The rape
Eight plus years ago, I was drugged and raped by a stranger. I was out for New Year's with a friend at our haunt and at 8:45 pm, I began to feel physically strange. I thought this was odd, as I had just had dinner and was nursing a second cocktail - I was not buzzed, let alone drunk. I felt weird enough that I took my wallet and keys from my purse and stashed them in my jeans. It was the last time I saw the purse and the last time I saw 1998.
When I came to, at roughly 5am, a stranger was having sex with me. I did not know him. I did not know where I was. He was not using a condom. I was not on birth control. I thought it was my fault. I said nothing. He finished and kissed me. I did nothing. I didn't know what to do or how to respond or if I was safe or anything.
He was nice enough to me. I soon figured out I was in no physical danger, though I still had no idea where I was or who he was. He was talking about the previous night - I had apparently become the world's biggest flirt when I blacked out, as I was all over him and we were the new happy couple of 1999. I apparently drank more than ten different shots of different liquors while with him. I fell several times, ripping my jeans and shirt, bloodying up my body and my clothes. I had to be carried to a cab. So he could bring me home to have sex with me. Which he apparently did more than once before I 'woke' from my blackout.
I got home later on that day. After he took me to breakfast. I didn't even know his name and I was too embarrassed to ask him. He had given me a sweatshirt to wear and I had thrown out my bloodied shirt.
Later on, I contacted my friend. She had also blacked out and had come to while driving down a major highway in a car with four men she didn't recognize. She bailed at a red light and hailed a cab. Fortunately she had enough money to get home. She thought it was cool that I got "lucky" with some dude.
I didn't go to the hospital. Because I wasn't raped. I called my doctor on the following Monday and she accused me of lying, saying she had never heard of such a thing. She just thought I drank too much and gave it up. Nevertheless, I went in for a pregnancy and blood test. I didn't want to be pregnant but I figured I would have picked up an STD as punishment for my being so irresponsible. I wondered how long it was for HIV to show up in one's system.
I went to church and wept through vespers. I sobbed in my priest's office, spilling out the story, feeling guilty that I was burdening him with more than he was used to hearing, more than he was pastorally prepared to deal with at the time. Really - how do you tell someone you've been raped without them losing their breath? Even when you aren't using the 'r' word? Because I had *a* drink, I asked for it. Or so went the loop in my head. He said that he would pray I was not pregnant. I had already beaten him to that prayer.
I gave him permission to talk with our parish's other priest who worked in the medical field. The next time he saw me, he suggested I report a rape to the police, even if I didn't want to press charges at the time, they would have a record. I said no, that it was all my fault.
When friends and family asked how my New Year's was, I responded that it wasn't all that great. Just ho-hum.
My doctor called me at the end of the week to say that my blood tested positive for PCP. I think my reaction convinced her that I wasn't lying. I was not pregnant, but since implantation can take up to 5 days, I still wasn't in the clear about that. I had no STDs she could determine. I would need to be retested again in a couple of months.
The guy called me daily for awhile. I took the first couple of calls and then stopped answering the phone. I was weirded out by the constant attention and by his celebration of 'us' as a couple, of how he said that New Year's would be a great anniversary and one easy to remember, of how he cared so much for me. And while I wasn't yet acknowledging the reality of what had happened that night, I knew it wasn't right. So I stopped answering the phone and started hiding at home with the blinds closed. I guess we broke up.
A few months later, I was at the same place with some girlfriends, having Saturday morning breakfast. We were nearly done when he walked in with some friends. I immediately felt sick to my stomach. My face lost all color and I could not look up. My instinctual reaction to him was fear. I told my friends what happened and they sheltered me out of the restaurant so I was not seen. That reaction - that visceral fear and shame - freaked me out beyond belief. Whatever coping I was doing by not acknowledging the reality of being raped, my subconscious and my body knew.
Even so, I still didn't use the word. It was only a few months ago, eight years after the rape that I called it what it was.
It's sad that I am still so covered in shame that I feel guilty acknowledging that I was drugged and raped. I would hate for my family to find out. I still want to post a couple of sentences that excuse him his behavior, since I know it wasn't him who drugged me (I know who it was, though I don't know him by name). But he still carried me home and did sex to me. I was not capable of consent and I did not offer consent by being out on New Year's Eve.
I lost a lot of me that weekend. I don't know if it would have been better if I had bruises I could not hide or if it had been a violent attack. God forbid such a thing ever happen, but I occasionally wonder if it would have been easier to address - to allow others to 'see' the horror.
I'm a mess these days and I think a significant part of that has to do with the unresolved consequences of being drugged and raped. Why am I not worthy of the healing? Why was I not worth enough to pursue legal justice at the time? Why am I continuing to wrap myself in shame?
