Jennifer’s Story: He Thought I Was Mad He Left in the Morning

Jennifer’s Story: He Thought I Was Mad He Left in the Morning

Drink one. Drink two. Drink seven. Alcohol can create blur lines for yourself, and eventually, put you in a place of darkness. One minute you’re standing there with your friends having a good time, the next minute you’re waking up in an unfamiliar place with someone you barely know. Someone you wish you never got to know the way they forced upon you. Waking up that morning, being so confused. While I thought I may have just fallen asleep somewhere in my friend’s house, I realized I was not alone. A place I thought I was safe, rapidly turned into a place of terror. “I can keep a secret if you can”. Those words haunt me every day, for the past three years. Poisoned by alcohol, unable to say anything or comprehend anything going on. I have no choice but to go along with. Part of me feels guilty, for going along with it. I felt so numb, yet so responsible for what happened. When I rewoke up to an empty room, I first thought it must have been what I wanted. If I did not want a touch of another, why would it happen? As the day went on, the reality of the situation became clear. I was violated and tricked. How could someone asleep, who often snores, ask to be touched by practically a stranger? How can that be the case when I was not awake to make the consensual agreement. How can this happen to me and I do not remember the details besides the words he told me and how much pain I felt? I was so scared, yet clenched the sheets pretending as if I enjoyed it. Scared because I could not talk or move, still being intoxicated from how much I drank. It’s as if the violated saw his opportunity, and took it… and he did.
I remained silent and still do. Working with someone who violated me was not easy, and I left that job because of it. My ex-boyfriend told my story for me, in the way I did not want to share. In a way that violated me again, by accusing me of that situation occurring. This event ruined a lot, but I will never let it take over me. This does not define me. While I know this, I wish I could openly talk to my mother. I wish I could talk to someone in detail about what he did to me that night, and how ashamed I feel. Maybe one day I will; however, this is a beautiful start.



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