In 2001, my identical twin, Cara, was raped by Edgardo Hernandez, a stranger, when we were 24. It was a violent act that destroyed her. And then it almost destroyed me.
After her rape, Cara took drugs in quantities that would prove to be lethal, doses she felt she needed to help her forget. She died from an overdose of heroin laced with fentanyl, a pain medication, on June 13, 2006. And even though her death was an accident, no one who knew Cara doubts that Hernandez, though he didn’t murder her, took her life nonetheless. It just took four years, seven months and 26 days.
Cara said it best from the witness stand during her rapist’s sentencing: “Edgardo Hernandez is the worst kind of thief. He did not steal my wedding rings, yet my marriage has dissolved. He did not take my legs, yet for over a year I was afraid to leave my house, to walk around in broad daylight. October 18, 2001, was the day I died.”
My sister died from a rape. She is that rape’s core victim, but she is not its only victim.
“I’m not the same,” my sister often said after her rape, “but you want me to be.” Sometimes she said this so forcefully that I was frightened. But she was right. There was a Cara before and a Cara after. Her body became marked with piercings and covered with tattoos — Cara’s effort to reclaim control over it.
This isn’t easy to admit, but when Cara was learning to navigate the world as a changed woman, I pleaded with her to move on. I was uncomfortable. I found myself replacing the word “rape” with the word “attack,” sanitizing the truth. But rape gains power in the shadows. Cara said we must never look away.
What will I tell my daughter when she is old enough to ask about Cara’s rape and death?
One thing I will tell her is this: When you hear or see a story about rape or read a statistic about sexual violence against women, multiply the number of people harmed. Be conservative, if you must. Assume that two other women loved or depended on each woman or girl who was violated. So, for one rape, three are injured. And one in three women are assaulted worldwide. So, what’s that?
Three in three women are harmed.
As much as I like to consider myself pretty tough customer I will admit that this story had me in tears after only a few paragraphs in.
Like, I am sure, most of you, I also have loved ones who were sexually abused, or raped, and I can attest to the long term devastating effects that it has on them, often for the rest of their lives.
I can also attest to the damage that it does to the relationships they have with those who love them. The truth is that sometimes you cannot love them enough to fill in the spaces where they are empty, and in trying to do so you feel like a failure, inadequate.
When somebody rapes you they don't simply have sex with you against your will, they steal from you your sense of control and your ability to feel safe in the world. That is not something which can be given back, it has to be reformed from within.
It takes a very strong person to learn to deal with the after effects of this kind of intimate attack on your person, but it also takes somebody equally strong to love you when you may no longer be able to love yourself.
P.S. Do yourself a favor and read the rest of the article at the Dispatch. I only borrowed a portion, but all of it is worthy of your time.
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