I've never told anyone what I wrote last night. I told Dr H that I was raped by him, but I've never described what happened.
I was a little shocked with myself that I went into such detail when I wrote it. When I read it back to myself, it brought up so many emotions. But what I wrote has been plaguing me ever since it happened. I guess that's just how I had to express it, to get it out of me.
It took so much nerve to post it. As soon as I did, I got nervous. I felt self-conscious about every word I'd written. I still do, and I think that, even though I don't blame myself, I'll always feel self-conscious to some degree. What happened was disgusting. But I now realize I have no reason to be disgusted with myself.
When I reread it, I realized how wrong I've been this whole time to blame myself. I didn't ask him to put his hands on me, to violate me like he did. And I didn't ask him to wait in the gym for me that night, like he did. He wasn't stupid. He knew where I'd be, and that no one would be around to stop him.
None of that is my fault.
It kind of makes me want to cry for myself, and apologize to the person I was, the person who was hurt so badly, the person who deserved all of the sympathy and kindness that I never gave her.
Now I think I can give her that.
After that long night came another work day. My hands shook the whole time I was getting ready to go. I knew enough of his schedule to know he'd be there when I arrived.
I remember looking in the mirror while I was brushing my teeth, and trying to figure out why I was even bothering. My mouth felt so filthy, and my reflection disgusted me. I didn't believe that I'd ever stop feeling dirty. And I couldn't stop seeing the rape replay, like I was watching a movie.
I couldn't stop hearing his words. The way he talked to me like I was enjoying what he did, like I was some kind of willing part of the whole thing.
Finally I stopped thinking, and left for work. He stared at me the whole shift. But not just that day.
Every time he worked when I did, he stared at me. I pretended not to notice, but it was impossible. It made me feel like I was falling apart. Like I was losing my mind. He freaked the shit out of me. I thought that eventually he would just get tired of staring at me, but he didn't.
After it happened, I hardly ate anything. I wasn't sleeping well, only an hour or two at a time. I started having nightmares again. But they were different than any others I'd had. They were scarier.
I had trouble being outside after dark. The dark scared me. Every little sound made me jump. Luckily I was able to get out of night time security rounds. I had no problem doing them on the weekends, during the day. But the few times I was picked to do them at night, I was able to switch with someone.
I covered every single emotion I had, because I could not let anyone know what had happened. It was so hard to act normal, but I managed to. It was also so hard to be normal around D.
We had been married just over a year when it happened. Our sex life was great. After that night, making love to him was very hard for me. But I managed. I had to. I couldn't let him know anything had happened.
You know, it makes me sick to think how easy it was for him to keep tabs on where I'd be while I was working. If I had duty in the guard shack, he knew. If I worked on the quarterdeck, he knew. If the watch officer wanted to speak to me on the bridge, he knew. Because he was right there.