Then and Now: #metoo

Then... I sent you racy text messages. I told you what I wanted to do with you. I flirted with you. You flirted back. I felt so sexy when I was with you. I wanted you. You were funny, hilarious even. You captured the attention of everyone in the room. Everyone was your friend. You were a giant (I'm talking 300+ pound) teddy bear. We went to dinner and you brought your little daughter. You were so good with her. I found you very attractive.

Now. Now I struggle to fall asleep. Now I have anxiety. Now I feel untrusting. Now I am claustrophobic. Now I have PTSD. Now... Now my therapist says that I could benefit marijuana to calm myself. 

Then... I was carefree. I was happily friends with benefits with you. Then... I was separated from my husband and you respected that. You hung out with me. You danced with me. I enjoyed going places with you. I would go to the bar, you know, that one that you always went to, just to see if you were there. I'd go there alone, hoping to run in to you. Hoping you'd take me in the back room and do all of the naughty things with me that we had talked about but never done. 

Now. Now my husband, who fought for me and won, wonders why I struggle to enjoy sex. My once carefree open sexuality was cursed, tainted, damaged by those four ugly letters. R. A. P. E. Let's complicate things though, and add the word "date" to the front of the ugly letters. Now. Now I have a lot less friends. Not because I am less social, no, because they chose you. They chose to believe you. I lay awake at night now. I can't sleep. I desperately seek control. I NEED order. But they chose to believe you. 

Then... I was your designated driver. You were playing poker at that bar. You and your friend. You asked me if I'd give you guys a ride home. You kissed me. I saw the twinkle in your eyes that gave me hope for a great fuck. We pulled up at your house and went in to your bedroom. You asked me if I wanted to watch a movie. Sure, "netflix and chill." I'm down. Your friend came in. *eye roll* You locked the door. 

Now. Sex has rules. It has to. I cannot risk what happened "then" to happen "now." Now, I am picky about who I allow in my life. Now, my husband wonders why I am distant. Now I wonder if I am worthy of great sex when sex itself is terrifying to me. My husband wonders why I don't try new things. He doesn't understand my bubble. The tiny bubble of what can happen to my body when I am naked. 

Then... I told you I was going home. You said, "Relax, be nice." I kissed you. I was so scared to hurt your feelings. I wanted to be nice. You were drunk, you and your friend. You told me to lay down, I didn't want to. You threw me down. I froze. You grabbed my face with your giant bear paws and squeezed my jaw like a lemon. You said, "Be nice to my friend." When I said no, when I tried to scream, when I bit down on your dick when you shoved it in my mouth.... You punched me. In the face. Held me down by my neck. You told me, "Be nice. Stop being such a bitch." You told me to shut the fuck up. I was screaming. Your roommates didn't care. Your friend tore my lady parts with his fingers, teeth and tongue. 

Now. No choking. No spanking unless I ask for it. No punishments. No anal. No means no. No inflicting pain. 

Then... I was wearing a sun dress. It was black with roses and skulls. When you were done, you got up and got dressed and left the room, no words. I just got up and got dressed and walked out. The next day, my husband came over to see the kids and I was such a bitch to him. I know this because he told me. "Why are you being such a bitch?!" "I. WAS. RAPED." flooded out of my mouth. He asked where you lived. I didn't tell him. I protected you. I shouldn't have led you on. I shouldn't have worn that dress. I shouldn't have told you that I am adventurous. I should have known better than to be the designated driver for two drunk men. 

Now. I wish I had given him your address. Now I wish you weren't free to rape again. Now I panic when I think I see your face in public. I'm afraid that you will walk up to me. I am afraid that other girls feel the same way that I do when I see your face, hear your name. I carry a gun now. Why? Who knows. It wouldn't have helped me that night. I trusted you. Now. I don't trust many. 

Then... your roommate sent me a text, "I heard you had a great time last night." 
"What? No. Were you there in the house?" 
"Yeah I heard you." 
"You heard me screaming and didn't come help me?" 
"You sounded like you were having fun." 
"I never screamed when I fucked you." 
"Oh. Wait. What happened?" 
"blah blah blah" 
"Oh shit. BRB. (2 minutes later) He said you wanted it."  
*sends pictures of bite marks, bruises, swollen face, black eye* 
"Looks like rough sex to me." 
*less than a minute later you texted me.* "Lose my number." 
Why did this sting? How did this become my fault? Was I actually raped? Did I actually want it? Did my "no" mean "yes?" I am confused.

Now. No longer confused. You raped me. You are a rapist. I am a survivor. You do not get to win. Just because you walk free doesn't mean that you are innocent; you are far from it. You are the devil. Karma is a bitch. I walk in confidence knowing that I am an AMAZING person. I walk in confidence knowing that I have a few amazing friends who will stand next to me in the fire. I walk in confidence, in HIGH HEELS, because I am a strong, amazing woman who will NEVER cower to you. I may be afraid you will walk up to me, and I will tremble, but I will not fall. I hope you see me on the street someday so I can publicly speak your name and add RAPIST to it. That's what you are. And I am Katie: Survivor.