The face of my nightmares at the gay bar
This post is about rape. It's recount of when I got raped. It is explicit.
I've talked about my recent sexual assault on here, I can't remember if I mentioned that it wasn't the first time. I've been clear about the abuse I suffered as a child, not so clear about my adult life. I got assaulted three times in four months at age 18. It's probable I was assaulted more than that in that time period, but I barely remember it. The first was also the first time I interacted with a penis. I'm going to write about the second time tonight, the one I refer to as "the rape," even though all three times were rape according to my state's laws.
I came home from rehab in December, and moved into my college's dorms. My friends from highschool weren't talking to me, I was severely estranged from my family, and all of my social interactions were happening in an environment that blamed me for everything bad in my life. I was eighteen and incredibly lonely. I relapsed into my eating disorder after the first sexual assault, I started self harming pretty much immediately after I came back home. I'm giving this context because I don't want to imbue this with shame. With this, I refuse. Maybe that's because it's easier with this. I acted stereotypically, I was in a bad spot, I didn't have anyone to reach out to, I didn't make it anyone else's problem. I lashed out at God and myself. I let it make me "better" (if better is a two year long depressive episode and suicide attempts every month.)
I was lonely. I turned to men and sex. I substituted sex for love, and for pain, and for connection, and for feeling wanted. I messaged Jake at the start of a weeks long dangerous cold snap, and there was snow on the ground. He picked me up from my college dorm and didn't ask questions, I didn't ask questions. I went to his apartment and laid down on his couch with my top off. I was uncomfortable, but I was always and am still uncomfortable having sex. I didn't really want to fuck him, but he had driven me all the way to his place and I wanted to talk out loud to someone for a little longer. I wanted to feel real.
We did minimal foreplay, and to be honest he fucking sucked. He started fucking me and it hurt. I froze and told him to stop, that it hurt too much, that I didn't want to do it anymore. He paused and switched positions and started again. Again, I told him no, that I was done, that I could suck his dick if he wanted but I was in too much pain. He took me up on the offer, we 69'd for a bit and then he told me he wanted to try and fuck me again. I said it hurt and I wasn't sure, I said I didn't want to. I said no. He kept asking, moved my body into position, until I said okay. I agreed because I was scared. I had already said no. I had already told him I was done. I wanted him off. I can hear his voice saying the name I used when I was at these hookups. I was afraid that he would hurt me worse. I thought that if I agreed then it was fine, I wasn't being raped because I backtracked. I was in a strangers apartment during a snowstorm. He was my ride back home. I wasn't talking to anyone who would have been able to come get me. I was stuck. He stopped and started a few more times, shutting me up when I said no. Eventually, I yelled at him to get off of me, I stopped being the good little girl I was raised to be. He begged me to let him cum on my face after I put my clothes back on and I refused.
I don't get flashbacks to any of that. I get flashbacks to the moment I stood outside his building smoking a cigarette. To the phone call I made to my only friend at the time. I wish she hadn't told me I just got raped. I wish she could have waited til I was home. I get flashbacks to the view of my vans in the snow and the realization that he has to drive me home. I didn't have the money for an Uber. I had a job interview the next day, I remember that because he gave me an Adderall for it.
I overdosed on my back supply of my prn a few days later, but I couldn't remember why when I was in the hospital. It didn't feel real, and they didn't believe me. I read the notes, and they said that I was making it up. I didn't believe in God and I went on a month long bender. I had sex with a different guy almost every night that I wasn't working that month, and some nights after my shift. I had sex with multiple men on one night, that's when the third assault happened. I was too drunk to care. Or move. Or more importantly, consent. I kept going to meetings where it was constantly affirmed that everything I went through was my fault. I was selfish. I was self centered. If I changed then it wouldn't happen again. I needed to stop being so self pitying. I was so fucking lonely. I had the canon 19yo evil situationship. He ruined my life that night.
Anyways I saw him at the bar last night. It's funny how much he still affects me two and a half years and innumerable therapy sessions later. He didn't see me, I grabbed my friends and bolted as soon as I saw his face. All the rage I never let myself feel has come back. It's unfair. It's unfair that I can't go to the cruising bar without fear of running into him. It's unfair that he did that to me. It's unfair that I have to live with the consequences. I used to love the snow, now I can't walk outside in the winter. I've spent the last two years trying to be okay again. I've been relatively okay for the past few months (despite what my blog may lead you to believe.) I'm pissed and there's nowhere to put it. I hate that still, even knowing I'm asexual, even knowing it only leads to more trauma, I still gravitate towards men when I'm upset. I feel disgusted with myself.
I referenced being assaulted recently. I'm grateful it happened while I was drugged. He could move in next door and I wouldn't recognize him without his car. I might not even recognize him until his hand is on my throat. There's a few things I'll never forget. The way it feels to hike eleven miles in the Utah June sun while starving. The way it sounds when someone screams so much their vocal chords aren't making sounds anymore. His hands around my throat. Snow underneath my beat up white checkered vans. There is no forgiveness in my heart for the orchestrators of my worst moments.