this past saturday marked the 26th year of my father's passing. and it was on this morning that muscle barbie chose to publicly reveal this horrible incident. i do not believe in coincidence. i truly believe my dad gave her the courage to tell her story in order to help as many people as possible. so that what she has endured, and continues enduring, is not in vain. the number of people that have commented publicly and privately to her, myself, and kiroman, is astounding. it is unbelievable the number of women that have suffered similarly and far worse and have not reported it. it's time to make a difference.

i trust that this will help her heal.

i trust that by her telling her journey, another girl is saved from this fate. 

i trust that by her telling her journey, a mom of a son will sit down and explain to him that there is nothing about this that is acceptable. and that she demands more of him than this guy's parents demanded of him. 

yes, i absolutely blame parenting. not 100% and not implicitly. but lack of parenting is to blame.

the following is written in her own words:



Before I begin writing this I want to ask for no sympathy, as that is not why I am sharing my story. I am sharing my story to make you aware that if it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone; no matter who you are with, no matter where you are, no matter how careful you are, and no matter what you are wearing. 
Saturday April 29th, 2017 started out like any other night. My best friend picked me up around 9:15 PM, we went to our friends apartment where I had 1 drink. Then we headed downtown where I had 1 drink at the first bar we went, and at the second bar we went to I was about half way through my 3rd drink of the night when an acquaintance (who will go by G) came up behind me and grabbed my left shoulder while I was talking to the bartender who was/is dating my friend.
We hugged, which is the only time my drink would have been out of my sight as I never leave my drinks unattended. Looking back he only asked me questions and didn’t want to talk much about himself; people love talking about themselves, and that’s how he kept me there talking to him long enough for me to mistake the drugs kicking as getting drunk way sooner than I normally do. Which is when I put my drink on the bar, I felt like I had way too much to drink and I was done. 
Witnesses say they last saw me around midnight. 
Witnesses saw him holding my hand/wrist and leading me out of the bar. 
I don't know how he got me away from my friends.
The next thing I remember is I could not get my 4-digit code entered into my security system at my house. I remember yelling it out loud to myself and being so mad I couldn’t get the code in that I hit my wall. 
I kind of remember my parents coming into my house; my security company called them at 1:19 AM because my alarm had breeched. The company called me and because I didn’t answer, the company called my parents.
This part of the story is from my parents point of view, because I don’t remember this. They asked me where my phone was, I didn’t know. They asked me how I got home, I told them G’s first and last name. They tracked my phone to Clancy’s off of 168 and Center. They asked me if I had went there that night, I told them no. They went in and asked everyone there if they had been with me or knew me because my phone tracked to that location; one guy stood up and said “Blaike from…” and my dad replied “Blaike is my daughter”, the guy sat down and wouldn’t answer any of my dads questions. 
At this point my parents still thought that I was drunk. So we left to go home. My phone started moving so they turned around to follow it. My parents found my phone in the pouring rain in a ditch off of 139 and Center. I got G’s phone number, my dad called G, and he denied what he was wearing that night; although a friend found a picture he is tagged in on Instagram from that night, in the very same outfit. 
By this point I was vomiting all over my dads truck; my parents said my eyes were black from being so dilated and they said I was talking like my tongue was too fat for my mouth. 
The next morning I woke up and I knew something bad happened the night before; I was seeing someone at the time so I called him and he came over. I kept replaying what I remembered over and over, I kept saying “you’ve seen me f***ed up and I always remember what happened, how do I not know what happened last night”, we came to the conclusion that I had been roofied and he told me that I needed to tell my parents and we should go to the ER. About the same time my mom told me that her and my dad were on their way to pick me up. 
I refused. There was no way in hell I was going to check myself in as a rape victim.
Sunday April 30, 2017 at approximately 12:30 PM my parents forced me to Women’s Hospital, where I checked in as a possible rape victim. Because if witnesses last saw me around midnight and the security company called them at 1:19 AM then that means there is about an hour of time missing, as it should only take 20-25 minutes to get me home.
