I really hesitate to write this out. More people from my personal life read here than ever before. As a result, the place for me to dredge my thoughts has been censored. Diluted. I’m at the point of total writer’s block. Don’t get too personal… Your business contacts might find you (dude, I’ve been writing online since ’95. It’s out there.) Don’t get too controversial. Don’t get too bitchy. Don’t talk too much about religion. Don’t talk about other people.
I’m done. I can’t do it anymore. I’m reclaiming this place. It’s my journal. It’s my journey. I need it. I do it publicly, because I don’t have many friends. I need the community so I don’t hole up completely. It’s personal. Dirty. Challenging. Ugly. My thoughts. I have to get them out, and this is the only place I know how to do it.
I’ve been dealing with some crap from my past life. You know – BK? Before kids. Before marriage. It’s not like rehab, where I have to make amends. I wasn’t hurtful to others, except maybe my parents. That situation is something I’ll deal with later. But it’s crappy things that I did or happened to me that were hurtful to me. I’m a crossing guard, which doesn’t have anything to do with anything, except that I am not allowed to multitask. I am a great multitasker. So I have to sit there for long periods of time, just watching for people. Thoughts keep creeping up into my head about something that happened to me a long time ago. I finally had a dream about it last night, so I guess I have to get it out. Maybe by writing it all out I can purge it? At least for now? I don’t know.
I’m closing comments on this post. Those have the need to talk to me about it know how to get a hold of me. I’m changing names so it’s not google-able. The rest is below the fold.
So, what happened? I was date raped. I thought I was over it, but I guess I was wrong.
After high school, while we were figuring life out, my circle of friends and I used to hang out in a local town that had a fun nightlife for people who weren’t yet 21. During one of our forays, we met a group of guys. The two groups clicked, and we all started hanging out more. These were older people. Post college, in career. They really had no business hanging out with us, or us them, but it was legal. I think my circle loved getting the attention, and their “wise sophistication” was a great break from the high school boys we had left behind. As time passed by, a couple of them paired off with a couple of us. One such couple was Bob and Mary. Bob was the bad boy of the group. Mary the flirtatious one of our group. They’d been a couple for at least a year or two by the time we come to my part of the story. It was known that he had cheated on her at least once that we knew for sure, but our little group was pretty certain it was more than that.
My high school boyfriend and I were in one of our “off” phases of our off and on relationship. Picture Friends‘ Ross and Rachel. Yeah. My boyfriend “wanted a break.” So, there were flirtations, and I had crushes, but nothing I really moved on. This group of guys really made me shy. Their parties were a little too wild. Lots of booze. I rarely drank, and I’d never been drunk. Ever. I was usually the designated driver, as I had a particularly large vehicle in which to haul all the girls.
Bob and Mary had been having problems. Mary was one of my very best friends. She and I had had issues in the past, mainly her flirting or outright stealing my crushes and boyfriends. But, and I even recognized this at the time, it was about her issues. She had major insecurities. Why, or where they came from, I don’t know. But there was something powerful in it for her to “win” the guy in the end. And – I never called her on it. But, the fact remains that she had serious insecurities about men and relationships, and her own worth in them. So, anyway. They were having problems. One night, when Mary was out of town, Bob called me. He said he really needed to talk about Mary. Seeing as I was one of her best friends, he asked if we could go grab something to eat and talk. He needed to talk to someone who knew Mary. OK. No problem. It’s no secret they were having problems. He’d never given me the time of day before, so I didn’t think there was anything hinky involved. He picked me up, and we went out to eat. After, we sort of wandered the boardwalk. We didn’t talk much about Mary. I kept trying to lead him into it with questions, and he kept avoiding the issue and talking about other crap. Basically we were just hanging out. Towards the end of the night, he asked if I wanted to go hang out at this dive karaoke bar he knew about. I reminded him that I was only 20, and he said it wouldn’t be a problem. I figured, why not? The evening’s shot to hell anyway. Maybe he simply needs liquid courage to talk about his problems? Plus, I’d never been to a karaoke bar and was curious.
