A few years ago, I mustered up the nerve to write about a subject that was deeply personal and haunting. The reason I wrote about it was because at the time it happened, I became frozen with apprehension and shock that even I who always have a remedy for EVERYTHING did not know how to respond.
The issue was pertaining to an experience I encountered at my beau’s place. I was spending the weekend when I heard someone ransacking his home office. I was awakened by the commotion and descended the staircase to glimpse what was happening.
I did not think it was my paramour because he should have been at his nightclub for the evening. Once I descended the stairs, and entered his office, much to my chagrin I noticed it was him. At least the person looked like him.
The office was in disarray as if he was searching for something. One thing I noticed was that he had changed his shirt. He was not wearing the same grey shirt he left the house in. Instead, he had on a plaid shirt with red as the dominant color.
I thought it strange since he was one who often dressed in muted tones, but I surmised it may have been part of the club scene trend. I asked him what he was looking for and if I could help him find it. He gave me a steely gaze and then motioned towards me as if giving me a hug. I always loved his bear hugs since they were so comforting. So, naturally I acquiesced like a child receiving coddling.
The next thing I knew, he turned me around swiftly and rammed his male organ in me. I was mortified, shocked and in pain. Before I could even say anything it was over. I did not know what to say, or what to do, all I remembered is looking at him quizzingly as if to say, “Why?”
For me, it felt out of character for him, because he was often sweet and gentle with me. We often talked about everything so in my book his barbaric action was something that should have been tabled for discussion.
After the dastard deed, I pulled myself together by going back upstairs to take a shower. I left the next morning to return home to Florida. He returned that night to the club and worked until the wee hours of the morning.
He apologized profusely before I left, but I was in a stunned state. Although I heard his apology, I did not know what to do with it. In my early dating years, I heard about husbands and boyfriends raping their wives and girlfriends. I never thought it would be a subject I would have to deal with in my life.
I thought our relationship was so cool. We never argued about anything and we discussed everything at length…
The reason why I am rehashing this blog post is the fact that some very unscrupulous people have been using my trauma to curse and shame me and that is not decent. They have even gone as far as calling me a whore du jour.
I made the concerted effort to write about it. It was my way of processing something that happened to me years ago and I did not understand it. At first, I thought it was “normal” behavior, but somehow it did not feel “normal” to me.
The only reason why I did not make a big hullabaloo out of the matter was because I doubted myself. I began telling myself that I misread his actions. I thought perhaps it was a navigation mistake. In the real world, unless you can prove something beyond the shadow of a doubt, you are made to look like a hysterical female.
I have heard stories from friends who said their mates made detours during fooling around, and even then, they too felt violated for a bit. This was not my scenario. I was fast asleep and awakened by the noise of ransacking.
When you are in a relationship with someone you don’t want to run around screaming you were defiled or raped because after all, people are going to ridicule you by saying, “For heaven’s sake that is your partner so it is par for the course.”
After going through extensive soul searching and counseling, I was made aware it was not “normal” behavior. Something was going on with him and that was why he was being so brute-like. One person even commented to me why didn’t I say, “Stop”.
Well, to that person I will say, the look on my face should have said it all. It was clear I was not having a fantastic, rollicking time. If he cared about me any at all, he would have retreated and tried to make amends right then and there. Yet he did not, and to this day, I am still thinking, “Perhaps it was not him. Because how could he be Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the same time. Maybe he had a twin?”
Nonetheless, it took a lot of moxie for me to share my story. I did so because I felt there might be another woman out there being critical of herself due to a similar situation. I felt that my story would put that woman at ease to know that even when you are “aware and savvy” crap still happens to you and in the most strangest circumstances.
What I never expected was for people to curse me and make disparaging remarks about my character. This subject has been emotionally painful for me and it has been used for fodder. It just goes to show that there is no “safe” place for people to tell their soul wrenching tales.
Most are only too glad it happened to you and the rest do not care. While a select few will pummel you to death with the matter and make it your fault. We only have to look at all the unspeakable acts that are happening to Israeli women.
Even though their horrific experiences are made public knowledge worldwide, still folks do not even bat an eyelash regarding their plight. What is even more harrowing is the fact that a good percentage of onlookers do not believe them even when multitude of stories are told about Hamas’s savage behavior.
I told my story and I do not regret it. I also know I am a person who values herself and so with that said, I can vow it will not happen again as long as my friends Mr. Winchester and Mr. Glock are alive. I had an out of body experience and that should not happen to anyone whether male or female, married, in a relationship or single. When someone loves you they never give you any reason to doubt their actions or create questionable situations.
People can talk negatively about me all they want. I know who I am and who I am not. I own all my shenanigans, but I will be damned if any partner is going to create the circumstances where I am trying to figure out traumatic riddles all day every day.
Fighting For My Life Memoir 