The first time I lost my humanity took me a while to come to terms with. No one wants to say they’ve been raped, it’s so aggressive and we automatically get this violent image in our heads until we hear the full story. Problem is; who the fuck wants to retell their full story? I wasn’t planning on talking about my first ‘Me Too’ story, but during a day of recovering from a night of drinking, I got a notification. My rapist liked my Facebook profile picture. And I instantly remembered that I told myself if they ever acted like they even knew me again, they’d get a LAMPPost.
So here we are.
I met Donavan J. Baca on Facebook in 2016. We were both 17, went to rival high schools, but he told me I was pretty. I had just started birth control, so my libido was CRAZY. Fully aware of the predicament I was in, I thought if I held off on having sex with him, he’d have to show how much he really liked me. Instead, he became distant which made me want to cave in. That’s how it always is, isn’t it?
We were having sex for about 2 months. It was almost always in the morning because of the morning wood, but he lived 30 minutes away from me. I’d wake up earlier than necessary to suck dick that didn’t even pay me gas money. Like a fool.
Our sexual relationship was unsatisfactory once I realized I didn’t even like him as a person. But I was already in too deep once he introduced me to his friend, Austin. For some reason, I thought between the two, Austin was the better choice because he showed me basic human decency, so I started to dwindle my connection to Donavan.
The day he assaulted me started like every other hookup day until halfway through, he asks if I ever tried anal.
(What’s the obsession with that? Find my clitoris first and then we can talk.)
I say no, automatically knowing he wants to try it, so I add on that we can, but don’t get high hopes. He was forceful because first time anal is not easy and when I said ‘stop’ because first time anal fucking sucks, he shoved my face into a pillow and pinned my shoulders down. I’ll never forget that feeling. Everything in my mind was telling me to run, but a 115lb noodle-arm girl didn’t stand a chance against a 160lb football player. I’ll never forget what it felt like to be helpless.
After it was over and I was driving home, I didn’t want it to be real. I had binged enough Law & Order: SVU to have an idea in my head about the aftermath. I also know how the justice system is corrupt so turning this into a case didn’t seem like an option. The first person I did tell was Austin. Not explicitly saying it, but enough to get the point across. He dismissed it, making me think I should push the thought away and refuse to believe that anything happened to me. Until it happened again. Basically the same situation except occuring in my mom’s car.
I ignored these emotions and entered my senior year of high school full of unexplainable anger towards a situation that I didn’t want to touch. Not exactly the best way to start. By the time I was able to consciously accept the reality of my experience with him, my first thought was people need to know. His girlfriend needs to know. Especially because he was still sliding in my DMs. So I told her.
He did not like that.
It’s always a glorious day when the boy who abused you comments the ‘N’ word and other ignorant shit all on your recent posts for the whole world to see. Really smart move, Donavan. It’s even better when they switch up their tone because you got screenshots. Forever. Thank you to whoever created such a life-saving feature. You da real one.
For those wondering how I handled it, I did the only thing I felt I could do. Key his car. Obviously no material object could substitute the part of my soul that no longer existed. After the Facebook debacle, I didn’t hear from him for a while. I graduated, left to college, realized I had PTSD, started smoking weed because it felt like my life depended on it, felt better, stayed in contact with Austin (mistake), became a person that actually wanted to move forward with her life and unfortunately felt like I couldn’t until I could confront the one thing holding me back. Almost as if the universe intended for it to happen, guess who pops back up on my socials?
When I decided to contact him, my intention was to have a face-to-face conversation about what he did to me. ‘Fix You’ by Coldplay would be playing in the background, I would have a whole speech ready and I was prepared to slap a hoe. That day never came because, as expected, he refused to admit that he raped me. Called me crazy and posted that I was a lying bitch when I was willing to jeopardize my comfort to actually meet him.
I ended up keying his car again. And slashing his tires. And cutting up the seat upholstery. And spray-painting it…
Ya know, the bare necessities.
It did provide me with a slight sense of closure since I knew I would never actually get the real feeling. For me, that was it. That was supposed to be the last interaction we had. Until February of this year.
Now this. This had to be it. Not the most fulfilling slice of closure, but it was something. I was done. Fucking finally. This dumpster fire of a person no longer existed in my reality. I had killed this spirit of my past.
Until he likes my newest profile picture. Until I see that 35 of my mutual friends are his Facebook friends. Until I realized that he isn’t ever going to leave me alone because on some level, he thinks there’s a possibility of us having any kind of connection towards one another. Yes, I believe in growth for a person, but I don’t believe in him. I don’t believe in anyone who takes 4 years to admit to their actions and still has the audacity to talk to me as if we were ever friends to begin with. This is the last thing I can (legally) do, so to any of his future employers, to any of his future partners, this is for you to know what kind of person is walking around New Mexico. Donavan Baca is a damaged being who doesn’t understand right from wrong. Who doesn’t understand how traumatic his existence is for me. And every time he pops up in my internet life, a part of me wants to die. The same part that is still pinned down on that couch.
I’m tired of having him steal pieces of me. He doesn’t even know who I am. But I hope this finds its way to someone of importance to him. I hope my name haunts him for as long as he’ll haunt me. I hope his actions towards me are his biggest life regret. I’ve walked in and out of hell, but I hope he gets lost there. I hope someone sees the evil in him just as much as I do.
I don’t want to exist in his reality because he does not exist in mine. We do not walk the same Earth, we do not live in the same realm. But he insists on inserting himself into a world where he doesn’t belong. So life-lasting internet shame should be a worthy consequence for the never-ending terror I’m forced to live with.
Fuck you for everything Donavan.