why I waited

That night is shrouded in a dense, alcohol fueled fog. I remember most of it, but it is the feelings that stand out as markers throughout the experience. I cannot tell you what he looked like, but I can tell you how he made me feel.

Comforted, accepted, whole, safe, wanted.

I didn't know him at all. He showed up at a party. I was feeling sad, alone, insecure. He said all the right words, did all the right things. I had no reason to fear him. yet. I cannot tell you what his car looked like, but I can tell you that my intuition screamed at me the moment I was inside of it.  

Get. Out!

I ignored her, as I unfortunately do at times. Besides, the charm was still there - why would I worry? We talked and drove and I remember thinking, 'well maybe this night isn't a total bust'. I cannot tell you where we were, but I can tell you that fear was making her presence known. And when I asked to go back and he refused, she settled into the pit of my stomach. and some days, I'm not sure she ever moved out.

Now, now that I was completely alone with him in some secluded place, now that he was forcing me into that back seat, now that he was overpowering me, now, now, I wanted to go back, listen to my gut and escape whatever hell this was. I was frozen in that thought, my brain desperately trying to fight through the one, or five, too many drinks to find some kind of lucidity, to escape. to do something, anything, except what I knew was coming.

Fight!

My body joined up with my mind, and I fought. And he fought back. I finally won, but the cost still scars my body. And those moments are forever locked inside of me, pieces that I do not discuss, ever, because I'm afraid they will topple my already precarious house of cards. I know how unhealthy that is. A few know most of the details. and that is enough for now.

In the moments that followed, when we finally got back, and that first person asked, 'what happened?', I was faced with a decision that I hadn't thought about - what do I say now?

And I lied.

With him still standing a few feet away, I lied. I covered for him and swallowed all of the blame. Because...

a lifetime of rejection made me chase his attention.
a low self esteem made me promiscuous.
I was extremely drunk that night.
he made me feel accepted.
I led him on.
I thought it was my fault.

There are so many other times, other lesser experiences, other boys, other men, that led up to this night. Sexual assault wasn't a word that I knew then. It was just what happened. at school, at my jobs, on the bus, on dates, at parties, in houses, in cars. I had already been groomed for this moment.

I kept that lie firmly in place for six years. I told no one the truth, not even my best friend. When my hubby proposed, I told him. I had spent those years swimming in a cesspool of self hate, sinking deeper into a life where I had no worth, no identity, no purpose. I hated my self and I figured that he should too. I didn't know how to respond to the love and respect he showered me with, so I intended to scare him away. Only, he didn't leave. But, I never talked about it again. Not for another 28 years when I knew that I needed to work through the mess that lie had created in my life. I told two trusted people, uncovered a few layers, and called it a day.

When the #metoo movement surfaced in a big way last year, I finally went public with this story. 31 years after the fact, I was finally kicking the door open (if only partially) into one of the most defining moments of my life. (I already feel the opposition to that last statement.) It may not be one of my treasured moments, but it definitely shaped me, is shaping me still. I cannot undo that night. I can undo the walls of protection that I built in my life as safeguards. I can work through more layers. I do recognize the after-effects, the fears and anxieties and harmful choices, even if, at times, I am again frozen and unable to move towards my best.

To those who wonder how I could keep this secret for so many years, my answer is this: shame and guilt are powerful motivators. To this day, I struggle with assigning blame to him, or any of the others. I still swallow that blame down, every time it rises up, like bile in my throat. I still beat myself up for my bad choices. I still feel that I deserved it. I will stand and fight for any other woman in similar circumstances, but self loathing is a hard demon to battle. I still keep the final pieces of that lie draped around me, like a security blanket that has seen better days but still affords me a semblance of protective armor.

Will I ever heal completely from this? God, I hope so! Otherwise, one moment in time is holding my best life hostage. I won the first battle. I will win the war!