Losing myself

Preview: A Reflection

TRIGGER WARNING: This is a graphic reflection on being sexually assaulted/raped. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with these themes.

I really feel cold and broken inside. I couldn't admit it to myself until just now, really, what last night was. I still don't know if I can verbalize it or write it down. Rape is such an ugly word, and it seems too harsh a label for this situation, but there is no alternative descriptor. This grief, guilt, shame- it is all unlike anything I've ever experienced. I thought that the feelings which accompanied the depression and suicidal thoughts that plagued me, the stigma that followed, was the most terrible, looming, inescapable hell that existed. I was wrong. I knew nothing. I had felt apathy and had mourned my ability to feel, but I had not felt anything so deeply and blindingly as I do this guilt, this shame. I wrongly assumed that it was all okay, that I wasn't upset or disturbed by last night when it did not immediately manifest. I truly was just in shock, unable to process or accept that the events had actually transpired. That I had actually drunkenly lost my virginity to my friend's drug-dealing, objectifying, womanizing roommate. That I had tried so desperately to be stopped, had pleaded with my friend not to leave me, but did not actually say no directly. I have to live with the dysphoria that follows from hating what I did, knowing I didn't say no, knowing it was still rape, and not having taken the first out I saw. I lost him the first time he tried to get me to leave with him, and I felt relief. Despite that, I still texted him and flagged him down. I had a clear escape, I was safe and with friends, yet I told him my location. I never objected and I knew what was going to happen when we got to his room, but I am still full of rage and disgust and shame. I know he technically raped me, as I never said yes to questions he never even asked and was too drunk to anyways, yet I cannot direct any of that towards him, because he too was not sober enough to consent, was not sober enough to pick up on my discomfort. I cannot direct any of it towards my friend, because although he left me, he sought help, help I did not immediately take. I can't even direct it at myself, because I tried to leave, I sought help, and was too drunk to realize what I was doing and how to prevent it. So here I am with all of this dysphoria and pain and no way to satisfactorily resolve it. I cannot undo what has been done. I feel so violated, but I feel like that's my fault. I do not want to be seen as a victim or a slut. I can't tell the guys- they really probably cannot relate. Not that that's really their fault. Society rewards male promiscuity and discredits male rape and male responsibility, so they cannot relate to any aspect as they have absolutely no frame of reference. To them this is gossip, a game, some juicy events for them to stick their noses into and pry, and pry, and pry, until they know every detail. To them this is light, funny almost. And boy did I laugh to conceal the shock and torturous self-loathing. I will never forget the way one of my guy friends asked. The phrasing he used. "Did you fuck him?" Did you fuck him. Implying that it was something I wanted and took, something that I had asked for. Never mind that I was incredibly drunk, never mind that he choked me and threw me on that bed half-way through. Never mind that he slapped my ass and treated me like an object built solely for his pleasure. Never mind that I was scared and confused and stared out the window or at the ceiling while it was happening, anything to avoid facing what was happening, anything to dissociate myself from my body. Never mind that rape is about power and domination and control and I had none of that, only the fear that pinned me to that bed too long for me to find my clothes and dress before he made it back from the bathroom. Never mind that I was trying to dress quickly so I could escape before he returned, like a captive. No, he did not mind any of those things when phrasing his question. Why? Because he is a man, and for most men, those things are never factors. So no, I didn't fuck him. He fucked me. He dominated me and terrified me and violated me, and made me too scared and drunk and dumb and eager to get my virginity out of the way with anyone to stop it. He raped me. Yet, despite all of that,I don't resent him for it. I only resent myself. And thus the societal double-standards rear their ugly heads. I am a victim, but I feel responsible. I feel guilty. I feel disgusting. I feel violated. I feel self-targeted rage. I feel dead. I feel empty. I feel broken. I feel unlovable. I feel unworthy. Amongst all of these feelings, I above all feel ashamed. I feel ashamed that I was drunk enough, vulnerable enough, stupid enough, and insecure enough to be raped. I feel like it was my responsibility to protect myself, to say no and run. I feel weak and helpless. And none of these feelings will ever truly fade away. I cannot admit that it was rape because I feel responsible. I suddenly understand fully and completely the stigma, the shame, and the punitive, decimating effects of victim-blaming. I don't think it is something you can truly comprehend without going through it. I watched those news stories and of course was horrified by it, as it implies that women are responsible for men's actions. They can't control themselves, so we have an obligation to protect ourselves. I never thought it'd be me. I knew the stats, but I had aced the consent seminars. I looked out for everyone. Everyone but myself. I feel like there was more I could do- I could've said no. Because it feels like I didn't do enough, I didn't exhaust my options, I was asking for it and now am embarrassed and have 'buyer's remorse'. But I know, cognitively, that that is not the case and it is not fair. It is not fair to blame myself and diminish what happened to me. The guys are making this excruciating because I just want it to go away- I want to file it away and suppress it, and they are making that impossible. I also feel like I can't tell them it was rape because that'll incite and provoke issues with him, and I don't blame him. If I tell them and don't qualify that I was raped, they'll just write me off as a slut or keep bringing it up and keep reopening this wound long after it should've scarred, the pain dulled. I really don't know how to deal with this. There is no clear course of action. I just want to forget about it- write it off as a bad dream, and deny it happening. I know that is unhealthy, but it's how I cope. It's how I have survived for 6 years with crippling depression, and I want to survive this. If I need to repress it to do that, I damned sure will. I will pretend to be okay until I finally at least sort of am. This is how I survive and they will not interfere with that. They can't.

-Allie