Most Holy Theotokos, Joy of all Who Sorrow, have mercy on me.
When I came to, at roughly 5am, a stranger was having sex with me. I did not know him. I did not know where I was. He was not using a condom. I was not on birth control. I thought it was my fault. I said nothing. He finished and kissed me. I did nothing. I didn't know what to do or how to respond or if I was safe or anything.
He was nice enough to me. I soon figured out I was in no physical danger, though I still had no idea where I was or who he was. He was talking about the previous night - I had apparently become the world's biggest flirt when I blacked out, as I was all over him and we were the new happy couple of 1999. I apparently drank more than ten different shots of different liquors while with him. I fell several times, ripping my jeans and shirt, bloodying up my body and my clothes. I had to be carried to a cab. So he could bring me home to have sex with me. Which he apparently did more than once before I 'woke' from my blackout.
I got home later on that day. After he took me to breakfast. I didn't even know his name and I was too embarrassed to ask him. He had given me a sweatshirt to wear and I had thrown out my bloodied shirt.
Later on, I contacted my friend. She had also blacked out and had come to while driving down a major highway in a car with four men she didn't recognize. She bailed at a red light and hailed a cab. Fortunately she had enough money to get home. She thought it was cool that I got "lucky" with some dude.
I didn't go to the hospital. Because I wasn't raped. I called my doctor on the following Monday and she accused me of lying, saying she had never heard of such a thing. She just thought I drank too much and gave it up. Nevertheless, I went in for a pregnancy and blood test. I didn't want to be pregnant but I figured I would have picked up an STD as punishment for my being so irresponsible. I wondered how long it was for HIV to show up in one's system.
I went to church and wept through vespers. I sobbed in my priest's office, spilling out the story, feeling guilty that I was burdening him with more than he was used to hearing, more than he was pastorally prepared to deal with at the time. Really - how do you tell someone you've been raped without them losing their breath? Even when you aren't using the 'r' word? Because I had *a* drink, I asked for it. Or so went the loop in my head. He said that he would pray I was not pregnant. I had already beaten him to that prayer.
I gave him permission to talk with our parish's other priest who worked in the medical field. The next time he saw me, he suggested I report a rape to the police, even if I didn't want to press charges at the time, they would have a record. I said no, that it was all my fault.
When friends and family asked how my New Year's was, I responded that it wasn't all that great. Just ho-hum.
My doctor called me at the end of the week to say that my blood tested positive for PCP. I think my reaction convinced her that I wasn't lying. I was not pregnant, but since implantation can take up to 5 days, I still wasn't in the clear about that. I had no STDs she could determine. I would need to be retested again in a couple of months.
The guy called me daily for awhile. I took the first couple of calls and then stopped answering the phone. I was weirded out by the constant attention and by his celebration of 'us' as a couple, of how he said that New Year's would be a great anniversary and one easy to remember, of how he cared so much for me. And while I wasn't yet acknowledging the reality of what had happened that night, I knew it wasn't right. So I stopped answering the phone and started hiding at home with the blinds closed. I guess we broke up.
A few months later, I was at the same place with some girlfriends, having Saturday morning breakfast. We were nearly done when he walked in with some friends. I immediately felt sick to my stomach. My face lost all color and I could not look up. My instinctual reaction to him was fear. I told my friends what happened and they sheltered me out of the restaurant so I was not seen. That reaction - that visceral fear and shame - freaked me out beyond belief. Whatever coping I was doing by not acknowledging the reality of being raped, my subconscious and my body knew.
Even so, I still didn't use the word. It was only a few months ago, eight years after the rape that I called it what it was.
It's sad that I am still so covered in shame that I feel guilty acknowledging that I was drugged and raped. I would hate for my family to find out. I still want to post a couple of sentences that excuse him his behavior, since I know it wasn't him who drugged me (I know who it was, though I don't know him by name). But he still carried me home and did sex to me. I was not capable of consent and I did not offer consent by being out on New Year's Eve.
I lost a lot of me that weekend. I don't know if it would have been better if I had bruises I could not hide or if it had been a violent attack. God forbid such a thing ever happen, but I occasionally wonder if it would have been easier to address - to allow others to 'see' the horror.
I'm a mess these days and I think a significant part of that has to do with the unresolved consequences of being drugged and raped. Why am I not worthy of the healing? Why was I not worth enough to pursue legal justice at the time? Why am I continuing to wrap myself in shame?
Most Holy Theotokos, Joy of all Who Sorrow, have mercy on me.
posted by chickie at 4:00 PM
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