Pandora's Aquarium: "How did you feel after it happened? How did you feel the next morning?" - Pandora's Aquarium

(((I started my journals by asking myself a series of questions. TRIGGER WARNING for all subsequent entries. I will remove them if they are considered obscene or profane)))


I woke up in a heavy fog. I felt something stuck to my ass. I looked down at my body. No pants. Shirt and bra still on. Shit caked inside my panties. So delirious.

I rolled over slowly. Could I salvage the panties? How much got on my blanket?

I got up slowly and surveyed the evidence. There was a smear of shit next to my dresser. My pants were thrown over my suitcase in the corner.

I waddled to the bathroom. A shit stain next to the toilet, the shape of a footprint. The toilet lid was up. I think the seat was up too, but I can't remember clearly. There might have been piss inside.

I took my panties off and tried to rinse them out, but they were too fucked up to save. I wrapped them in a plastic bag and stuck them in the trash. I sat on the toilet and tried to shit. The thought passed briefly through my head..."It feels like something was shoved up my ass..." But then I pushed it away. I was drinking with a couple, they couldn't have done anything to me.

But what did I do to embarrass myself so badly? I got in the shower and started scrubbing off the shit. I must have passed out drunk and threw up. I must have shit my pants. They probably laughed at me. They probably brought me back to my apartment and took my pants off so I could get into bed. They probably laughed some more when they saw the shit in my panties.

There was a small spot, a shit stain, inside my pants. I know I was wearing my pants when I left their apartment, but I wasn't wearing them long enough to make a bigger stain. They were probably just nice people who brought me home after I had embarrassed myself. There's no way anything was shoved up my ass. So I scrubbed and scrubbed. So much soap. Water as hot as I could stand. How badly did I embarrass myself?

So I got out of the shower and started cleaning my bed. Where was my phone? Where were my cigarettes? I guess I couldn't've called the cops even if I wanted to, even if I knew what had happened. My bottom blanket was covered in patches of shit. It's too big to fit in the washer. I shoved it inside a large Tupperware container, just trying to contain the filth. I guess I had rolled on my top blanket or something, because there were a few small stains on it. I balled it up and carried it to the laundry room. My door wasn't locked. I started the wash and went back to my apartment. A few seconds later, I heard the next door apartment open. A knock on my door.

He was standing there giving me a weird look. He was holding my phone and my cigarettes. I laughed and said I was just about to go ask if he had seen them. I apologized for embarrassing myself the night before. I told him I couldn't remember anything, and that I didn't even want to know what I had done. I kept apologizing. I guess we laughed it off or something.

Back inside my apartment alone, with the door closed and locked. With my phone and cigarettes. Alone. I just felt empty and numb. My stomach was fighting me the whole day. I laid in bed watching TV, drinking tons of water, getting up to throw up. I was too sick to clean my floor and the bathroom. My pants and blanket were all I could manage to wash.

How did I feel? It's so hard to remember. I just remember emptiness, confusion, denial and sickness. I denied all possibility of rape. That was all I could hold on to. I realize now that if I had known what happened, I would have killed myself then. I was alone. I had moved to the city alone, and I knew that any of the friends I had before didn't care about me anymore. Everyone had moved on. My ex was in Georgia, and I didn't want to talk to him anyways..right?

There was So. Much. Shame.
What had I done? I didn't want to know. I didn't want to know how vulnerable they had seen me. I didn't want to know if I shit and threw up all over their apartment. I didn't want to know how foolish I had acted.

What could I have done? Could I have looked at the evidence in front of me and put blame where blame was due? Could I have faced them if I had known? Did I even have the courage to call the cops, or my mom?

I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough. That one girl at the bar had told me, "if you can't remember last night, there's a reason you don't want to remember". What does that even mean? That was the best advice I had.