It wasn’t really supposed to be like this.  I wasn’t supposed to be here again.  I thought that I had put up every possible protective measure that I could have.  To keep myself cocooned from harm, from assault; from rape…….

I have always had this fear that it was going to happen again.  I had a contingency plan, who I would call and where I would go.  The thing is in that plan the rapist was someone who broke in, not someone I willingly let in my front door.  But this time that’s what happened.  I had no idea what was about to happen.  Obviously if I had I would of run, locked my door and deleted my profile.

I didn’t though because I trusted this guy, I trusted that he knew what he was coming over for, we mutually agreed on sex.  I know, I know what you’re probably saying.

“Girl what the fuck were you thinking?”

I wasn’t thinking that’s the problem.  I try so hard to keep this part who desperately feels that sex is going to fix the pain.  I try to keep her buried because she carries so much shame.   I did pour her heart out to you the day I wrote the post about being drugged and raped.  I can think of no other reason for posting that, than that hurting girl needed you to hear her.

Lately it hasn’t been that way.  I have attempted to shut her down because her memories are too strong for me.  I began having panic attacked in the elevator last week because I remember being there with him.  I remember everything about him, about the way he was so aggressive with me, how I was uncomfortable with it but didn’t think I could say no because I had put up such a show in the text messages we had sent back and forth.

I really didn’t want to go through with it once he showed up but I couldn’t back out.  I let him do what he wanted, then we drank and that’s when everything stops.

I keep thinking that if I can just search my brain hard enough that the memories with come back.  It’s likely they won’t.  He gave me a powerful sedative mixed with alcohol.  Those memories are gone, buried in my subconscious.  I have nightmares about it but that’s as far as it goes.

Not having a memory is terrifying because I have no idea what he did while I was unconscious.  I don’t even remember him leaving. 

I cannot spend my energy wondering what happened because it isn’t going to help me move on.  Nothing is going to change what happened and that’s why I am at where I am at.  I am scared, no lie.  I added an extra lock and now carry the strongest pepper spray possible.  Even though I know this wasn’t a random attack it helps me feel a little bit safer.

I have said it before that I wish I never told anyone, that I had kept it a secret.  But secrets build lies and the deeper into the assault I went I needed people to know even though that was painful.  I still fear what people might think about me. 

I felt ashamed because I thought I had my bases covered, my double locks, my fight or flight attitude when fear set in.  But his drugs took all of that away.  When I woke up the next morning I needed to process what happened.  It didn’t take long to figure out that I had been assaulted.

I felt great shame in sharing what happened yet there was a part of my heart that was screaming for freedom.  For people to once and for all know that I had been assaulted that night and many times before.  I realized in those moments that it was no longer my shame to carry. That the shame, lies at the hands of my abusers and I know longer need to carry it.

It’s going to take a lot of time to get through this one.  It adds a heavy layer to my already abusive past. 

But I know now that this isn’t the end of my story.

As Always,