Anonymous Story: Was I Even Raped?

Anonymous Story: Was I Even Raped?

All names in this story have been changed to protect the privacy of the survivor and the other individuals involved.

I’ve struggled with this for a long time. It’s been 6.5 years. I have talked to a very select few people about it, and only just began therapy. I almost think I just spent all these years trying to suppress it and it has gotten to the point that I can’t anymore. I hate how I feel about it. I hate it because while I know I was raped, I don’t really feel like I was. Well, I do and I don’t. I have had sex that I have regretted the next day, but I fully accepted that I made that choice and it didn’t make me feel so disgusting, so shameful, so violated, so filthy. This was different, and I know it was, but I cannot get the voice out of my head that is telling me it was my fault and my choice. I have been writing about it a lot, trying to get everything clear and make sure I’m remembering everything I can. I go through periods of time where I don’t think about it at all, and other times it’s all-consuming. I hate myself for how it has affected me because I feel like it is so trivial. So minor compared to what others have gone through. I don’t have the right to feel this way. My life wasn’t threatened. I wasn’t kidnapped, I wasn’t injured, I wasn’t physically harmed in any way at all. It wasn’t in a dark alley, I wasn’t drugged. How dare I let this affect my life. It was nothing.

I was 19 and getting ready to go to my friend “Jane’s” apartment for New Year’s Eve. It was going to be a very small party. Literally, 5 or 6 people. One was my friend “John”. Jane and John both were high school friends of mine, and we were at the time in our sophomore year of college. Jane lived in the apartment with her boyfriend, who was from a foreign country, and his brother “Jack” was visiting from said foreign country. I had never met her boyfriend or his brother before. There was a running joke throughout the night about my boobs being big and I got a lot of attention for that. At some point that night, I found myself lying on Jane’s bed talking to her while the guys were in another room. She told me that since Jack had been traveling a lot he hadn’t been able to have sex in a while and asked if I’d be interested. I said sure why not! Because I was 19 and super smart, ya know. I vividly remember her telling him I had agreed (so, I guess they had discussed this prior?). The look he gave me should have made me turn tail and run as fast as I possibly could. But, hooray for alcohol and stupidity. The way I ended up alone in his room with him was interesting. We were all in the living room talking about geography. Apparently alcohol makes us all academics. I am, in my most sober state, horrendous at geography. I mean, it is shameful. So drunk, it’s just downright pathetic. So he took me into the room to show me a map of what we were talking about. And what’s funny is, he actually did. We legitimately got on the computer and looked at maps. And we sat on the edge of the bed and talked for a while. I couldn’t possibly tell you about what though.

Quite abruptly, he pushed me back onto the bed and started kissing me. I was ok at this point. Sure, I’m cool with this. Then he stopped and said (I’m paraphrasing because I don’t know word for word) “you know, if you want a bed to sleep in tonight then you should have sex with me”. I was expecting this. I knew he knew I had said I would. So it wasn’t like a shock or anything. My response was “do you have a condom” and he said he did and he then asked if I was legal. Up to this point, I was ok. I was consenting. I knew what was happening. I don’t like that I was, but, I was. He then pulled me pants down and went down on me.

That’s when everything changed. I was not ok with this. I have never really been ok with it and I was on the tail end of my period. I was honestly completely mortified. I immediately shut down and said no. No I don’t want to do this anymore. When he didn’t stop I grabbed his hair and attempted to pull him off of me but I wasn’t able to move him. When he stopped I tried to push him off of me and told him that I didn’t want to keep doing this, but he said “no no it’s ok, it’s fine” and wouldn’t let me up. I tried to move my legs but found I couldn’t. My jeans were around my knees and I couldn’t get them off. I repeated over and over I didn’t want to. I said “I’m good I’m done” multiple times, in my drunken state thinking that pretending that I had orgasmed would make him stop (I kind of lol at that now, like really, what was I thinking). The entire time I had my hands on his shoulders. I was trying with all of my strength to push him off but it was like I wasn’t able to exert any force. I’m sure it was because I was so drunk, or maybe even in shock. It felt like my mind was willing my arms to push but my arms just weren’t responding. I kept my head turned to the side because I didn’t want him to try to kiss me. He was, for lack of a better word, ferocious. I don’t think I suffered any damage and I don’t think it hurt, but I honestly don’t remember. I did have to check the next day to see if I had taken my tampon out because I wasn’t sure, and I have no clue if he actually used the condom.

I have absolutely no idea how long it lasted. No memory of it stopping. I only remember waking up the next morning. I pretty much still had my clothes on. I had to spot clean the sheets. He got up, got a beer, and said not a word to me. I felt so awkward. Everyone knew we had had sex but no one knew how. I was disgusted with myself. I hated myself. I hated who I had become.

Why didn’t I scream? Call out for help? There were people literally in the next room. What was I thinking?? I just don’t know. I know that it never crossed my mind. I never once thought of yelling. What gets me is I consented twice. TWICE. I said yes. I guess it’s hard for a guy to get that and then have it pulled away from him right as he gets going. I can’t get rid of the guilt. I can’t get rid of the feeling that this was my fault, and that since I gave consent initially it doesn’t actually count as rape. It took me a few days to even grasp what had happened. I tried to laugh it off to make myself feel better. I have let it eat away at me for years and what makes me the most angry is that I doubt he has thought about it for one second of his life since. I want him to be as miserable as I am. But then again, I also don’t really want him to know how much he has gotten to me, because then it’s almost a win for him, isn’t it. I hate this so much. I want it to stop. I want to feel normal again.

*I used fake names for ease of expression. They are in no way related to the real names*



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