Upon the eve of my 21st birthday my boyfriend of the time (who was everything to not date in a man) raped me. We went to a bar and were drinking. I am not even a fan of bars. I wanted to go camping, but he insisted. (Side Note: After we broke up I went on dates with four different guys to see what was out there. Every single one of them treated me better than he treated me our entire relationship. Like, the little things they did in comparison, blew my mind. How they thought of me, how kind they were, and how much they payed attention to detail, BLEW MY MIND. It was stuff that shouldn’t have even blew my mind, but did. It did because I was treated like shit emotionally for so long that I didn’t even know anything else. If a man (or my bad, boy) ever makes you question yourself, doesn’t lift you up, or brings any doubt.. run.)
So, we were drinking, I was severely intoxicated by the end of the night and just wanted to go to sleep. He was driving. He knew I was intoxicated. He’s rude. He’s not an idiot. I asked if he was dropping me off or going to his place. He said his place. I said ok. I didn’t care I just needed a bed. My eyes were closing and opening. I was falling asleep. When we got there he wouldn’t leave me alone. He got undressed. I didn’t know how I got undressed the second I was on the bedroom floor and he was on top of me. My body was limp. I laid there. I went black and then I was back several times. It was late. I was drunk. I fell asleep at one point and he went on shaking me calling my name until I woke up for a second. He said he was almost finished and covered my mouth. I don’t remember how I got into bed. I don’t remember. When we woke up the next afternoon, he said something about how I was drunk. I said we had sex? I didn’t remember. I felt dirty. Over time snippets of the night came back to me.
He knew I was drunk. He should never have done that. He shouldn’t have thought it was ok.
I didn’t consent and I thought it was my fault. Maybe I said something that made it seem alright. I wasn’t all there, how would I know anyway? The second I tell anyone I was drunk, they wouldn’t believe me anyways.
Things I’ve come to realize over the last two years, I was not to blame, drunk consent isn’t consent (so, it’s noy even a question), the line of consent is so blurry, even women don’t always know if they were raped / assaulted, and you are never to blame.
I didn’t know I was raped. I kept thinking of other reasons it happened. I kept making excuses for him. I was in denial. I was in survival mode. I couldn’t move during it or after, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to. If I don’t share my story publicly, that IS my choice.
I didn’t know. I’m done fighting the obvious and able to start healing.