Guess I have to admit something right now.
Something that had ate me alive for the past four years.
A huge secret. Something that’s no longer a secret.
My idiot of a friend was trying to justify rape jokes and I obviously got really offended. She called me overly sensitive. God forbid I should feel desensitized to such a traumatic issue. Fuck that. Being offended is not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of wanting to stand up to discrimination, ignorance, and blatant idiocy in our prevalent society.
But that’s not what this post was about.
My confession to you is:
I was nearly raped by my ex boyfriend. I broke down to my friend about it after arguing with him about rape jokes and it just suddenly spilled out. I didn’t mean it to, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I still feel terrified of that moment.
There is absolutely nothing more horrifying than losing control, and helpless to do a damn thing about it. I still have flashes. A part of me should be grateful that I wasn’t actually raped, but I was very close to. I still remember how sore the purple bruises were on my wrist that summer during my struggle. People thought I got burnt.
Why I didn’t tell anyone? I felt disgusting. I felt weak. A coward. I thought rape wouldn’t happen to me of all people. I couldn’t tell my parents. I knew they’d blame me. That fucking cunt is in the University of Virginia right now, studying to become a physician. It’s too late now to do anything legally. I’d lose. He’ll be smiling apathetically.
He was a monster. A psychopath.
I didn’t tell some of my friends til now. And when I say some, just two of my friends. I’m not comfortable sharing my experience, and don’t think I need to.
This is why you don’t make fucking rape jokes. You don’t KNOW who’s been through that. Ever.
I still have nightmares of having rape actually happen to me. By him, by people I despise. I have chronic insomnia. I feel like this is a new topic I should discuss with my therapist.
My now boyfriend, who I’m in a very open relationship with now atm, said I was 1000x stronger. How it wasn’t my fault. My best friend said my ex was a scumbag who will burn in hell forever. How it’s not shameful. My other close friend assured me that I needed help because it was something I’ve been bottling for a very long time.
It’s one of the passive reasons that contribute to my clinical depression.