This Is It
This is Rosanna Arquette.
She was it, she was so It, that it’s not just my opinion that Rosanna Arquette was IT—everyone who was above ground in the 80’s will absolutely agree that Rosanna Arquette was IT—and Rosanna Arquette was It because no one else was IT-er. This is the era when directors all over the world were yelling at their assistants: “Get me Rosanna Arquette!” Men who caught glimpses of Rosanna walking out of apartments wrote songs titled “Rosanna.” Rosanna and I met at Saturday Night Live—Rosanna was hosting; I was writing. Everybody was so in love with Rosanna they couldn’t see straight. A couple of years later, Rosanna smacked down Harvey Weinstein’s sexual advances in a hotel room and, like Mira Sorvino, was blacklisted in Hollywood.
Rosanna was one of the first women to pick up a jackhammer and smack an early crack in the stinking Weinsteinian Cistern of Shamed Silence by telling her story to Ronan Farrow for The New Yorker and Jodi Kantor for The New York Times. She went on to become a filmmaker, in part because she came out of the womb an activist. She is currently very involved in the Alexis Arquette Family Foundation (a cause dear to Rosanna’s heart that protects the safety and health of LGBTQ youth), and, as she has always been a great talker, her latest project is a quite provocative podcast—Radical Musings—with mesmerizing guests such as Jane Fonda.
And now, Reader! Cock your ears! Rosanna Arquette delivers one of the most powerful readings ever filmed for this or any other Substack column as she reads this week’s letter. Listen and watch as the emotions change second-by-second. And if you don’t squirt a few tears, I’ll eat my size-11 shoe.
Dear E. Jean:
How do I recover from being drugged and raped, and subsequently getting pregnant and having an abortion?
I went to a man’s house with him and his friend, believing we would continue to enjoy a friendly night (looking back—what was I even thinking?). His friend disappeared. The man drugged me and repeatedly raped me until I came to consciousness. He acted like I got drunk and it was consensual. Some days I feel destroyed and some days I feel pity for him; some days I feel normal, but I still experience this heavy cloud and I wish it would go away.
Being a mother was the most important thing in the world to me prior to this experience. I had chosen to abstain from sex until marriage, have a great relationship and become a great mom. I feel like that was stolen from me and I’m so sad.
It happened 7 months ago now. The abortion was 6 months ago, and I am 31. I try to give myself grace about the rape. I tell myself that I didn’t understand the danger signs maybe because of my past—I came from a home with unhealthy parents. I am also grateful it wasn’t violent or the attack wasn’t made by a sadistic serial killer or something, and I feel lucky I’m alive.
I feel OK now. But I get waves of emotional pain before my period begins. A lot of guilt but also a lot of gratitude for not being pregnant. I’ve also been under a lot of additional stress— a new job after this happened. (I only took a week off from work for my “miscarriage” and then went right back to hustling/surviving/keeping up the status quo as a boss lady—whatever that means nowadays.)
All in all, I’m doing better than I thought I would, and a lot of days I feel normal and still like a good person, and I try to empower myself and speak nicely to myself. But I have this pervasive sense of sadness and emptiness that happens behind the surface, and I don’t know if anything will ever fill it.
I told my mom and therapist at the time. I reported it a month-and-a half after it happened. I wasn’t going to report it until I realized I was pregnant; and the abortion and violation made me furious! Otherwise I was just going to lick my wounds and keep going after the assault.
I don’t have real evidence, but I’m 99% positive I was drugged. I believe he manipulates women into thinking they’re drunk and it’s “consensual.” This was truly criminal and unbelievably harmful, not only to me but my identity as a woman. I reported it with my future children in mind. I want to do the best I can to make sure he doesn’t keep doing this. I’m in the process of seeing if something can be done about my report. I’m afraid of this man—he has money and I'm scared he is blatantly evil, and I don’t want to be on his bad side. I also don’t have the strongest case against him, especially if he decides to hire lawyers to drag me under, so I am trying right now just to make sure police and prosecution have this information so, if he gets caught again, I can bring him down with my evidence and witness testimony. I told my roommate and two friends and an uncle I’m close to, but no one else close to me knows exactly the full story besides my mom, the police and my therapist.
I am a clinical social worker; but now I head up a PR department for a startup company. I needed a break from trauma.
I wish I knew the answer to why bad things happen to people but I do know good and evil and soul-level disease is real, and I wish it wasn’t. I feel sad for the man, that he is so disturbed as to hurt me the way he did; and my heart actually has a lot of compassion; but I still struggle with hating him and feeling afraid of others and scared for my well-being.
Apologies for the stream of consciousness! Thank you for reading and responding— there is just so much, and I thought I might as well get it all out.
I appreciate you as an example as well for all of us.
Signed, Down, But Not Out
Not Out, My Love:
There is a way to put the rape in the past and move on. But before you continue reading, I warn you, dearest Not: I love you, but this is not going to be a you-go-girl-you’re-so-brave! answer. You and I have lived through too much to buy that bullshit.
