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Nov 05

Anonymous Story: Not my fault

I was a teenager, still in high school, fresh from an abusive relationship, my first boyfriend. I was going on a night out with my friend, a new friend who’d recently moved to the area. Her younger brother was coming with us. I was ready for a night out, free from my violent ex and having fun with my friend, I let go, safe in the knowledge that I was being looked after and staying in a safe place.

I was new on the singles scene at 17/18 and had had too much to drink, and ended up kissing my friends brother, briefly on the dancefloor, then back at their house in his room. My friend found us and was annoyed. I can understand why. I decided it wasn’t fair on her so stopped (plus her brother was a year younger than us). I got in my sleeping bag next to her on the lounge floor, thinking how thoughtful it was for her to join me and not be comfy in her own bed. A time later (I’m not sure how much later, as I’d fallen asleep) I awoke to find something being forced into my mouth. I managed to push my friends brother off and tell him “no” and to leave me alone, I was asleep. A short time later, I awoke to my pyjamas being pulled down, legs forced apart and him trying to force himself into me. I again pushed him off and told him no, trying not to wake my friend (which was apparently of little concern for him).

I left early in the morning, got a lift from parents, then spent the rest of the weekend in bed. I avoided my friend at all costs and phased her out, which I feel bad about to this day. I couldn’t take having the reminders. I blamed myself for over 20 years until finally something clicked and I realised that this wasn’t my fault. Yes, I was drunk in a boys room, but he pursued me and attempted to rape my unconscious body. And that act I believe has changed my life, in some small way. Made me less worthy. More worthy of criticism and blame, lower moralled. Less worthy of love. The boy in question (perhaps egged on by his buddies) contacted my by text then phone the following day, saying something to the effect of “thanks for the shag” to which I pointed out that this was rape and if he mentioned it again, I would be informing the police. I never heard from him again. And I’ve thought little if him until recently. What I regret is ghosting my friend. She was a good friend and she couldn’t have known what happened that night.

About the author

WYR

When You’re Ready.org is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories.

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