Betrayed. Hurt. Distraught. Suicidal. These are just some of the emotions I felt after someone who I thought was a friend raped me. I also felt disbelief that what happened actually took place.
But it did happen, in 2014, six months after I got to prison. I said no, but it didn’t matter. He was determined to inflict permanent pain on me.
I was brand new to life in a maximum security correctional facility and therefore didn’t know that people could be so cold and callous. How quickly I learned a lesson I’ve never forgotten: Be careful who you trust. I certainly couldn’t trust my friends who told me I must have led him on. I cut ties with them. Victim-blaming is not OK on any level.
Authorities wanted me to disclose who raped me, but I wouldn’t do that for fear of retaliation. On top of that, I knew I would be labeled a snitch, the worst possible thing you can be in prison.
After the attack, I had a rape kit done at a local hospital. The process was embarrassing. Correctional officers who grilled me for a name. Then a nurse practitioner performed an exam on me to determine if I had been ripped or torn, and she checked for semen. Luckily, the test she did for sexually transmitted diseases came back negative, and she was nice to me, which made it much easier to go through.
I was also provided with therapy, which gave me a much-needed outlet to vent my worries and my frustration with being in a housing unit with the person who raped me, since I didn’t report him. My therapist helped me realize that I was not to blame for my attack and taught me to be assertive with my needs.
Still, I contemplated suicide. I felt like I had nowhere to turn to. Four months after the rape, I overdosed on my medication and nearly died as a result. I had to have my stomach pumped, and then I was placed on suicide watch for a week. Suicide watch is traumatic in and of itself. You have to wear a Kevlar anti-suicide smock, and you’re placed in a padded cell with a hole in the floor for a toilet. The light stays on 24/7, which is like being emotionally tortured.
Since the rape, I haven’t been the same. I am a shadow of my former self. I regret not reporting it because the emotional scars are still there. When people take an interest in me, I question their motives. And yet I’ve been lucky to find chosen family. They don’t judge me for my past mistakes. And unlike some of my former friends, they know I was raped and don’t blame me for it.
There’s William W., who I consider to be a father figure. We met in the medical unit where I was recovering from being sick. Because I am a transgender woman, many of the porters didn’t feel comfortable helping me to the toilet. He was the only porter who would help me. He was there for me.
I consider Russ A. to be my brother. He is in the LGBTQ+ family and is someone I can talk to. At one point, we were cellies, which brought us even closer.
I met Keith L. this winter in the medication line. We talked about doing time: He had been incarcerated for 43 years, and I had been inside for 12. He told me I was a pretty woman and got me a stocking hat so my head wouldn't be cold. Then it turned into love. I would do anything for him, and he would do the same for me.
I still go to therapy for my rape, and it really helps me. I also find peace in my chosen family members. In a place where violence is so rampant, they remind me that not everyone is out to get me. Yes, I am glad my eyes are open to the coldness some people can exhibit through their actions. But I can still choose to see the good in people. So I tell myself this like a mantra: “There is good in people. This I know.”
Lexie Handlang is a 38-year-old transgender woman incarcerated in the Missouri Department of Corrections for a sentence of 20 years for child abuse and neglect resulting in death. She has served 12 years of her sentence. She writes for a variety of publications.
The Missouri Department of Corrections’ communications director stated that the department complies with the federal Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA): “All corrections staff are required to complete PREA training, and investigations staff, health services providers and others must complete specialized training.” She added that after a rape, “the victim may be relocated to a new housing unit, relocated to protective custody or returned to the original housing unit, depending on the assessment of the situation and which option would best ensure the victim’s safety and prevent retaliation and revictimization.”