Trigger warning: sexual assault
I’ve been raped four times. The first time, I was fresh out of the psychiatric hospital for BPD and suicidal ideation. My mother was dying of cancer. I was in the midst of a medical bankruptcy for chronic health conditions. I was really struggling and totally alone with no friends.
But someone I knew from the hospital introduced me to her older friend. I was in my late 20s, and he was a big, beefy, 50-year-old man. He bought me a beer and chatted with me about my mom. He offered me a Xanax to help me cope, and I’d been prescribed them before, so I thought it would be okay. I thought he was being nice. I never had anyone to look out for me or take care of me, so it was really hard for me to see what was happening.
Long story short, he lured me to his house and pressured me to drink more. I said no, but he gave me a spiel about how he really wanted me to try his mixed cocktails. By then, I’m already on a Xanax and a few beers. I said no again, and he pushed. I caved, and he plied me with liquor. Then he pushed more pills onto me, and I was already too far gone to know what I was doing. He took away my keys and raped me after that. I was barely conscious. I certainly didn’t want to have sex with him; I’m a lesbian, and he knew that. I knew I shouldn’t have taken the drugs, but I was severely mentally ill and very, very easily manipulated. He clearly saw this in me and used it to his advantage, but I didn’t realize that until it was too late.
The next morning, I somehow made it to my former therapist’s office. I was still under the influence of all the drugs, but I desperately wanted to be somewhere safe (which wasn’t home, either, due to my dad). But I lost consciousness in the office, and my therapist had me taken to the ER in an ambulance.
When I woke up, I immediately asked for a Plan B pill, which they didn’t give me. I got lectured by the doctor and nurse for having “unsafe sex,” and I was tearfully trying to tell them what happened when they sent a cop in to lecture me more—apparently he had searched my bag and found my antidepressants in a pill box rather than the original prescription bottle. He told me he’d let me off with a warning this time, and I just felt… worthless. Like I was the bad guy somehow, and no one cared.
When I saw my therapist again, she was angry with me. I wasn’t really able to explain what happened since she just wanted to move on, I guess. This is when I started blaming myself. I figured if all the people who were supposed to help me were blaming me, it must be my fault, right? I won’t go into detail about the other three rapes. They were somewhat similar, though, and involved me crying and saying no, somehow ending up isolated with these men, and me being told I didn’t have a choice. So I’d just comply out of fear.
This has been a painful sticking point for me; I keep blaming myself. But today, my current therapist said very firmly: “That was rape. You said no, you didn’t give your consent, and your body was violated. You were raped. Period.” And she went on to validate the other rapes, too. I just broke down crying and saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you” because I finally felt like someone could see what really happened.
I’ve spent years blaming myself, and I’ve been waiting all that time to hear those words. I feel like a weight has been lifted. Someone who is providing care to me, who means a lot to me, she heard me, validated me, and believed me. That means so, so much.
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