New Experiences

I’ve been contemplating for quite a while now if I want to let old, dusty skeletons out of my closet or not.

In fact, I wrote this post almost two months ago because I really felt like I needed to at least get my thoughts out other than racing in my mind, but then wanted time to decide if I really wanted to share this story with all of you.

 I have stayed away from this topic because I didn’t want anyone to think it was attention seeking behavior. One of my main goals with this blog is for just one person to read it and relate, and hopefully be able to take something new, and hopefully positive away from it. It’s also cheaper and less invasive therapy for me. However, in light of recent topics in the news, and the #metoo movement becoming more and more prevalent I think it’s most important for stories to be told, so those that have already been strong enough to tell their story can continue to be supported and those not quite ready, can find comfort to know they are not alone.

What I’m about to talk about is a super difficult topic of discussion and I know that this will be difficult for some people to read.

Therefore... TRIGGER WARNING- Sexual assault is about to be discussed. Stop reading if you aren’t ready. And if you aren’t ready, THATS OKAY.

I don’t remember exactly how many years ago it was, I don’t remember all the details. But I remember all the terrible feelings that I felt that night and for a long time after that.

I was sexually assaulted multiple times by multiple people in one night.

It started off as a typical night. Girls night out. We recently moved to the city and were ready to have a good time. We ended up at a bar in an area called Adams Morgan, our first time in that area I believed, it was busy, the crowds seemed pretty decent so we weren’t too worried.

The night continued to go fine, for a girls night out drinking. The bar kept flowing, we were making friends and creating what I thought would be great memories in the big city. Eventually I ended up connecting with someone that was out celebrating with friends as he was close to becoming a lawyer. Eventually as the night ended even though we promised not to separate from one another, my friend and I got separated. She went one way and I left. With the lawyer. We eventually ended up at his apartment. I don’t know where we were. I remember he had a lot of stairs. We were hanging out at his place, and in my drunken state when he was telling me to quiet down I thought I heard him mention that I was going to wake up his girlfriend. In a state of panic I bolted. I couldn’t even fathom the thought of someone’s girlfriend being in the next room.

I don’t know if he tried to stop me, or followed me. I just remember feeling dread and running. I was very much not sober st that point. Unsure of where I was, walking the streets of a very unfamiliar city , very early in the morning.I don’t know how they found me. I don’t know how far I had gotten before they picked me up. But I was alone and scared and they opened their door.

And I got in.

It was me and three men. They promised me a ride home if I did what they said. I was scared, once I sobered up a bit I quickly realized these weren’t good men, doing their neighborhood watch protecting young, drunk girls lost in the city. They were three young thugs cruising the streets looking for a good time.

I remember at one point the police pulled these men over and made us all get out of the car. I remember leaning up against a street sign while they were questioning these men crying that I just wanted to get home. I then realized that when I bolted out of lawyer guys apartment I also left behind my purse with my phone, metro card and money. I begged the police officers to bring me home. They refused. I begged them to bring me somewhere safe. They refused. They told me they couldn’t bring me anywhere as they “weren’t allowed to” and that there was a metro station down the streets that would open in a couple hours.  They told these men to leave, without me, and then they pulled off.

Lost, alone and scared I sobbed against the street sign for a while. Until they came back. Except it was just one of the men this time. No, sorry it wasn’t the cops.

He again offered me a ride home, and for some reason I believed him. He did actually bring me home, but not until he raped me in a back alley in the front seat of his car.

At that point the sun was rising and I was somberly sober. I made him stop in the middle of the road once I knew I was close enough to home and jumped out of the car.

My roommate was home by the time I stumbled in, I reassured her that I was fine, as I didn’t have an ounce of anything to tell her about last night, tell her how sorry I was that I disappeared with the lawyer guy, to tell her I never wanted to go to that place again.

After a couple hours of sleep her phone rang. It was my phone. Lawyer guy was taking his bar exam that morning but I had left my stuff at his place and he wanted to make sure I got it back so he had his roommate (also a guy) get it back to me. Later that day I also was able to get my ID and credit card from the bar that I apparently left as well. I told my roommate bits and pieces of the night, she told me about her night as well. I don’t think I ever really explained what that night entailed, but I think we both had a pretty good understand that it wasn’t such a great night.

It’s probably been 10 years since this night, and while I don’t remember every detail, I remember everything I wish I could forget. I remember that night when it’s the last thing I want to think about. Any poor decision I’ve made after that night makes me think about that poor decision and wonder what poor choices I could have avoided if I had avoided those decisions that night.

But that night, that experience doesn’t define me. It is one of the reasons why I am so independent and why when I can, I am so unbelievably proud to say no.

Sometimes I just say no because I know that I can. And it feels so good when people respect that wish.

I think a typical feeling after sexual assault is guilt. “Well maybe I didn’t say no, or maybe I didn’t say no loud enough or enough times, or maybe because I didn’t say anything then I was actually giving consent”. Or , “it’s my own fault for drinking too much”.

It’s never okay if you don’t feel like it’s okay. And I know it’s crazy for me to think that I should feel okay with a group of thugs picking me up in their car at an ungodly time at night and sexually assaulting me because they did, after all, get me home.

And it’s probably also not okay for me to keep this to myself for as long as I did.

This stigma that sexual assault and mental health are taboo things to discuss is complete bullshit and such a detriment. These are real things, and if ignored for long enough can cause such severe detriments to ourselves that we may not be able to recover from.

Take care of yourselves friends. Talk about the tough things. Find yourself a person, a group of people, some sort of medium to get it out there in the universe because you can’t always go to battle by yourself.

And please, don’t ever lessen a persons story based on the length of time it took them to build up the strength to share.