The author reflects deeply on their feelings of trauma after watching the 1988 film The Accused, which starkly depicts a brutal rape. This cinematic portrayal of violence against women evokes a profound emotional response, prompting the author to draw parallels between the character’s harrowing experience and their own past encounters with trauma. It highlights the notion that trauma, once inflicted, can leave an indelible mark, echoing through the myriad facets of one’s life.

The author elaborates on the persistence of trauma, emphasizing how it can shape thoughts, emotions, and relationships long after the initial event has passed. By sharing personal reflections, they cultivate a deeper understanding of the emotional turmoil experienced by survivors, marking a call for empathy and recognition of the lasting effects of such violence.

Moreover, the author expresses unwavering support for the Roe v. Wade ruling, reflecting a broader concern regarding women’s rights and bodily autonomy. They articulate their anger over recent political attempts to undermine this landmark decision. In their view, such actions are not merely political maneuvers; they are seen as barbaric and regressive, marking a significant setback in the quest for gender equality and the rights of women to make choices about their own bodies.

The author is particularly incensed by the June 2022 decision, which, in their eyes, represented a profound failure by the U.S. Supreme Court. They argue that this ruling declared there is no federal constitutional right to abortion—abandoned the court’s duty to protect fundamental rights. This verdict, they assert, will echo through generations, potentially endangering not only women’s rights but the very fabric of personal freedoms that many have fought tirelessly to secure. The implications of this decision serve as a call to action, urging society to confront the ongoing struggles faced by women as they navigate the complexities of autonomy and choice in an increasingly hostile environment.

Christine Blasey Ford water color by Hudley Flipside.

Julie sang a Doors song to me. We were on the hill playing. She acted like she made it up. I knew that she did not. This song marked a change in the neighborhood. The 16 and 17-year-old boys were smoking funny cigarettes.  

Confronting ghosts from years ago and feeling much better.

I am writing this because of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s story. Maybe her narrative was not successful in stopping the nomination to the supreme court of Judge K. I believe she told the truth and with great risk to her family and to herself. I admire her honesty.

So, in support of her naming those who assaulted her, I will name mine. Mike Hansen and Michael Myers (and more). Dr. Ford is free now yet the lies and darkness within Judge K’s being will continue to manifest until it destroys him. Maybe not today or tomorrow but eventually. That is how karma works.

Roman Polanski

The mid 1970s and early 1980s held wild times. A new sexual revolution that became dark fast. I did not live far from where Roman Polanski was arrested, at Jack Nicholson’s home, for the sexual assault of 13-year-old. I knew the girl who was drugged and then molested. I never imagined something like that would happen to me. 

Drugs, sex and fun was fundamental at that time. Luckily, my mom and dad kept guard. They were not always interested in school stuff, but they did keep guard. I was protected from the house down the hill. A single mom with an empty nest most nights. Except for the teenage boys.

The endless drug parties were unchecked by the adults in the neighborhood. Michael Myers, no relations to the character from the film Halloween, ruled there. Any girl 13 to 16 was not safe from his advances. The peer pressure was enormous!!

Once he was 18 he continued to make his moves. That is where Mike Hansen came to my aid. He was my boyfriend who protected me from the age 15 to 17. Until Mike cheated on me and we broke up.  I started going out with another boy. We dated on and off for about 6 months.

Mike Hansen wanted us to get back together. One night he invited me to a party where he was living with Mike Myers.  They lived in an old apartment next to a local Catholic Church. It seemed safe enough. A few friends were over and someone handed me a beer. The next morning, I awoke naked and alone in Mike Hansen’s bed.

I did not remember anything from the night before until years later. This narrative gets worse because I became pregnant. As a 17-year-old my voice was invisible. I was confused and overwhelmed.

Pregnant with two boyfriends. It was not a good place for a 17-year going on 18 to be. The bad words spoken, tension and moral pressure made me crazy. Mike Hansen wanted to entrap me into marriage. I said no. The other boy was helpful, but he soon broke up with me. I blamed myself. It was not until years later that the images of that night came forward. Memories became clear to me. Around the time after giving birth to my first son at 34. Yes, slowly it was clear to me. I will not go into the years of grief and despair that I worked though.

Looking back, I remember Mike Hansen was mad at me, so I assume he or another drugged me and let me be raped by whom ever was at the party. I feel that they planned it with intent and foresight.  In a sense I felt relieved that I remembered this. I felt sad too for a long time. I did not regret the abortion back then. It was intuitively the best thing to do. I realize that now.

The window from Mike Hansen’s room

Today I went back to the apartments. I don’t live far.  The apartments have expanded. There are more parking areas. The apartments are now secured and closed from strangers. The apartment where Mike Hansen and Mike Myers lived are at the corner of Serrainia Ave and Ventura Blvd. or De Soto Ave and Ventura Blvd. The streets change as one crosses Ventura heading west.

As a kid I knew this area. I walked by these apartments everyday, Jr. High School and later in High School. A few of my friends went to the Saint Mel Catholic School right near the apartments. Across the street, where there is now a Wells Fargo Bank, there was a 7- Eleven. My friends and I could get a Slurpee for 10 cents. Why wouldn’t I feel safe there. It was where I grew up? My dad owned a building only a few blocks down on Ventura Blvd.

My family had history here, a history intertwined with both cherished memories and painful realities. That history includes my rape, an experience that has shaped not only my life but also the legacy I carry. With each visit to this place, the echoes of the past resonate within me, reminding me of the strength found in vulnerability and the resilience required to reclaim my narrative.

Julie Myers was a good friend, but I had trust issues with her, similar to those I had with her brother. She shared revealing late-night stories about her brother and Mike Hansen, which made me feel jealous and uncertain. Although I listened to her tales, I struggled to believe them, questioning if I should have trusted her more. They were raping young girls. I was just another one.