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My consent is just that…mine

I was 25. He was 22. I was in my party phase. We ran in same friends circle. Joked, flirted and hooking up seemed logical. We met up on several weekends after last calls. It was a fling. Just fun. Right?

One night we met up. He lived in same apartment building as my friend. We both had been drinking quite a bit. We were messing around. He was a bit more “passionate” than normal. What seemed like passion started to waver into the line of aggression.

I told him to slow down. He stopped and looked at me. He said “you want this.” I went to sit up and said “hey calm down… ” but before i could say much else he pushed me down with his arm and held me down. He proceeded to push his other hand inside of me while holding me down.

Now, I look back and think… I could have fought back. Pushed him off. Screamed. Anything. But at that moment I was so caught off guard. I was in a paralyzed moment. It was slow motion. He was pushing his hand so hard into me I was just hoping if I just gritted my teeth hard enough through the pain, it would end quickly. I stopped saying “dont”… “please stop”…. it did no good.

When he stopped, he proceeded to climb on top of me to finish. I let him. I was tired and wanted it to end. Fighting prolonged it.

He finished, rolled over and passed out. I laid there. Stared at ceiling. Thinking about how my life had ended up here. I remember thinking about my family. What they would think of me in this situation. Oddly I suddenly was having this “review your life choices” moment at that very time. I finally got up, dressed and went to my friend’s apartment. She let me in and I broke down. I told her what happened. She wanted me to call police or someone. I said no. I wanted to put this behind me.

I firmly believed at that point that no one would believe me. I mean I chose to go there. I chose to mess around with him. That night started out no different than any other time we hooked up. We were drinking. I should have known better.

My friend ended up telling his friend. He told me I should confront him. I called him two days later. He was at Sunday dinner with his family. He was silent as I went through details of night. He finally said Im sorry. I dont remember any of this. What do you want me to do? I told him get to know yourself. Find out who you really are. Then after you discovered why you have that side of you that does things like this…. dont do it again. Also never contact me again.

I remember seeing him years later. I was with friends. Went to get a drink from bar. He was bartending. He just stared at me. Like I was this one reminder of this moment in his life where he wasn’t everything he or his family thought he was. It was as if he was trying to figure me out. As if I did this to him. As if he was somehow an innocent bystander to a crime his other personality commited. I should be mad about that, but I wasnt. I was still scared. Fearful. I walked away quickly. Second guessed myself. Thought maybe he isnt a bad guy. Maybe I jumped the gun. Maybe I was so drunk I wasnt remebering clearly.

But I was just kidding myself. Yes I had been drunk. But nothing sobers you up quite like a life altering moment. I remember it. I can close my eyes and still see it. I always will. He can try to wish it away. Try to forget it didnt happen. If I cant than neither can he.

It took me years before I accepted it wasn’t my fault. That the moment I gave him the verbal indication to stop… he should have. I consented to drinking. I consented to going back to his place. I consented to messing around. I did NOT consent to the aggression. I did NOT consent to the forced entry of my body. He took my consent away that night. Just that night though. I know now that my consent was just that. Mine. No one can take it away from me again.

— Survivor, age 40

1 comment

  • Alexis

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