At the Karaoke bar, I got a beer. Figured, that was easy enough, nothing hard, and I could sip it. We kept talking, stuff about me, nothing big, chit chat really, and watching the singers. (As an aside, they were absolutely pathetic.) This is where things get fuzzy for me. I went to use the restroom. I came back and my beer was full. It was a quarter gone before, so I figured I was just topped off. After a little while I had to use the restroom again, which was at that time (before kids) unusual for me. I was still nursing that same beer, that I never saw the bottom of. This time when I came back, I had a little trouble. Things were fuzzy. I was having trouble putting one foot in front of the other. I remember thinking to myself, “Wow. I can’t possibly be drunk. I haven’t even had one beer.” When I got back to my seat, Bob said, “You know, I’ve been drinking, and I think it would just be better to take you back to my place. It’s a lot closer.” At this point, one would think red flags would be going off. But the truth is, my brain was really foggy. And really? I’d spent the night at his house (he had two roommates) several times before, because the parties had been so late, and certain people wanted to AHEM sleep there, and I was their ride. My parents didn’t care as long as I told them I wasn’t going to be home. So, I called my parents from the bar and told them where I’d be. I had woken them up, so if I sounded strange, they didn’t pick up on it. We went to his house. I remember I was having a terrible time staying awake. I didn’t feel drunk, really. I didn’t know what drunk felt like, but judging by watching other people, this wasn’t it. I just really needed to sleep. I honestly think, now, that I was drugged. Because now I know what drugs feel like. Because now I know what drunk feels like. At the time, though – I just was ready to sleep. I figured it was late, and I guess I drank more beer than I thought.
When we got to his house, he cautioned me that his roommates were asleep and I needed to be really quiet. I headed for the couch and laid down. I don’t know if I even said anything, but I probably said good night. Bob said, “You can’t sleep here! What if my roommates get up?” Later I came to realize that was ridiculous. His roommates had seen me crash at their place many times before, on that same couch. But at the time, I just agreed with him and went into his bedroom. I sat on the bed, took off my shoes, and laid down. He disappeared to use the restroom. I was just about completely out when he woke me up. “Michele, you can’t sleep like that. At least take your jeans off.” Oh. Sure. No one’s comfortable sleeping in jeans. I wiggled them off, turned away from him over on my side, and went to sleep. I have no idea if what happened next was immediate, because I passed out, or if it was much later in the night. At some point, I woke up. I was completely naked, and he was inside me doing his thing. I don’t know if he knew I was awake. I don’t know if I even made a noise. I remember thinking, “No. I don’t want to do this. This isn’t supposed to happen. How did this start without me knowing?” but I couldn’t speak. I remember sort of turning off inside, and looking out his window and seeing the moon. Then I was out again. The next morning, I didn’t speak to him. I dressed. He dressed. He took me home.
I was totally and completely confused. I didn’t really know what date rape was. All I knew was that I had slept with my best friend’s boyfriend, but I had no intention to do so, didn’t want to do so, and didn’t agree to do so. I never even had the chance to say no. I never felt him moving in on me. I never felt him remove the rest of my clothing.
At first I didn’t tell anyone. But it was tearing me up inside. I finally went to another of my friends and told her the whole story. I don’t know if she believed me, but I do know that she supported me as if she did. She didn’t tell Mary. She just listened, and decided she hated Bob’s guts. She already didn’t like him, as a person, or as a partner for Mary, and this was just the topping.
Eventually, my high school boyfriend and I were “on again.” I eventually told him the story. It felt wrong to keep something like this from him. He completely freaked out. He didn’t believe that it was rape. He didn’t believe that I didn’t want to. And he said that if I didn’t tell Mary, we’d be broken up for good. My identity was very much wrapped up in this guy. We’d been going out for years, and I was thinking marriage eventually. (That so did.not.happen. which is a whole ‘nother story.) So, I told Mary. I couldn’t bear the thought of telling her in person, so I wrote her a letter. I don’t think I used the actual word “rape,” but I didn’t leave any details out. At this point, I was still confused about what date rape was, and my boyfriend’s reaction made me think I was definitely in the wrong. As a result the letter I wrote Mary had a definite apologetic note to it. Mary flipped out, of course. I was a whore, and a terrible friend. To sleep with her boyfriend, and then say these nasty things? I was a horrible person. In that same week, a mutual friend had a baby shower, and all the girls in our circle were in attendance. She told every single one of them individually at the shower. By the end, everyone was afraid to talk to me. Mary and I have not spoken since. I think many of these girls still think I’m a boyfriend stealing cheating whore.
I eventually, literally, lost my mind. This was the start of a chain of events that eventually led me to move north. I eventually healed enough to be a productive person again. I eventually met my husband, married, had children, created a life together. It’s been 15 years since the rape happened. I’ve been married for 12 of those years. I can’t stand for another man to touch me, other than my husband. I fear reunions. You see, Mary married Bob. They have a family. What if they show up? My husband knows this story, and knows what effect it’s had on me long term. If they showed up, and he found out who they were, I think my husband would be leaving in handcuffs (God bless him).
I don’t know why this is all coming out of me now. I don’t know why it’s on my mind so much. Facebook? Seeing all these high school friends brings back memories? I don’t know. But if I’m going to move forward, I think the first step is getting it out. maybe now it won’t plague me so much.
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