ramble · sexual abuse · sexual assault

1am rambles about shitty boys and moustached stalkers (TW:sexual assault)

Tonight has been a bit of a reminiscence session.
I started out on an old friend’s profile, looking at photos from 7 years ago, most of them involving alcohol and somebody’s garden or a park.
Then i remembered that i haven’t visited RYL in a really long time. RYL (or RecoverYourLife.com) is a forum for anyone struggling with self harm or their mental health. I used it a lot from 2010-2013, so much so that my journal is in the ‘Top Viewed’, ‘Most Commented’ and ‘Most Entries’ categories. It was a space for me to vent my thoughts in private as only 2 people who knew me in real life also knew my username.
My last entry was from January 2015. I spoke about how i was excited to be going to Florida later that year (lol) and that although i was happier, i wasn’t really “happy”, just content. Reading that gave me the weird disconnected-but-familiar feeling, as though i’m viewing that version of me through a haze of smoke.
That’s the usual feeling i get when trying to remember how i felt in the past. I can only clearly remember very specific events.

Anyway, i carried on reading and got to an entry from 2013 describing how my friends were trying to set me up with somebody called Ben. Woah, serious case of repressed memories there! I did end up meeting Ben, on a night out with said friends to be specific. Nothing happened in town, i’m not even convinced we kissed to be honest… Anyway, we headed back to the girl’s house we were all staying at and carried on drinking. I was preeeetty hammered at this point, like i’m surprised i hadn’t passed out! Fast forward about an hour and somebody waltzes through the front door. Guess who! Ben of course! This sounds a lot weirder than it is, i forgot to mention he was actually friends with our host and had been round her house in the past.
So he comes in and everyone’s looking at each other grinning, and they move into the conservatory to give us “time to get to know each other”. Now bear in mind, the main reason i didn’t follow them was because i couldn’t actually move unassisted. Yes it was very irresponsible of me to get that wasted in the first place, but i was expecting to be able to sleep it off on the sofa unaccompanied.
He came over to where i was slumped in the chair and started kissing me. I kissed him back – after all, i did find him semi-attractive and kissing wasn’t something i was adverse to. He grabbed hand and pulled, asking me to go with him. I’m pretty sure i giggled and said “nooo i’m sitting down”, or something to that effect, but he hoisted me up and led me upstairs. I dutifully followed, half stumbling, half dragged to the host’s bedroom.

I won’t go into details, in all honesty it’s making me cringe thinking about it.
But the long and short of it is; we had sex.

The host’s partner came into the room after a few minutes, laughed at us and went back downstairs to tell the host. She shortly stormed in and shouted at us for having sex in her bed. Ben left and i went back to the sofa, where i sat upset and confused at what had happened. Eventually, she came back into the living room (having raged at our friends in the conservatory about my complete lack of respect) and we spoke about it, i apologised and we made up.

It took me a long time to realise that it wasn’t “sex”, or at least not consensual sex.
I was too drunk to give consent, not to mention i blacked out several times during the actual act, so i wasn’t even fully conscious.
I’m pretty sure Ben didn’t walk away thinking he had just sexually assaulted somebody – even at the time i didn’t. I classed it as a grey area. Of course the reality is there isn’t a grey area. You either give consent/are able to give consent, or you don’t/cannot give consent.

On a less serious note, i’m having a very amusing conversation with Janine about “my list”. Last year i made a list with the names of the people i’d slept with as a way of keeping track, just incase i ever needed them! Plus i didn’t want to be one of those people who, when asked for their “number”, had to fess up to not remembering who they had been intimate with.
Ironically, it turned out that both me and Janine had forgotten 2 of the people on my list from last year…so we came up with the brilliant idea to include descriptions.
My personal favourites are: “old man clothes”, “moustached stalker” and “mental long haired scouser”, hahahaha!

Night all

L x

 

depression · sexual abuse · Uncategorized

6 years ago (trigger warning: sexual abuse)

This is not a blog post i want to write, but i know it will get the poison out of my brain.

I was having 5 minutes to myself on the wall outside work this afternoon, browsing Instagram and squinting at the glaring Sun. I decided to check Timehop (i’m on a 56 day streak currently). 
There wasn’t anything of interest for the most part. Old selfies, photos of my dinner at Coast to Coast in 2014, a status about my dream 4 years ago about being in an Olympic Toast Cooking competition (i am pretty good at making toast).

And then i scrolled down to a status from 6 years ago that said “could do with a cuddle plz“.
I’m very lucky in the sense that i don’t suffer flashbacks very often. I wasn’t so lucky today.

My blood was ice in my veins, my entire body froze and i swear it felt like my heart stopped for a few beats.

Such a vague status but i knew exactly what 16 year old me was referring to.

6 years ago was the first time i had sex with a boy.
6 years ago was the first time my ‘no’ was ignored.

Even now i think it sounds a lot worse than it was. I don’t call it rape because it started out consenting (although i didn’t consent because i fancied him or i wanted to have sex with him, i did it to try and make somebody else happy).
He wasn’t a horrible old man who had groomed me, or a terrifying guy using threats and physical strength.
He was a skinny teenage boy who had a crush on me.

I came across his Facebook about a year ago. He has a long term girlfriend and they both seem very happy. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had told her the story of how he lost his virginity, if his version was different from mine.

I’m positive he never thought anything of it. I can’t imagine he went home thinking he had just sexually assaulted somebody.

He didn’t rape me and yet i feel sick when people share their “losing their virginity” stories. But he was just a teenager like me.

He didn’t rape me and yet my stomach clenches and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up whenever he comes up as a suggested friend to add. But we had both consented to have sex.

He didn’t rape me but i told him no and pleaded with him to wait for a minute because it hurt so much and he snapped at me and reminded me of the whole reason i had agreed to it and carried on. But he was right that i was supposed to be doing it for a reason and that reason was important to me at the time, important enough to disregard my virginity.

I’m still making excuses for him even now because rape is such a strong word and i don’t feel like i can categorize what happened to me as being the same as women and girls who get dragged off the streets or abused by family members for years.

6 years ago i lost part of myself.
6 years later, i’m still not sure that i’ve found it.