I don't want this book to end because I'm afraid of what happens when I read the ending and know that nothing has improved. And I'm afraid of losing this single sided interaction I have with someone who knows absolutely everything.
I hate that sexual assault has been so normalized that it's a plot point. I hate that I still cringe and look away at the slightest hint of it. I hate that as a young child I was taught to be concerned walking alone or to always check the backseat of my car. I hate that so many men don't report. I hate reading about statistics - knowing all too well the unreported cases that aren't included. I hate hearing more and more stories about individuals experiencing this themselves.
I have absolutely no hope that sexual assaults will ever end. I hear student experiences, I go to conferences, I hear speeches, I go through trainings, I see celebrities take up the charge, I hear about bystanders getting involved. But still it seems never ending. Rape and sexual assault are just a part of life. And I never want to accept this as reality.
I can share things in writing what I can't necessarily share aloud. This is one such instance. Over and over again I question if I am spiraling. I'm not. While this may sound like a jumble, I just have words in my head that I've held onto alone for too long, so I will tell them here. I have spiralized. I have been depressed. I have been angry. I have been exhausted. I have been defiant. Right now, I don't know exactly what I am.
One year ago, Gordon Huffstutler sexually assaulted me. This isn't the first time I've been sexually assaulted, and I can't say that it will be my last. But it happened.
I can tell you the useless details of the night - of the plan made while completely sober to ensure my own safety for the night, of playing some fun and some cringeworthy games with Gordon and a good friend of mine, of instinctively and protectively stopping my alcohol consumption while I still was of sound enough mind, of asking my friend if I could hug him before turning and going back inside. I question if I was disappointed in saying bye to my friend or if I was teetering on dread already.
The plan was that I'd sleep on an air mattress. Then the plan changed to sharing a bed with a pillow separating. When we did go to bed, he ended up cuddling me. I was thrown off as there was not a pillow, but I turned away, tucked my feet up to my chest, and fell asleep.
I woke up to his hand down my pants. I was in disbelief. I was in shock. I was too tired to drive back home. This had just been discussed. He knew I had been sexually assaulted while I was asleep. And here he was with his hand down my pants. I rolled away, effectively creating distance, and stayed still until I thought he was asleep. I fell asleep too.
I woke up again to his hands down my pants again.
I said "no thank you" and turned away. I purposefully stated it as "no thank you" so I could remember I said it. I would not be told that I never said anything. I would not be told that I wanted it.
I know I woke up to this on multiple occasions and I know I turned away or said no multiple times.
The final time we were both awake enough. After I said "no thank you," he rolled on top of me, his head above my stomach and he planted kisses above my shirt. I shrugged him off. I cuddled a tad longer, my mind absolutely racing. Then we got up.
I can tell you all the deflections and delays of the next morning - that he used three skinny elastic hairbands to get fix his bun, that typically he would shower first but he skipped it, that I repeatedly used his fingertip oximeter, that I stuck around his place making small talk until he left to build a dog pen for another individuals from games and I left for home.
That I stuck around trying to pretend that it was normal when I was screaming and in shock internally.
I sat in my car Googling answers I already knew. I lied in bed Googling answers I already knew. I Googled the definition of consent. I Googled if I could give consent when I was asleep. I wanted the internet to tell me that this was ok, that I was wrong, that this wasn't what I thought it was. Over and over it told me what I already knew.
I called out sick the next day. I stayed in bed. I was still Googling the same thing and trying to tell myself it wasn't what I thought.
It was exactly what I thought.
I went to work that Wednesday as if nothing happened. Compartmentalized. Stoic.
I nearly didn't bring it up to my therapist that Thursday. She got on to me about not mentioning it sooner. She also was agitated and upset in my stead, emotions that I had not approached yet as I was still in disbelief. She told me I was not to see him again. I told her I would. She made me promise I would not be alone with him.
This was ridiculous. Did this really happen? What the actual fuck. You knew!
I can tell you details of following events - of having lost friends because I shared my story, seeing friends stare blankly at me unsure what to say, hearing others excuse and brush off his behavior, having others repeatedly ask me if I have heard from my assailant (and if he's coming to games) when they know what happened. I felt terrible sharing my story - aware that not everyone is as comfortable with trauma and its effects as I am.
I held the guilt.
The following weekend, I saw him again. We went with friends out dancing. We went to another bar with his friend. I wanted to talk to him then, he said not right now. We went to his friends house. His friend went to the bathroom. I tried talking to him again, aware that I was breaking the promise to my therapist. He said he can't talk about that because he was drinking. He almost always was drinking when I saw him.
I just said it. I told him that he "technically sexually assaulted me."
He said he was offended.
I left.
I drove home and replayed all of it. Was I wrong? I knew I had Googled it, but I was wrong, right? I attempted to gaslight myself. But then I remembered the bruise on my stomach, the sensitive twinge on the right side of my groin. I reminded myself that this was real. I reminded myself I was real.
I've written this experience over and over again, telling myself if I put it in writing I can get it out of my head. That doesn't happen, but there is peace in writing. Since this instance, I remind myself that I can call a ride. I remind myself I don't have to be timid around every male I encounter. I remind myself that one man's actions do not sour my relationships. While the faces have changed, I've explored more and more positive friendships.
I still have a bit left in the book. I will finish it this time. And I'll add more and a bit more specific reflections about the book at that point.