The Date Rapist

I am a survivor of date rape.  Among many other things I have survived, this was one of the hardest because I was drugged and didn’t remember until twenty years later.

I met my rapist through work, a fast food chain.  I was 19, he was 24.  We both worked the late shift and often I would hang out with him after work, where we frequently smoked pot, drank, and listen to music by candlelight.  And I fell in “love.”

Well this night started out like any other, we smoked a joint, he made us a couple of drinks and was playing a series of music selections which I believe him to be sharing his feelings about me.  Candles light around the room creating that warm romantic mood and I was in heaven.

As the music cascades through my brain waves and my heart, my body felt electric.  I was in a hypnotic state being washed away by the “love” that circle through the room.

Suddenly a shock zipped up my foot to my leg and to my head as my head snapped up in a daze to looked at him.  Our socked feet were resting on the same chair and his foot brushed mine.  I sat stunned.  His “touch” was everything a 19-year-old could dream of, soft, warm, and electric.  I ran the feel over and over in my mind, I didn’t want to lose the intensity of our first “touch.”  I think I might have smile at him as the pounding of the beat drove home how much he “loved” me.  It was so him.  Gentle, calming, exciting, trusting and I fell for all of it.

Then it all went BLACK.

And for twenty years I’ve been trying to figure out what happen after his foot touched mine.  Spinning high from the man of dreams and all I could assume is that we had sex, because my feeling then and for years later never changed.  I was still “in love” with this rapist, who I still thought was the sweetest guy in the world and that he’d been telling me all along that we were going to get married some day through his music and he was my soul.

It didn’t even matter that he was gay, he told me he wanted to marry and have children some day, well, he’d need a wife for that my naive mind thought as he ladle on the love and trust.  He said I was the first person he’d ever told about being gay and don’t women just love that?  A safe gay man can’t hurt you because he’s gay.  How could he?  There’s no threat of sex or rape because they are not interested in you.  They are gay.

And wasn’t that the cream of the crop?  A gay “man” to feel safe and secure who told you all his secrets and understood you?  At the blissful age of leaving home, taking care of yourself, and doing as you please, not to mention feeling so protected?  What more could a young woman want?

After taking a bottle of pills and ending up in the hospital because I innocently told someone he was gay.  We hardly spoke after that.  I had created the ultimate betrayal.  And then we didn’t see each other anymore.  And I went from the ultimate high to the deepest black hole.  And every time I was in a mania and would hear certain songs, I thought he was calling me back to him.  Like we had this sharpened spiritual tie that could not be broken.  He was my “first.”  Over and over for twenty-some years I live in this nightmared bliss of trying to find and connect with him again.  My mind was coated and premeated with HIM.  I was possessed and obsessed.  Until I would realize that he didn’t love me (all in my mind) and would plummet to the depths of hell and took on the weight of the world for my sins towards him.  I’ll never forget the look on his face when I came into work the next day and he told me to go home after telling his obvious secret.  How many times I wished I had a gun to blow my brains out.  The ultimate sin meant the ultimate death.  And no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t kill myself.  So instead I endured the endless mind torture of his love and his hate without having any contact with him whatsoever.

It was about three years ago when I was in a semi-state of being asleep when I saw pink flashes of some psychedelic nature in a partial vision with sensations and I knew what happened after it went BLACK.  The mother fucker raped me and laughed and laughed and laughed.  He had taken me in with the only one intention to get what he wanted to take.  Hook, line and sinker.  And he’d done it again and again and again.  While I believed all these months of our time together, he loved me.  Which is exactly what he wanted it to look like.  And he might of succeeded if it wasn’t for my loving, understanding husband, the will of God, and my wonderful dogs and cats who have proven and shown me what real love is.  I can’t and won’t be broken again.


One thought on “The Date Rapist

  1. Pingback: In My Dreams | My Heart Healers

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