i was 18. it was a casual party. i’d never had a proper issue with a man. never. that night, i remember looking at my phone and seeing it was exactly 11 pm after taking a sip of the drink he gave me. he told me i looked pretty. i remember saying thank you, but also feeling uncomfortable by his presence. i moved toward the dance floor. i soon started losing my vision. at first, i thought it was my low iron levels. he had followed me, and as i turned, i lost my balance. he caught me. i told him I wanted to go home. i couldn’t see to dial my phone, so i asked him to dial my mother for me. it was a matter of only 15 minutes before this drug took over my body. i remember crying, saying “i can't walk”. it was a nightmare that i kept trying to wake up from, but couldn’t.
he picked me up and told me “you’ll be okay,” and took me to his bedroom. i knew what was about to happen, but at this stage, i was powerless. i couldn’t talk. i couldn’t form the words. i couldn’t even say “no.” i remember tears rolling down my face as i laid there powerless to stop him. as he used my body for his own pleasure. and, i remember it hurt – a burning type of pain. no matter how hard i tried, i couldn’t keep my eyes open. i passed out.
it was 4:15 am when i woke up, in the worst kind of pain – the pain from someone forcing themselves into your body. the pain of the guilt and shame. the pain of being scared of every man i'd ever meet from then on.
there was blood on the sheets. barely able to walk, my ankles bruised from the way he held them so tight so i wouldn’t run or move (despite the fact that i physically couldn’t). i fumbled for my phone and called my best friend. i couldn’t get out to the road fast enough, waiting for my friend to pick me up. she jumped out of the car, keys still in the ignition. she looked at me, mascara running down my cheeks, hair in a bundle, bite marks on my left thigh and bruises on my right. she just hugged me. the second her arms were around me, i knew i would be okay.
after that night, i had every reason to be afraid… afraid to walk down the street at night. afraid for my sisters and future daughters. afraid to show too much skin or to drink near boys. i’m 18. i have a basic right to be allowed to drink, party, and wear whatever i want, walk whenever and wherever i want. yet it was stolen from me, the day he chose to force himself upon me – inside me.
what i still can’t understand are the things people say. “what were you wearing?”
“you were showing cleavage, what do you expect?” and, “maybe it’s because you looked really pretty!” is that supposed to be a compliment? that i looked rapable?
those types of comments only distract from the real problem. i – and every other woman – should be able to walk around with no clothes on and still be treated with dignity. people should still have the human decency to keep their hands to themselves. clothes ARE NOT the issue here. the issue is people who think clothes equal consent… they DO NOT!
i felt so unheard. i kept my story to myself for a while because i was made to believe i was the problem. “maybe i shouldn’t have worn that…”
no. the reality is he shouldn’t have raped me.