My Rape Story

I'd gone out on a date or two with this guy before, but didn't like him, he just seemed like a punk, didn't have his act together, didn't seem to be going anywhere in life so I ended it. Well, I ran into him probably a year later and he seemed to have cleaned up his act. He asked me out so I agreed. We didn't have any plans, I was just going to go to his place and see what we felt like doing. When I got there, he had a friend there. What was that about? He knew we had plans, he'd asked me out! That was just odd to me, but we hung out for a bit, and after a while his friend was leaving to go bar hopping, and I decided I wanted to go, too. I didn't feel like sitting at home, I wanted to go out. But he didn't. He wanted to stay home and rent a movie and chill, or something. So it took some convincing, but we ended up going to a few different bars, playing pool, darts, and hanging out. I had a couple drinks more than I should have, but now that I look back it's clear to me that I was uncomfortable and didn't want to be alone with him. Each time we left a bar he tried to insist that we go home, that he wanted to be alone with me. And at the last one he actually refused to go inside; he stood outside on the side of the building while his friend and I went in! So by this time I had to know there was something he was avoiding in there, but I was so happily drunk I didn't worry about it. I went in and got myself a drink, then came outside to visit him. I shared my drink with him. I could see that he wasn't going to go inside, and it was cold outside, so I agreed to go back to his house, because he was obviously not having a good time. Wasn't that nice of me? So I left my drink with him and went in to tell his friend that we were leaving and see if he wanted a ride home. The answer was no, so we were on our merry little way.

I don't remember much of the ride home, all I know is I shouldn't have been driving. But I vaguely remember being at his apartment and sitting on the couch, drinking wine that he brought in from the kitchen. As if I needed anything else to drink. But I'm a sucker for wine, so anyway, that's all I remember. The next memory I have was the middle of the night, I'm standing there in nothing but my t-shirt, and he's thrown my pants, panties, and bra out on the lawn of the apartment complex and the sprinklers were on, so they were getting soaked. I was crying, screaming, yelling, pleading with him to get my clothes (because my t-shirt wasn't long enough for me to run out there without bare-assing the whole complex) and he kept saying "Suck my c*o*c*k, Melissa. Suck my c*o*c*k and I'll get your clothes for you. That's all you have to do." I don't remember anything else. The next thing I know, it's morning and I'm naked in bed next to him.

I woke up, and was dazed and confused. Everything was a blur. I didn't know much, but I knew in my core that he was bad and I needed to not be in this vulnerable, naked, position with him. So I tried to gather my thoughts to do what I had to do to get out of there. We heard a truck outside, and he was worried about where he parked his car, so I was like, "uh oh, you better go check on your car, what if that's a tow truck?" So he went to check on that, and while he was gone I tried to find my things. My pants and stuff were by the bed, still wet but I could tell they'd been in the dryer. Wasn't that nice of him? I put them on and went downstairs to get my purse and go. He came in and I didn't say much to him. Just that I was going, he was like, "oh, so you're just gonna leave like that then?" Yeah, dickhead, I'm just gonna leave like that! But I didn't want to piss him off, I just wanted to find my keys and get out. I couldn't find them anywhere. I dumped out my purse, checked my pants, checked the lawn, checked upstairs, downstairs, everywhere, and I couldn't find them. I went out to my car to see if I'd left them in it and they weren't there. So I came back in, and he was sitting on the couch holding up the cushion for me to see that they were way under the middle of the cushion. How the hell in one night, in a matter of hours, even if I did put them on the couch, did they migrate all the way to the way there??? So I just grabbed them and left.

I had to go to work later that day, and was just in a daze, kinda feeling like a whore for drinking that much and allowing that to happen. I came out of work that night and found a note on my car from him, "Hay, just wanted to let you know I've been thinking about you. I had a great time last night, I really like you. I bought you a pager, it should be turned on in a couple days. Call me, Love always, Darius."

Excuse me? Bought me a pager? Never mind that he didn't pick up on the fact that I didn't appreciate what happened, but he bought me a pager? So needless to say I didn't call him. He called me a day or 2 later to tell me that I must've had my credit card in the pocket of my jeans because he'd found it in his dryer. Yeah buddy. I hadn't used my credit card in weeks, so I know it wasn't in my jeans, the only place it could've been was in my wallet. So he'd gotten it from there. Probably when he took the keys, kill 2 birds with one stone, right? At least he's smart. So I told him I'd come over and get it on my way to work. I knock on the door and step way back. He opens the door and reaches out and hands me a thick envelope, which is obviously a letter. I felt it to make sure my credit card was in it, and left. As I was walking down the sidewalk he goes, "I wrote you a note." I go, "I figured." "Read it and call me?" "I'm going to work. Bye."

I read it the next day, and he went on and on about how much he liked me, how beautiful I was, how much fun he has with me, yadda yadda yadda. Not a clue that what he did was wrong! He called me later that day and I told him this, I told him I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy to be treated the way he treated me, how dare he this, how dare he that...I went off on him. He couldn't even muster a sorry, all he did was say, "so this is it?" Yes this is it, you moron! Jesus Christ!

So I guess it was somewhere in those first few days where I went from just being ashamed and embarrassed that I had allowed the situation to happen, to realizing that I've never blacked out like that before, he must've put something in my drink. There's just no way I could have such a huge chunk of time missing from my memory. And of course by that time it was too late to have any evidence, I'd showered, washed the clothes, etc. So I just shut up about it. I think may have told my best friend, but it wasn't under the context that I'd been raped, if I did I just told her that we'd had sex and I was ashamed of it. So I kept absolutely quiet about it for 3 years. I held it inside, like it was some dark secret that I should be ashamed of.

I was talking on instant messenger with a friend, and we'd been online buddies for like a year, and we were talking about me, and my relationships, and he mentioned that something must've happened to me to cause these patterns and this anger, etc towards men, and I told him well, my dad wasn't emotionally available for us when we were growing up, so there are some issues there. But he said there was something else I wasn't telling him...and I thought about it for a few seconds, and it was like an epiphany...oh yeah! I was raped a few years ago. Duh!! So we talked about it a little, and he urged me to get help and talk to someone, etc. So I thought about it, and eventually did decide to get help.

So now I'm in group therapy. I got ahold of it by calling the local Rape Crisis Center. It's done wonders for me already. Each week when I walk out of there I'm astounded by what's just taken place. It is so wonderful to have a group setting, where each and every other member there has been through what you have, and can relate to so many of the feelings you have, it's validating and so rewarding. And while we're helping ourselves, we're also helping each other. It's just a wonderful thing.

So there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I started keeping a diary, and it helps to have somewhere to vent, and it helps me get perspective on things. When I write something down I can read it back to myself and say, "ok, you're right about this, or you're being irrational about this.." It is extremely helpful.

There's a long road ahead of me, but all I can do is be aware of my feelings, acknowledge and validate them, and deal with them and move on. Slowly but surely I'll learn how to trust men again (maybe...hopefully) and maybe even learn what a healthy relationship is like. Wouldn't know, I've never had one :) But that's ok, I need to work on me before I can work on me being with somebody else.

I never reported it, but I want to. He obviously has no idea that what he did was wrong, it just came so easily to him, so chances are he's done it to someone else. I know charges won't be pressed, but I want it to be there just for the record. My testimony or story could help someone else's case if they have more evidence, etc. But I need to be strong enough to do that. The other girls in my group that had gone to the police told me about how disbelieving they were, like "you were drinking, you were dressed this way..." So I need to be strong enough to stand up to that before I go to them. Soon, soon.

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