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May 21, 2011
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If I told you I was raped, would you believe me? If I accepted this as truth, would I be able to live with myself?

I said no. He begged please. I said no. He didn't stop. My heart felt like it went missing. It was as if I had lost the life in me. My body was there but my soul had gone missing. I felt nothing. No tears, no anger--even though inside I felt like I should have been upset or hurt...something. He gave a blanket apology and stepped outside for a cigarette. Said something about trying to read me, but not being able to. Said something about not wanting to lose me. I took my belongings and left. The image of his nonchalant composure disgusted me. The way he took in a breath of nicotine smoke irritated me. It was as if I could feel the degree of his slime despite the amount of distance or objects between us.

I drove home. I told myself not to think about it. I needed to keep a clear head. I needed to make it home in one piece. No, I couldn't go home. I wasn't myself. My family would pick up on it. I needed to spiritually and mentally escape. I drove to a local restaurant.

Sorry, he texted. Candlelit dinner next time if I forgave him. That was it. Not even a phone call or a fully written out apology. Not even a question as to if I was okay. Nothing like that at all.

Comfort food. One of my favorite dining places. Strangely enough, it was also the place that my ex-boyfriend had taken me to on several occasions. The manager asked me about him. Long story for another day. What an uncomfortable brief conversation that was. I downed the food but couldn't keep my mind off of what had just happened. My mind kept returning to that moment, the image of his face... Pain. That's all I remember feeling from it. It hurt. And it still hurt. I couldn't push him off of me. He had about two feet over me and about 150 lbs over me. He could break me like that. I hated myself. I felt sick to my stomach. Disgust. Why, why did I not say it louder? Sooner? Why did my body lose ability to fight back?

The food, albeit good, was not helping. I needed to confide in someone. I needed solace...something to make me feel like the ground I was walking on wasn't crumbling beneath my feet. The only problem was, who would I confide in? How would I tell someone about something that I hadn't fully acknowledged as true myself?

"Um, hey..."
"Hey! What's up?"
"I...um. I needed someone to talk to. I didn't know who else to call."
"What happened?"
"I don't know. I think I was raped... I can't feel anything right now. It's like I want to cry, but can't. I don't feel anything right now."

No. That would be an awkward conversation for me. I was afraid of what said person would think of me if I told him what had just happened. A thought came to mind: Laughter is the best medicine. Surely if I laughed, it would be something to feel.

Text sent: "What's the best joke you know?" No response. I was alone.

I paid the bill and spontaneously decided to take a drive to the beach. This would be my first time visiting the beach by myself. Didn't know how to get there. Search on the gps. Random street. It was something. Start directions. It didn't matter. As long as I got as far away as possible, it would be okay.

I've always been the type of person to tell others that it's not okay to run away from your problems. No, that doesn't work because your problems still exist. You only delay the inevitable. Face your problems head on no matter how much it hurts. I'm such a damn hypocrite. Here I am driving to God knows where as suicidal thoughts trail through my mind. I didn't know how to deal with this. This was the sort of stuff they never told you about in school. Of course, you'd hear about the seemingly clear-cut cases where the perpetrator was a stranger who jumped out of the bushes and held his victim at knife point...but my situation was different. I knew this person. He was a good friend of mine. I had even developed an affinity towards him. But I didn't want that. The memory was seared into my head. I wanted it gone. I wanted to rewind time and stop it from ever happening. I didn't want to feel like this anymore--like my heart was in limbo...unsure of what it felt.

I made it to the beach. The sky was gray with the threat of rain, and the water coated with a layer of thick fog. I was counting on a mostly empty scenery. I wanted space so I could feel the heavy coats of shameful disgust peel away from my skin. I thought of how nice it would feel to submerge myself into the torrent water, to feel the cold liquid against my skin. I thought how ironic it was that weather could match one's mood so perfectly. Anger. I hated him. I screamed into nothingness. The fog began to gain in weight. Rain. Wind. I didn't care. I kept walking. Pouring rain. I sat down on the damp sand. I let the droplets soak into my clothing. I let the salty air enter my lungs. I let my hair contour to the shape of my face. I let the weather play out what I should have been feeling.

Empty sex. Normal occurrence? He would be the second person I had ever had sex with. But I didn't want it. I didn't want either of my two experiences. The first person, I told my then best guy friend about. He said I needed to talk to a professional. Told me to call the cops. I pleaded with him to to say anything. No consent. I searched for the definition of rape when I finally decided to seek shelter. I searched up rape support. I searched for the normal emotions associated with rape. I read stories. I wanted to feel like there was someone out there who understood what I was going through. I had never felt so alone in a world of so many.





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