I was sixteen and excited to date. I dated a boy who wanted to get physically close, but I said no. He raped me repeatedly the day before we went to homecoming. I told my bishop who in turn asked if I liked any of it. He asked what I did to egg him on. He asked what I was wearing. He asked if i orgasmed. I didn’t know some of the words he was using, so I didn’t answer.
I felt like I was ugly and worthless. I didn’t feel like I mattered. I was raped again by the same guy a year later. I didn’t want to tell anyone because I didn’t want to feel that way again. My parents found out and accompanied me in a discussion with the same bishop. He was sweet and didn’t ask me any of the same questions. He found a counselor and gave both my parents and I blessings.
A couple months later, he requested a follow up interview where he asked those same questions and perpetuated the feelings that the whole thing was my fault. For months afterward I felt like I was worthless and had no point to be in this world.
I attempted suicide April 8, 2013. I survived only because I threw up the pills I had taken. Every now and then when I visit my family and see that bishop, I feel those same feelings of guilt come trickling in. If my parents had been in the room every time, I wouldn’t be struggling today. No more one on one interviews!