Over 10 years have passed and I can still remember so much with such great detail.
I remember what pants I was wearing when he raped me. How he asked to “just cuddle” and “nothing more”. How I was so hesitant because I was dating someone else. How many times I said no. How many times my hands tried to push him away or remove his hands from going places I was not ok with. I remember crying. I remember and still feel so guilty because it happened. And one of the hardest things…I remember how I tried to ensure there was distance between myself and him.
Around the same time, I remember when he wanted to try to get me back. He said all these would-be romantic gestures…had he actually done any of them. I remember he wanted to get dinner for me, how I made rules to keep boundaries…and how he blatantly ignored every single boundary. I remember he came into where I lived at the time, he sat down next to me, and was trying to hold my hand. I remember the looks all of my roommates gave me. How he tried to kiss me and get close to me in the kitchen. How awkward I felt…how uncomfortable I was. How he wouldn’t leave.
I remember the night he screamed so loudly at me, when I was having a panic attack, that his neighbor yelled back. I remember the cold water being dumped on me, how I was shivering, my nose was dripping snot…and how I just couldn’t stop the panic and anxiety. I remember how long I was on the floor, unable to move, communicate, think, react, or do anything. It’s odd…there are times that I get flashbacks in the third person or bird’s eye view. How I just wanted to disappear…
I remember one of my birthdays, while we were fighting. He had fucked up the night/morning before (Valentine’s Day) by going through my phone.
I remember walking in one day and seeing his paper towel roll stabbed beyond belief.
I remember how broken I felt when I knew he was cheating on me while I was like 7ft away/in the same room. I remember crying myself to sleep, hoping to forget.
I remember the time he broke up via text, when we lived across the street.
I remember how much he invaded my privacy, trust, respect, and just so much more.
I remember the entire night he decided to get super drunk with females at MY apartment, because of course, my roomie was his friend. I remember how he took off his shirt and purposely put his arms around the females, while we were supposed to be dating. I remember how horrible that night was…dealing with that and then drunk him trying to apologize.
I remember when he told me that he would get angry and yell just to see if he would get any reaction from me…when I was dealing with extreme anxiety attacks.
I remember when he refused to see a therapist because he thought he didn’t need one. How he didn’t want to have a mediated conversation, because he didn’t want his friends to know, until it became “his idea”.
I remember losing my self worth, my individualism, confidence, motivation, my focus, my identity, my love for myself, my hope and optimism…just everything.
And here I am. Still pushing through life. He doesn’t remember much, if any, of what he did to me back then. He wouldn’t care.
I started a painting of one of those nights…maybe I should finish it. Maybe I should draw and paint all of the nightmares stuck in my head because of what he did to me.