I am awed by your “compassion.” But I am flummoxed by your “pity.” The man trapped you. He drugged you. He raped you. He raped you again. He told you that you wanted it. He is a liar. He is a coward. He is a punk. Your “struggle with hating him” is a waste of time. Go on! Go on! Go on! Go on! Hate him.
Because a woman who has been raped must run The Maze . . .
The Maze was constructed long ago. How long? Oh, about as long ago as men have been raping women. Nobody can see it, but, trust me, The Maze is there. It’s always there. The moment the rapist withdraws his penis, his hand, his fist out of your vagina, your anus, your mouth, and climbs off and stands up, you are in The Maze. And if The Maze can keep you running ‘round and ‘round, blaming yourself, asking, “What was I even thinking?” and feeling “destroyed,” what happens?
You don’t make trouble for the rapist.
But there’s a way out of The Maze—you call The Maze “this heavy cloud,” but it’s the same thing. The Maze with its 10,000-year old “shame” bottlenecks and it’s 2021 “slut” alleys that cause you to feel “sad for the man” and to believe that enjoying a “great relationship” and becoming a “great mom” has been “stolen” from you. But, as I say, there’s a way out, and it’s this:
Blow the fucker up. Pardon me. I am using the plain Anglo-Saxon. And the way to blow that fucker up? You light a fuse. And how do you light a fuse?
Get pissed.
You can’t be sad when you’re mad. Anger jerks your frontal lobes off the fainting couch. Gall gives you gumption and being miffed moves you forward. When a sad thought overtakes your mind, let it in, tell yourself, “He’s a monster!” work up a good huff to gladden your heart, and then get on with your afternoon. (You may have to do this ten, twenty times a day, and on bad days you’ll be compelled to call him other, wayyy more colorful names, and, when you feel particularly pissed, message me. You and I will exchange our lists of vile and secret names for the monsters in our lives.)
So that’s how you exit The Maze, Ms. Not. You don’t try to find the center of The Maze, you don’t waste time trying to understand your rapist, you use anger to blow him up, like Rosanna did! Rosanna went to the press. You went to the police. I thank you both! Good luck, my love! Let me and the Conflab know how you’re doing!
P.S. You are why we are fighting to keep Roe v. Wade.
And now . . . Welcome to the Conflab! This is where we hash over the questions sent to Ask E. Jean—and where our boisterous community routinely rescues mankind.
I confess that I kept putting off answering Ms. Not’s letter, again and again. This surprised me. I was a tad shook at how difficult it was for me to even read her email, let alone offer Ms. Not advice.
And . . . yet, Ms. Not has been very, very kind and patient with me.
So here’s where I really need you to step in, Conflabbians! I’ve done my best, but my advice is the opposite of what most survivors are told—it may work brilliantly for me, but I am aware that it won't work for everyone. However, THIS is why the Conflab is so influential. What we have here is an array of brilliant people with extraordinary and significant life-histories who can give do-able advice to Ms. Not.
So please take the wheel, Conflabbians! The Conflab was built exactly for this moment. What helped you get past a traumatic event, regain your pleasure in life, and move on?
AskEeeeJean@gmail.com.
P.S. I don’t know a single thing about finances. But I love your pet photos!
Interested in the Progress Carroll V. Trump?
Listen the to the latest arguments before United States Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit that the President of the United States was just doing his job when he slandered a woman who revealed that he had raped her decades earlier. (That would be Yours Truly.)
Here’s a little history of all our wins against Trump.
And, yup, old Trump just sued me.
And, of course, we replied with a SCATHING brief.
Stay tuned, Darlings!!
Photo Credit Is Due to:
Sunset Boulevard/Contributor, Getty Images for the photo of Rosanna Arquette; photo of the amazing maze, Otto Becker, The New Yorker; photo of E. Jean under the umbrella, Robert Wright
I have heard from Miss Not. She writes:
"Thank you so, so much. I’m reading and taking everything in. I appreciate you writing and I know things like this are hard on all of us."
Great advice. You are allowed to blame the rapist (sociopath) who planned the crime of drugging and raping you. Sociopaths shrewdly realize people are socialized to get confused and see the good in the sociopath and then blame themselves, and not the sociopath. So, feel all of your emotions. Many people have figured out it is safer to not even feel/ acknowledge, let alone SHOW anger, for a variety of reasons. Maybe it wasn't safe in the home too origin to feel or express anger, maybe it was just subtly discouraged, maybe they were shouted down, maybe they were told it wasn't nice...such as.."oh, you should be nice....you should be agreeable, you should be reasonable, you should smile"...Whatever the reasons are...Well, realize getting pissed off and hating the perpetrator is healthy. It shows good boundaries and self definition. Sometimes people are afraid the anger will take over their whole being. This is probably not true. Most likely, anger will not taking over your whole being. Sometimes hate can eat a person alive. And sometimes the lack of hate and too much empathy can eat a person alive. There's a way to hate/be angry and not have it eat you alive...It's possible for several things to be true at once. You can salvage yourself and your life and be angry. Forgiveness is over-rated. Don't be afraid to be angry. You're allowed to blame that sociopath for executing the planned crime of drugging and raping you.