Ann, woman, twenties, United States

TRIGGER WARNING: Gender-Based Violence

A common story in these parts, and by these parts I mean 20something University students in the US in the early 2010s. 

All the makings of an early romance flitted our time, with flirtatious looks across the dining table, soft brushes passing in the hall keeping our interest in each other high. It could have been a love story - boy meets girl, girl meets boy, they lock eyes at a party, have just enough in common to catch a vibe and thrive on the high of what could have been. 

The rose-tinted glasses came off abruptly not soon after, on my birthday no less. 

I wasn't in a state to consent. I made an attempt at a french exit from the stragglers kicking on past bedtime but was followed. I closed the door, pushed against the door, but didn't lock it in time. I asked him to leave, he cajoled his way into the flat, into the room, into the bed. I said no. I said please stop. I said no a few more times. I said I really don't want to. I said I was really drunk. I said stop a few more times. Before eventually turning my head to the wall and closing my eyes. 

This was before the boom of the 'me-too' era that took over companies and campuses in the US. I didn't have the language for what happened. Rape was a stranger in a dark alley, not a love interest down the hall. 

He called for months after that. Something akin to guilt begging to be forgiven. I retreated into myself, processing the heavyweight slowly. I wrote in a journal that it felt like I was perpetually cloaked in a heavy, grey blanket, dragging around a weight that wasn't mine. One day, I threw it off. 

To anyone in this position, I hope you speak to someone. It took me much too long to admit what happened, but if I had opened up to someone about what happened, the heavyweight could have been lifted sooner.