We had to tell the story over and over; to the nurses, to the doctor, and to the police officer. I didn’t want to keep talking about it, I didn’t want to keep thinking about it; I just wanted to wake up from the nightmare. One of the nurses, Nichole, was really great; she didn’t treat me as just another patient, but she hugged me and actually cared; I asked her if she could stay in the ER room with me during all of this, she was the only person out of all of the medical staff that made sure I was as comfortable as I could be in that situation. 
My parents were there, and 2 of my friends were there; it was comforting having all of the support.
Eventually, around 4:00PM they took my blood and urine, they swabbed me (mouth, fingers, and both parts down there), they gave me all kinds of meds and plan b. The nurse asked me if the possible rapist was black, I told her that he was white, and she told me that I did not need to take the HIV meds; my dad asked her three times to repeat that, other witnesses in the room heard it as well but that isn’t even the beginning of how messed up our system is.
They let me leave the hospital, and the drugs made me so sick I thought my insides were going to come out of both ends.
My work is really awesome, I tried to go into work on Monday and I mentally couldn’t do it; they got the store covered and let me have the whole week off. I really wanted to be in my routine to keep my mind busy but I couldn’t do it.
After talking to friends, I found out that he had texted people off of my phone and deleted those texts; I also noticed that he had added himself on my snapchat. After doing research on all of the date rape drugs, they all say that they allow you to take suggestions but not make decisions; which explains how he knew how to get me home as well as how he got into my phone, he suggested I tell him. 
No one could tell me for sure what happened that night, no one could promise that he didn’t rape me. So the days following were really dark. I hated to look at myself in the mirror. I questioned why he hadn’t killed me and thrown me in the ditch with my phone. I couldn’t be alone because I didn’t trust myself to be by myself, so I stayed with my parents for awhile; one of them slept with me every night. In the midst of all of this, exactly a week later I stepped on stage because I had been prepping for 12 weeks for a show. After barely eating, and when I did eat it was Zebra Cakes or ice cream, on Saturday May 6 I won my DFAC Figure Pro Card. That was a really incredible positive after the 29th. My mom wanted to run and jump on stage with me, and the few people who knew what was going on knew that it meant more to me than just a Pro Card; it was a stepping stone. I only got on stage to give G both of my middle fingers.
My detective wouldn’t allow my parents to be involved in the case. She told me, word for word, “you are a competent adult and you need to handle this on your own”; I didn’t know if I had been raped or not, and it was up to me to handle this on my own? So we went to our attorney, he notarized all kinds of forms, when we took them to her she said “no amount of paperwork is going to allow me to allow your parents to be involved in the case”. That night, Tuesday May 16, was the first time I had gotten mad or questioned the system to the actual system themselves; I never thought I would lose my temper on, or scream, or cuss at a police officer but that night I did. She called her boss, who called their sergeant in (who was off the clock, and at home). My parents were allowed to be involved in the case. 
In all of the craziness of all of this, I caught my detective in 3 lies; after you lie to me once, I am going to question everything you tell me. After 17 days my detective contacted the bar for surveillance footage, she then told me that the bar copies over the tapes every 24 hours. So I contacted the bar owner, I was told it is copied over every 14 days and if she had contacted them sooner, they would have given her what she needed. She failed me, she dropped the ball, she lost evidence. 
26 days later. On Thursday May 25, I was informed that my DNA had tested negative. I could breathe again. The immense amount of weight that I had been walking around with was finally relieved. My detective asked me what steps I wanted to take from there; I told her I wanted my clothes tested, and I wanted my blood/urine tested too. 
My clothes were sent to UNMC. Mid June I received a phone call that male DNA was found on the waste band of my jeans, that sent me right back to the negative mindset; I thought it was over, I thought that I could finally begin healing, then I was right back to where I started.
