Dear Stranger

Dear Stranger,

You don’t know me. You probably only remember me as the girl trying to get into your apartment because she thought she lived there. You probably remember me as being too drunk to stand. Too weak to speak. Too trashed to move out of your doorway.

Well I would like to formally introduce myself. My name is Steph and on Sunday night, I was drugged at a bar. I went out with friends, had a few drinks, and then next thing I remember, I was having flashes of you screaming at me to leave.

I remember trying to ask for help, but not knowing how. I remember saying, “no please I live here…” and then my mind goes blank.

I remember you screaming and calling the police. And then blank, until I was running down the street, afraid and not sure where to go.

I found my building and sat on the steps, or so I was told by my neighbor that found me. She helped me put the pieces together. She found me sitting on the ground, covered in throw up. I couldn’t speak to her. I could barely stand. She asked me if I was ok and I stood up, pointing to the building. She helped me inside and helped me to my door. I unlocked it and stumbled into my apartment.

My memory after our encounter was waking up in my bed with no recollection of half the night. Bruises on my arm. I first panicked and called in sick to work. Then I checked my body to make sure I hadn’t been assaulted. After all, you hear the drug labeled “date rape” and it makes you assume things.

I was lucky. I could have died. I could have been injured. I could have injured someone else. I could have been assaulted by a stranger in a bar.

Instead, you brought me out of my daze. I don’t blame you for yelling. I don’t blame you for being angry with me. I’m so sorry for what I did. Coming to your door thinking it was mine. I wish I could go back in time.

Even days later as I write this, I feel ill. Headaches. Body pains. The bruises are clear. I wish I could tell you this. But, this letter will never be read by you.

It will never be a conversation we have. Although I wish we could make amends because I owe you an apology. But I also know nothing would change your mind about me being a crazy drunk girl trying to break into your apartment. So I write this for me.

Because as a woman, I deserve better than to worry about my drinks at bars. I deserve better than wondering how I got home in one piece. I deserve better. We deserve better.


Coming down from the date rape drug.

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