Me Too.

I’m not ready to tell this story on Facebook, so instead I’m going to tell it here. I’m not ready for them to know this piece of me. They can place a story to a face and I can’t go there with people.

I knew my assaulter. We had had consensual sex before. I was pretty done with him and his games.

That month, a friend I knew, but hadn’t spoken to in a long while had died a really awful and tragic death. I was in shock, my heart ached for this life – he had only just liked a photo of mine on Instagram not that long ago – he had been in my thoughts for several weeks. I was thinking of reaching out to him.

The next day, my assaulter, who had been a friend before, got a hold of me. I was in class. He sent me a snapchat.

I was not in the mood. I did not want to have sex. I was going through attempting to end my long term fling (six years long) and was dealing with the shock of a death so horrific to such a good person I knew. I told him I didn’t want to do it and I was going to go home, watch a movie, and that was all. He pressured, promised that we could just hang out and enjoy each other. I caved.

I really wanted to ditch the situation – all before he came over. However, he was pudgy, not really all that attractive, and I had been able to handle guys before. So, he came over bringing tequila. I have a high alcohol tolerance. I took two shots and grabbed a glass of wine. We started a movie and he was all over me. Before too long, he was drunk and I was relatively sober. He wouldn’t stop kissing me and I kept pulling away saying I didn’t want to.

I was verbal. I told him no. I told him I didn’t want to do anything. I honestly wanted to be left alone.

He grabbed me, picked me up, and placed me on my bed. I didn’t want to. My apartment was dark, he was determined, and I knew I was in trouble. My heart started pounding and he started to forcefully take off my clothes. I turned myself around, my hands grasped the bed frame and I tried to pull myself away from him. He forcefully pulled me over. There was no giggling, no laughing, his eyes were set and he knew what he wanted. I was afraid. What would happen to me? I was scared he would kill me.

He began to penetrate once, twice, and I have no idea how I managed to escape. My body shaking and I ran to my phone and sent messages for friends to call me – it was important. I pulled up the news stories of my friend who had died in a motorcycle accident – my heart dropping still. I pretended that I had just found out.

He came over as my eyes filled with tears, tears from what he had done, not my friend’s death. He rubbed my back and I wanted to grab his hand and break it. I wanted to hurt him for what he had done. I said that my good friend died, my friends back home were begging me to come home – I needed to go. I needed to be with my friends. It was a lie.

“Are you kidding?” I began to quickly get dressed. I said that I needed to go, this was important. He got dressed and followed me out of my apartment. I didn’t even say goodbye, but rushed to my car. Instead, I went to a friend’s apartment. I cried.

I blocked him on social media. He knew what he had done to me. There was no question. There was no way to prove what he had done. He got away with it.

I hate him. I do. He has a girlfriend now. I wonder if she knows that she’s dating a rapist. A man who feels he’s entitled when he’s white, pudgy, and ugly. He’s a frat boy. He thinks he’s hot.

Me too.

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Moving Back Home

IMG_20170717_173237_059Life has been so full of hectic things going on lately. I finished summer quarter, have read tons of books, working with Thor on some new routines to go into Fall with, and having plenty of adventures with my mom before she goes back to work at the local high school.

Today I went to a wedding. The wedding was for one of Dasa’s good friends who is marrying a girl I went to high school with. Unsure of who I was going to run into and who would be attending the wedding – I started to worry about who I was going to run into there. Two of the bridesmaids were girls I went to high school with. One I was friends with, the other I was not. Who else was going to be there? I had been sweating it for a while, but the bride went through the trouble to invite us and drop an invite in our mailbox – a personal touch that really resonated with me. We had to go. This was important. My husband needed to reconnect after he “vanished” when he started working nights when we started dating and I needed to build relationships.

A couple days ago, I stopped at a local coffee stand. My husband grew up with the two women who own it and I knew I could get a good Americano there no doubt. I needed that. The barista was someone I went to high school with and interaction had always been awkward – but today, the need for espresso was greater than my feelings towards people I went to high school with. She causally asked me how I was and how my day was. I was kind in return (I always am, it’s refreshing actually) and grabbed my coffee and drove off. That felt good. Who I was no longer mattered and the fact that we were able to come to a peace felt good. I knew that I needed to come to peace with my past, my mistakes I made before I ran away to college, and move on. I moved back home, I had to confront it and just accept it. People would forgive and move on. Others may not be so quick to do so and that is fine. However, I needed to stop worrying about what others still thought of me. I need to forget the past and be myself.

When I was young, I was stupid. I was in a relationship with someone right before leaving for college and he was not doing well with that. We were having issues early on and I, stupidly, wanted to have fun for the summer. I ended up hooking up with someone I had been on and off with, my first, someone I thought I loved and it my former best friend (who eventually introduced me to her cousin who I happened to marry – she is still upset that we ended up together) told my then-boyfriend. It got on Facebook and the next thing I knew – everyone knew what happened. Good thing, I left two days later for college – moving six hours away and ready to start a different life, with a fresh start.

I have been running from the past ever since and when I moved back several months ago, I had been hiding from it. I’ve never accepted it and thought that others wouldn’t either.

However, once I felt that I needed to come to peace with my past and move forward, create a life here – back home, I felt at peace. The wedding was a blast. Everyone was kind and wonderful, we talked to many different people and built relationships (reconnected on D’s part) that will hopefully last much longer than those in high school did. Sometimes, you just have to breathe and accept that moving on is best.

The hardest part of moving on from the past is letting go the perceptions that others have of you, especially in a small town. Once it happens and you let go of that past, you are free. Everyone changes, well, for the most part.