Things that happened a long time ago
Perhaps I have made it in my mind to be something it’s not. I try so hard to forget it happened.
I was young, 7 or 8 perhaps. He was one year older than me. It’s strange, because I feel like so much more happened, but I only have a couple memories of it.
My parents were out of town. I was staying, with my brother, at a friend of the families. I was asleep on the top bunk of the bed, my brother was on the floor, this boy was on the bunk below me. I remember waking up, and his hand was down my pants. I didn’t say anything- I just moved and I supposed it startled him. He moved down, and left the room.
I remember feeling awful, like something bad had happened. But I didn’t understand what it was. I didn’t get what had happened, but I knew it wasn’t right. I knew it wasn’t right, but I didn’t have to words to explain how it was wrong.
Over the years I forgot about this instance, and though I couldn’t say- I feel like it didn’t just happen once. I will say more as to why I think that in a moment.
There was another time, I was going out to the barn late at night, I don’t remember why. My mother asked my brother to go with me, because I was scared of the dark, as all older brothers he did not want to go. So the boy, lets call him Dan, 14 or so by this time volunteered to go with me. I did not want him too, but I did not have a reason, what would I have said to my mother?
But my brother’s other friend, lets call him John, said he would go too. We walked out to the barn and did what we were supposed to. We were headed back to the house, and Dan kept trying to convince us we needed to go back for something. And I just remember how insistent John was, that we were done in the barn. I never knew why Dan wanted to go back or what he wanted to do, but the look and insistence in Johns face on going back to the house told me that there was a good reason not to go back to the barn. I felt like in some way, if we had gone back, something bad was going to happen to me. Whatever that was, John stopped it from happening.
One day, I was probably 15, I got a call from my friend- she said that this guy she knows had been talking to Dan, who had said that he had touched my friend and I sexually. I remember denying that, but for a split moment I remembered that instance, but quickly put it out of my mind. It returned to that deep place in the back of my mind. I forgot it again.
Later on in life, he moved in with my family. I remember my mom asking me if this was ok. I wanted to say no, but I had forgotten why, I forgot that memory. I just knew I didn’t want him here, I had a horrible feeling about it.
He lived with us for nearly a year. The whole time I just felt afraid. I would have nightmares that he came into my room and raped me. I would catch him lurking by the door when I came out of the bath room- I knew he was looking through the key hole- so I started hanging a towel on the door to cover it. I started being more cautious, more paranoid. This whole time, I didn’t know why I felt this way. Those memories had been long blocked out.
Eventually he moved, I felt so relieved. Then one day I was talking to my- then- boyfriend. He asked me a question. My ex and I worked together, unfortunately Dan worked there too. I don’t want to say he got the job because of me, but coincidentally he quit that job days after I did.
So my ex. He asked if Dan had ever touched me. I denied it, and I started crying. For a split second I believed that he never had before that awful memory came flooding back. Then I said yes, but that it was never consensual. My ex described to me what Dan had said, Dan spoke of many instances where he touched me. While I only remember one, though Dan lied a lot, I don’t think he lied about that.
This was 2 years ago that I finally admitted that. I felt a sense of relief that someone else knew, that I had an ally, someone who knew why I avoided Dan at all costs.
I worked with Dan for another year and a half after that. At one point I was his boss. I dreaded working with him. Though some how he still talked about me. He would talk about how we would be together one day, and how he has always liked me. He would tell this to my co-workers. They were loyal to me, so they shared what he said. But it was hard to tell them just how much I didn’t like him back, without telling my own secret.
I was so ashamed of what happened. I felt disgusting that he ever touched me. I couldn’t tell anyone. I hate him. I never thought I could hate someone, but I hate him. I never. Ever. Want to see him again. Ever.
I feel a small sense of relief, that I don’t work with him anymore. But I still fear that I will run into him, or that I will hear people talking about him. Truly, even his name I hate. Not Dan, but his real name. I cannot stand to hear it.
I wish this didn’t bother me like it does. I wish I could find a way to move past it. In a way I hope being able to write it down, being able to admit that it happened that I will be able to get past it.
I have told 5 people. My ex, who found out on his own, and was the first I admitted it to- he was supportive, but sort of cold. Two of my closest friends, who were very supportive and kind- and shared secrets of their pasts with me. One other close friend, who surprisingly seemed to dismiss what had happened as nothing unusual. And my boyfriend, my wonderful caring boyfriend- he was so sweet and loving, he made me feel safe.
Part of me wants to forget this again, forever this time. But part of me wants to be open with it, and tell people that it’s ok to trust your gut when something feels wrong, and that you need to tell someone. Because I could’ve saved myself a lot of pain if I would have only told someone when it happened.
I don’t know why today I felt the need to share this, but I guess it was just time to put it in writing.
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