26 Years Later… A Psychic Speaks Out on Rape Culture

By Vanessa Renee Hogle

Forward by Marie Bargas:

In the days following the aftermath of the #metoo campaign many celebrities have come out and told their stories of rape and sexual abuse. It has been a communal exorcism of sorts and now very brave psychic has come out to tell the paranormal community her own story.  I would like to congratulate Vanessa Hogle on her courage and veracity. I am honored to be your colleague and your friend. Thank for inspiring hope at a turning in history. You are loved and remembered.

Sincerely,  Marie

There has been a lot of talk lately about victim shaming. So many innuendos and outright cruel statements posted on social media regarding victims of abuse, rape, chronic illness and the like that it makes one’s head spin. I decided it was time to come clean. To tell my story in hopes that it will help people understand how hurtful so many of these statements are.

You see, I was raped. Many years ago, when I was 19 years old, I was violated by someone I knew very well. We had been a couple, for quite some time, but had split up due to personal issues. I had reason to fear for my safety and spent time hiding out at friends’ houses. Hopping from one to the other, never staying in the same place very long. This went on for months before I finally felt like he had given up trying to find me. I let my guard down. I stayed too long, in one particular place, and he found me.

26 years ago he found out where I was staying, convinced my friend he only wanted to talk to me, and watched them walk out the door. They had no idea what his plans were. No one could have known, not even me, what he planned to do. He was that charming. I’m not even sure anyone believed me when I had warned them of my fears previously. It didn’t matter any way. From the time they walked out the door my fate was sealed … only I didn’t know it because I was asleep in the back bedroom. I was not aware of what had happened till I woke up to him on top of me. Raping me. Hand over my mouth to silence my screams. A foot taller than me and 70 lbs heavier. I never stood a chance. When he was finished he walked into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, threw it in my face and said, “now we’re done”, grabbed his clothes and walked out.

I remember sitting there, numb, not really sure what to do. At this time in my life, I was estranged from my family … I had no one. He had everyone. Everything. His family had money, position in the community. I was alone. My trust in everyone I knew was shattered. I cleaned myself up, as best I could, and made my way to the only person I knew who could help me. I’m not even sure how many miles I walked to get to her place, but I eventually got there. I hid out, not leaving her apartment, for as long as I could until I finally got the courage to try and live again. I got a job at a fast food restaurant about 3 miles away and I walked there … every day. I got one free meal, per day, from them and that’s all I ate. I built myself up, from the ground up, by myself. I made it to the woman I am today … a woman to be proud of … by myself. The year I turned 19 was the worst of my life but I had gotten past it … or so I thought. I didn’t know how much of that pain I had hidden away until I saw my rapist, this October, walking the streets of New Orleans. I was down there for a paranormal convention and was spending some free time with my son, and my best friend, when I saw him walking towards me.

I froze.

26 years of shame, pain and self-loathing flooded back. Choking me until I felt I couldn’t breathe. The only thing that kept me going was my son. I absolutely refused to subject him to anything that had to do with that part of my past. Granted, he knows what happened all those years ago. But … knowing, and actually seeing the man who did it, are two totally different things. So, I told Jana privately, and we walked away as fast as we could.

Part of me keeps trying to rationalize it all. Did I really see him? Was it a doppelganger? A twin I never knew about? Honestly, the answer is irrelevant. The truth, however, is blindingly clear.

I’m not OK. That is the truth. What I thought was strength keeping me going was, in fact, fear. Fear of remembering it all. Fear of reliving it all. Fear of feeling all of that all over again. It turns out I did not overcome what happened to me … I buried it. Now that corpse is rising from the grave and torturing me anew. And every time I see someone say in a post, “what was she wearing? She must’ve led him on!” in regard to a claim of rape, it’s like pouring salt in an open wound. I think people do that because they think they will never be on the other side … hurting … crying in shame. For their sake, I hope they are right.