My detective finally saw that this was serious. G was contacted; he made it really difficult for my detective to bring him in for questioning. After 2 weeks of her pushing him to come in for questioning, or else a warrant would have been put out for him, he finally went in for questioning. We are under the assumption that he answered some things wrong in that questioning that made her suspicious of him. 
He made an appointment to go back in for a polygraph (lie detector test). He called her a half hour before the first one and left a message saying the transmission in his truck had went out and he wouldn’t be able to make it; he has never owned a truck. He made a second appointment, and right before that one he called her and told her that he had gotten an attorney and he would not be coming in.
Polygraphs are voluntary. Polygraphs have a 96% accuracy rate. Polygraphs do not stand up in court. The interview after the polygraph, however, does stand up in court. She should have pushed harder for him to stay for the polygraph after the initial interview.
On Tuesday August 15 I picked up the t-shirt, jeans, and phone from that night from the police headquarters. They did not give me my underwear back. My case is closed. 
He got off. His life goes on as normal. He gets to continue doing this to girls.
Now I have to live wondering what happened that night, I have nightmares; my mind plays tricks on me, I wake up wondering if that’s what happened or if my mind is trying to fill in the lost time. 
I see him in every brown haired 20-something year old guy I see. It literally stops me in my tracks and gives me horrible anxiety. There has been times I’ve had to leave the grocery store, go into the back at work, or fully lose my appetite while I am out at dinner because I think I see him. 
The picture of the clothes is what I wore that night; a t-shirt and jeans. A t-shirt with puke down the front of it because the roofies made me so sick. I didn’t even feel the puke coming up, I didn’t warn my parents; it was just coming up and out, over and over. 
This isn’t something people talk about because it’s uncomfortable, I went through it so I know it is extremely uncomfortable. But it has to be talked about because it’s happening so often and nothing happens to these guys. 
We have gone over the “maybe this is what happened” so many times, but we don’t know what happened while I was with him. We do know that my alarm saved me, we do know that having my parents as the second contact on my security system is the only reason I went to the ER the next day. 
A womans chance of being raped in the US is 1 in 5. 54% of rapes are not reported. There are over 100,000 rape kits untested in the US. 
Even if the rape kit is tested, you still might have no answers; my case for example. I have a hard time believing they even tested my rape kit because on 4/30 when the guy I was seeing came over, I was clawing at his neck when he was hugging me; his DNA should have been all over my hands. 
I left a lot of the story out, I only told the semi-important/important details.
Again, I did not write this for sympathy. It took me 4 months to write it. I relive this every day in my head but actually putting it into words was even harder. I wrote this to make you aware that it can happen to anyone; I always have my gun on me unless I am at a bar, and if I am at a bar then I have my buck knife and pepper spray. I am always on guard, and this still ended up happening to me.


some of you may have already read this is we are facebook friends. or you are facebook friends with muscle barbie. i don't want to be redundant but i do want this message to be spread far and wide. 

it's time for women to start speaking up about sexual assault. it can no longer be swept under the rug. young girls must be educated that this is NEVER their fault. it is NEVER because of the clothes they wear, the make up they wear or how they style their hair. The fact that they are walking alone, please don't, has nothing to do with it, either. 

and when the authorities treat the women like they deserved it and aren't believed, there is an incredible problem with our justice system.

i don't care how horrible a woman acts, she never deserves to be drugged and raped.

i thank heaven every single night that being drugged and losing time is what muscle barbie has to deal with. 

too many others are dealing with far worse...and so many of those women are silent.

i can't even imagine how hard that is to live with every single day.

karma will catch up to this asshole. 


i am grateful:

  • for the security system actually being hooked up to a security monitoring company
  • muscle barbie was not sexually assaulted
  • kiroman and i have been able to support her through this devastating experience
  • for the people that knew and were so supportive to all of us
  • that by the grace of God, i was able to hold it together, to get done what had to be done every single day

just breathing isn't living!


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