Marijuana: Vote "NO" on legalization for recreational use and keep it out of the hands of addicts and people struggling to stay sober.
In Search of Justice
Because of my drug use, I am a crime victim who never got justice. I am not alone.
I was born and raised in Switzerland to an American father and a Swiss mother. Growing up in a town with less than 1% crime rate and no obvious drug problem and a strong drug prevention program was wonderful. People could leave their doors open at night and it was safe to walk home alone from school or the stables where I rode horses after school.
When my parents decided to move to the U.S. this was exciting news. We packed our things and moved to our favorite vacation spot, the town of Avalon on Catalina Island. When I was enrolled in High School however I went through quite the culture shock. I discovered that every kid in my class either had marijuana, was high on it or knew where to get it. That was new for me. After a while I found myself being teased and bullied for being from Switzerland and having a slight German accent in my English. I tried to convince my classmates that I was an American by birth because my father is an American, but no one cared or seemed to understand that I had a sense of pride about who I was.
I went to the parties on weekends and eventually gave in to the pressure to do drugs, specifically marijuana. I began to believe that I could do things like be 15 years old and have a 24-year old boyfriend, something my parents where not very pleased with. My boyfriend was a pothead and all we did when we were together was get stoned, get drunk, eat junk food and had unprotected sex while intoxicated. My parents had no idea how bad it was but they were very serious about putting a stop to the relationship.
I ended the relationship because of the pressure my parents gave me. This exposed me to greater troubles at the Island parties. A troublemaker from my school who was a straight A student from the Mexican ghetto became interested in me. He was a troubled soul obsessed with Hitler, skin heads, blasphemy, mind warping messages in punk rock music as well as the story of singer Jim Morrison. I knew this kid was trouble, but because I kept drinking and smoking pot I didn’t see that he had me in his sights.
Being intoxicated made everything he did and said seem ridiculous and silly. That until he followed me one night and began speaking of Hitler and the devil. A cat sat on a fence and he grabbed it, took it by the tail and smashed it into a stonewall killing it. I kept walking and he asked me to marry him. Afraid I told him “sure.” My reaction was the same as it was when I was being molested as a small child for which I had never been treated at that time.
He asked me to follow him, which I did out of fear. He began to spit in my face and slap me taking me by the arm and leading me into a house where he raped me. A few hours later the Sheriff arrived and arrested us both for trespassing. After I was detained it became clear what had happened and the man who was 18 years old was charged as an adult for statutory rape and was sent to jail.
Even though the torment of this horrible person was no longer part of my life, the ordeal of going through a court procedure and having the school I went to and the small town folks know what had happened was humiliating for me and my family. But it got worse…for me.
I didn’t realize that I could have stopped my problems by getting sober. By stopping the parties and the drinking and smoking pot. I kept on going and drinking more heavily. I also smoked more cigarettes and pot. Life became a blur to me. I was now 16 years old and was only trying to blend into the crowd. But for some I was an easy target.
One night two Mexican men, one a senior from my High School, the other one of the town locals, told me there was going to be a party and that many of my friends were going to be there. I went to the loft of the local video game arcade where they said the party was. When I got to the loft, the arcade manager, a young Black man was there. None of my friends had shown up.
The manager told me to sit on the queen sized bed which was the only piece of furniture in the room. I sat down and looked around. The place had very little appeal and was dingy and dusty. The manager poured me some hard liquor. The other two showed up and I asked where the rest of my friends were. They promised that they were sure others would be there soon and offered me a joint. I smoked it and had several more drinks of the hard stuff. They took out some cocaine and offered it to me. I had never seen cocaine before and was not sure I should take it.
In my intoxicated state I thought to myself “how much higher could I get?” That this couldn’t be any different than what I was already doing to myself. I would try it and soon find myself blacking out (drifting in and out of conciousness) and being raped by all three men for many hours without lubricant or condoms. I suffered vaginal trauma, tearing, bleeding and major swelling. The two left me alone with the manager and I still wonder how I ever made it out of that place alive.
I had severe vaginal trauma and needed ice on my wounds for days. I should have turned these men in to the Sheriff but was afraid I was going to get in big trouble because I used cocaine. Emotionally I was destroyed and eventually the bullies at High School got the last of me and I dropped out. I hid the injury from my parents, an injury which left me in pain for many years. I was also afraid to turn these men in because I didn’t want to go through another ordeal and further embarrass my family. Instead I decided to keep smoking pot and drink alcohol so not to have to deal with my feelings. Later the suppression of this incident led to an even lower self-esteem, to harder drugs and a very self-destructive life.
If I had another chance I would have never picked up marijuana, drugs or alcohol or gone to the parties. I didn’t need to learn anything I learned from those places and those things. The more I read and learn about crime victims, the more I learn that I am not alone and that young boys and girls, children and many women and men suffer in silence, tormented by the fear and memories of unspeakable horrors.
Even today, as I write this story, my heart still pounds in fear of that night. I often dream of the day where I have a chance to sit before those three men and am able to ask them why they thought it was okay to do what they did to me when I was 16 years old.
- Alexandra