Usually I like to write about what it’s like to be single, how dating sucks and what it’s like to be a woman in a male dominated world but, in the theme of the #MeToo movement, I have decided to tell you all my “Me Too” story.
Honestly, this is a story about myself that I thought I would take to the grave. It is one that my mother doesn’t know about or even the person I call my greatest friend knows about because it is one that most people wouldn’t share but, with the light of the allegations against Harvey Weinstein and idiots like Brock Turner getting a slap on the wrist for the cruel things they have done, it is time to step up and face the music.
In the summer of 2017, I was sexually violated. I don’t want to use the “R” word because quite frankly, I still can’t believe that something like this happened to someone like me. Someone who is so careful in what they do.
Back in July, my friend and I decided to go to the bar to celebrate our other friend’s birthday. I wasn’t working so much in the summer so I thought I would let myself go a bit more crazy than usual but, it would be okay because I was with people I knew and I was safe. It was a good time, so much so that we decided to have an after party at our one friend’s house. He has the friend I went to the bar with and I agreed because I know that if I go too far, I’m able to go sleep in his room and be completely safe.
So here we are at this after party and I see a guy that I find attractive so I do my whole flirting routine to get to know him. In all honesty, we did end up making out but, I was drunk…really drunk and starting to not feel good. So I went up to the host and told him that I wasn’t feeling well and that I was going to go lie down. He said “Ok,” and I went to bed.
That was the last thing I remember from that night.
Waking up in the morning, I found that I still had my shirt on but, my underwear was on the floor beside the bed. Knowing who I am when drinking, I know that I never sleep naked, especially not in someone else’s bed, that’s just not who I am. Hearing my friend in the other room, I put my underwear back on and went to go see what was up. Laughing he and my other friend looked at me and said “So, how was the sex?”
The feeling that I had in the back in my head finally came to light, I don’t remember consenting to sex and I know I didn’t want to have sex that night because I was drunk. Drunk to the point that I don’t remember everything and the minute my head hit the pillow, I was out until the dawn.
No matter how you see it, I see it as my body being taken advantage of while I was out like a light at a party in a place that I considered safe.
I didn’t write this piece as a cry for help or to seek attention. I wrote my truth so that people can understand that the women you see everyday, your bar regulars, your co-workers, your family members, any woman who put the #MeToo onto their social media did it so that everyone can open their eyes to the fact that we all have a story to tell. That most women have a story that has traumatized them enough that they start feeling unsafe in their most treasured places.
We are not victims of sexual assault. We are the survivors of it.