Unexpectedly he showed up at my apartment. I was 22, he was 55. I was 110 lbs, he was 250 and 6ft seven. He had a six pack of beer. I don’t drink. He told me I owed him because he had allowed me to buy his son’s car for $500 when it was worth way more. I was a whore and he was there to prove it. Something inside of me died.
After several weeks I changed jobs, and completely repressed the memory – I never told a soul and I know it’s because I blamed myself. Several years later I went to work for him again, never once recalling the rape. I had even stayed at his house, broke bread with his wife – and not once did those memories surface.
I finally remembered 9 years later and that too was devastating – it still is – to know I let him get away with it, and that it’s probably happened again and again and I did nothing to stop it. It has destroyed my life – now, I never leave the house – I trust no one!
Tell! Shout it from the rooftops! They say it is the only way to heal and live a ‘normal life’ – I think they are right. She is right there is nothing to be embarrassed about, but I was devastated – destroyed. I still am!