If something bad happens once, people usually say it’s bad luck. But to happen twice, just seems stupid.
Growing up in a restricted family, I had never been exposed to the sexually explicit content that is out in the world. However, when I turned 17 that all changed for me. The winter months, I remember it now, 19th December, though at the time I did not really understand what had happened. It was my first time. I had started dating a guy on the 10th December, by the 19th we had met twice and we went back to his, so I innocently thought, he could make us food. When we got to his he began immediately on what I can now see as his conquest. He already had a girlfriend, that I didn’t know about until after (which only made me feel the guilty party) but she wasn’t around. No one was. Only him and me.
I told him I wanted to wait, I wasn’t one to do anything on a first or second meeting. I was actually quite frigid for a 17 year old.
He did it anyway. I let him. He was too strong to push away, but I didn’t really know what it meant. I left his, spoke to him only once more after that, and that was to confront him about his girlfriend, which he lied about, again. So I just blocked him.
It was only then when I realised the mental abuse he had put me under, let alone realising I had let him have sex with me without my consent.
After going to uni a year later, I knew that sex was a big part of the culture, after already having developed eating disorders, anxiety and depression (for which I did cbt), I decided to live a little. Still not seeing the sexual appeal.
A night out on the town once again changed everything. This time, a different guy, a different city. We met at the club, drank-a lot. I don’t even Remember how I came to be making out with him in the booth of the club. He bought me a drink and something seemed off. People tell you to be careful accepting drinks from strangers, but he was a friends friend. I didn’t think it would be bad.
Next thing I know, I’m in a Strange house with this bearded guy pushing me into the against his door. It was blurry but I remember saying I didn’t want to go all the way. Maybe I was up for playing but I don’t just have sex with people. I can’t.
I remember him pushing me down on the bed, I thought it was kind of endearing here. A guy was paying me attention. So once again, I became frigid and didn’t stop what happened next. I was drunkenly giggling about how small he was. I remember that because it’s what I tell me friends now to hide the fact that their friend was a rapist.
Yes I was giggling because he was touching me. But that doesn’t mean I wanted it. I remember I couldn’t sleep afterwards as he draped his arm over me. I tried to sober myself up but it was hard to do when his dead weight was keeping me in his bed. When I finally got away, I left without so much as a bye because I knew that what I was doing was commonly known as the ‘walk of shame’.
I walked across the river and honestly considered jumping in, it was around 6 am, no one was around. I sat on the edge of the bridge for about 10 minutes debating how cold the river would be. I wanted to wash him away. That’s when I rang my friend. She teased me about having a ‘one night stand’ and from then I have always referred to it as such. Not the night of my second rape. My second time. But as a joke, because I was too busy protecting my friends than myself.
4 years later and I still haven’t told anyone. I never knew the right way.
I haven’t let it define me, but sometimes just doing normal every day things causes my anxiety to spike if I see a man in the street.
The sad thing is, is that I know sex can be pleasurable for people. But the only two encounters I have had, have been out of my control. Which now means I am scared of it. I hate myself for it and I hate my body, but I keep going because I know one day, I will love myself for how string I have been to carry on. One day I will love myself.
— Survivor, age 22