October 15, 2015, it was a Thursday night. I was 21 years old.
We had hung out once or twice before this. These first times we hung out we drank a beer or two, watched movies, talked a little, kissed for the first time, and did some other messing around. I had also revealed to him that I was a virgin and made it clear that I had certain rules about losing my virginity, number 1 being I would only lose it to someone who was my boyfriend. Was this me trying to get him to commit to me, definitely not, I just wanted him to know he was not going to “go all the way” with me. He had just gotten out of a relationship and he just wanted company, I get it, and he made it clear I was not the only girl he was hanging with in an intimate sense, which I was okay with I enjoyed his friendship and company too. We knew each other pretty well as we had worked together for quite some time, both managers and we were good work buddies, I had actually really enjoyed working with him. Did I have a crush on him? Yes. Had I ever put much thought into it or act on it? No because he had been in a pretty serious relationship for four years, until they broke up. It was messy break-up, it was hard on him, hence why he wanted company I guess.
So we hang out again. He had left the company we worked for by this time. I had just started my period that day which I had admitted to him I was actually kind of bummed about because I had wanted to mess around more than just making out. Going all the way was still out of the question but I was still curious and willing to explore other bases, I had never experienced any of this (except for making out). Not a problem to him, let’s get in the shower, so we did. This should have been red fucking flag #1. I was fucking stupid, naive, and letting my emotions/attractions get the best of me. Red flag #2, he puts a condom on. “Just in case”, he says in response to the “what do you think you’re going to need that for” look I give him. We mess around in the shower, it was fun, everything was fine. We get out and move to the bed, still completely naked. He puts down a towel, red flag #3. What was I thinking during this? Well I probably shouldn’t kill the mood by going and putting on underwear and tampons and pads and shit right now, but I fucking should have. See you don’t need to victim blame, we can do that all by ourselves. We continue making out. “Do you want to?” “No, you know my rule” He tries to push it in the littlest bit. I put my hand on his chest and push him back a little. “How about just the tip, that doesn’t even count.” “No” “C’mon, if you don’t do this it’s gonna hurt so bad.” (Blue balls he was talking about). He pushed in, and again and again and again and so on. My hand still placed on his chest, no longer pushing. I gave up. Is giving up giving consent? The fucking answer is NO it is NOT fucking giving consent. Why didn’t I fight back, push him off, get dressed and just leave? It was something I would later on learn is called the freeze response. He finishes. I’m trying to process what just happened, (I wouldn’t really until about 2 months later). He gets up, “are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine, just breathless”, I try to joke. I need to get out of there. He sits up, starting to put on his clothes. “I’ll try not to feel too bad about that.” What he means by this I’m not exactly sure. I rush out of there, giving him the excuse it was way past my curfew. The second I get in my car I break down completely. I drive home around 2am on the freeway almost maxing out my car at 100mph, screaming “No” the whole way and crying. I still lived with my parents, so I get home and luckily get some sleep, having exhausted myself from the screaming and crying. I wake up.
I would eventually come to realize that I had tried to convince myself it was fine. I wanted it, I put myself in that situation, it was fine, it was definitely not rape. But it was. Trying to falsify the real situation in my head was my first defense mechanism. I even texted him the next morning saying something like “I had fun last night, can’t wait to hang out again.” I told my friends. “It just happened” “It’s kind of a relief that I’m not a virgin anymore.” But it wasn’t. We did hang out again, and we did have sex again, that time consensual. Why? I’m not sure. I think I was trying to relive and re-take control of what had happened and continue my “its okay, I wanted this” fantasy. But it wasn’t. I could only try to hide and attempt to normalize for so long. About two months after, I faced the truth, I had been raped. But what now what? How could I have started singing a different song when I told myself and all my friends a completely different story. I never told my parents and never will, both for their sake and my own, I can only guess their reactions but I don’t think any of them would have been helpful to me. I did eventually try to tell some of my closer friends what had actually happened, but it’s hard to explain especially in person. Some listened and were there for me, some brushed it off, some didn’t seem to believe me or care. I knew this was something I would have to overcome and deal with somewhat on my own. And for the most part I have. I was fucked up before this happened, having been diagnosed with depression three years before. I had learned how to manage things for the most part, give or take a self harm relapse here and there.
So he eventually ends up in a relationship, also about two months later. They kind of have a rough start, she cheated on him early on. He texts me one day looking for some support. I go off on him, tell him not to talk to me, tell him how that night really was for me. His view or side of the story or whatever? “Oh I’m sorry if there was some miscommunication.” Miscommunication, LOL, sure you call it that if that’s what helps you sleep at night. That argument didn’t end well and we stopped talking. I of course unfollowed and unfriended him from all social media but it was impossible to completely distance myself given that many of my coworkers were and still are friends with him and boy does news travel fast in that workplace of any goings ons with anyone. That was some time in January 2016. Months later in the summer of 2016 he and the same girl who had cheated on him were still together. He texts me one night, saying he misses me and wished I was I there to cuddle with him. “Shouldn't your girlfriend be doing that?” I respond. I don’t hear back. I go off on him the next morning, and he apologized saying he felt ashamed and immediately turned off his phone after I called him out. He ends up marrying the girl, and apparently they are still together. Happy or not, don’t know don’t fucking care. I haven’t talked to him since.
Unfortunately that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen him pop up on other co-workers/friend’s social media feeds every once in a while. He even tried to follow me on instagram about a month ago (thought I had you blocked already but we can take care of that now I guess). That night is something that I think about at least once every single day, and I wish that was an exaggeration. Most days I can push the thoughts, the memory, the flashbacks, the nightmares, the disorientation, the anxiety/panic attacks, away. Most days but not all.
So why am I sharing this story now, years later? I don’t know. Some days it’s just really fucking hard to deal with. Especially when I’m so often reminded of it. With movements like #metoo, #whyididntreport, and the media exposing multiple sexual assault cases it’s hard to avoid the subject. Not that these movements are bad by any means but I’m sure I’m not the only one where sometimes it just reminds me of my own situation, something I don’t need reminding of. And I realize that my case is “minor” for lack of a better word and it could have been a lot worse, but it doesn’t change the fact that I had something taken from me that I can never get back and without my consent.
There is hope though, this story isn’t completely without a happy ending. I have a small circle of really great and close friends. I have an amazing best friend who I’ve known for 16 years and honestly I don’t where I would be today without her. I have a boyfriend who has shown me the selfless love that I thought only existed on TV. I have a good family. I have excelled at all my jobs and in art school. I’ve had amazing experiences and adventures. I’m not completely tragic, even though I do feel like I am sometimes. I have my shit together, for the most part...
However, today was one of those days he popped up on my instagram feed in a friend’s post, two different posts from two different people actually. It’s not their fault, I don’t think they have any idea. But today was one of those days I couldn’t push the thoughts out of my mind, especially when I have so much time to think on my long drives to and from work, school, home, etc. I had always thought about posting my story here, where I remain anonymous for the most part. I’m not even sure how many of my few followers are still active. This could easily be a shout into the void but I had to shout somewhere, to get it out of me somehow. Did it help? Somewhat? I’m not sure. I just feel numb at the moment I guess, which is better than I was an hour ago crying on the way home from work? I don’t know, sometimes it’s just really fucking hard.
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