How long were you in denial? How did you stay functional?
So, I had found that new job at the video store. The manager who trained me treated me like shit, so I started working grave shift to avoid her. My grave shift manager was amazing. I had to deal with a few creepers, but he was a bouncer/DJ at a gay club, so I felt safe. I eventually started working in the back of the store, in the porn section. I started getting more comfortable with sex and sexuality.
My ex came back from Georgia. I started talking to him again, about the journeys I had been through. About the death of our mutual friend, when I ran away to the mainland to see his funeral and cut my ties with my friends, when I had broken up with him. I confessed to him all the guys I had fucked while I was gone, how they all used me, it was my fault and I was broken. I took all the blame and we reconnected over the stories of our separate experiences. I told him about everything except for that night at my neighbors'.
I didn't want to date him again, so I encouraged him to date Jenny. I started hanging out with him more, but I just wanted to be friends, to be with a familiar person and feel safe. When they broke up she blamed me. I didn't expect to have friends anyways. I started rolling with my ex. Living paycheck to paycheck, paying for all of our drugs. I was trying to make it through school while working grave shift. I started fucking my ex again for physical comfort. The rolls made me think I was falling back in love with him. Plus, sleeping with him meant I didn't have to sleep in the apartment where I was raped. I never mentioned that night to him, not a word, I just knew that I didn't want to be in that apartment anymore.
I started struggling more and more in school, until I couldn't do it anymore. I barely showed up to class. I could've passed if I tried, but it was just too hard to balance that, work, drugs, and "love". So I dropped out of school, told my dad I was taking a semester off to work. So I guess I didn't really stay functional at all. I was in denial for a lot longer than that.
I think I stayed with my ex for about 6 months. I told him that was the last time we would try dating. He broke up with me again, and I said fuck it, it was over.
I had just met this other boy. He was in high school, so I didn't think much of him, but we started smoking weed together. I stopped going to raves. He stopped doing coke and hard drugs. We started off as friends and hung out more and more, until I started sneaking into his house to spend the night. There was no official beginning to our relationship, but we fell for each other, hard. He was the first person I ever mentioned that night to. I made it a joke, I told him how I partied too hard and embarrassed myself. I tried to not mention it again, and he only prodded me a little.
The next time I went to California was really hard on the both of us. We talked on the phone every night, except for the few days where I was really, really sick. One night my dad had gone out to the bar and I stayed home and drank a little myself, not wanting to go out in public. I stayed on the phone with my boyfriend for hours. The night I blacked out came up again somehow. I cried for hours while he pried the words out of me. I told him what I could remember, and we went back and forth for hours on whether he had raped me or not. I convinced both of us that I shit myself, passed out, and that was it. But we both went to bed feeling very shaken.
Then there was the sex. We enjoyed sex, a lot. We pushed each other. We experimented with forceful play. We had a safeword, but we never really honored it. Neither of us really used it anyways. Until the assplay started. Usually he would just put a finger in, experimenting with different ways to make me feel good. When he tried to put his penis in, it was too painful and difficult so we'd usually give up.
One night though, he was determined to make it inside. I remember so clearly how he had me over the edge of his bed. I was enjoying it, being dominated, such a sick little masochist. His parents were asleep down the hall, I tried to keep myself muffled. Then he started trying to enter my ass. I remember squirming, trying to get away as he pulled me back down on his dick. The pain was incredible. I couldn't relax and make it easier, so he forced his way inside. I eventually shut off and went dead weight as he finished inside me.
The usual glow of being conquered wasn't there. The eroticism of hair pulling and lip biting wasn't there, I just felt hollow, and I didn't know why. There was a familiar feeling pulling at my heart, a dirty feeling, and a single thought that kept trying to creep back into my head.
"It feels like something was shoved up my ass..."
I tried to keep my mouth shut. I tried so hard. I pushed the thought out of my head and we fell asleep cuddling. How could I be a rape victim? That's ridiculous. I'm just making up problems to feel sorry for myself...The next day we tried to go through our normal routine, hanging out, smoking pot, having fun....but I felt so off. The feeling in my ass kept reminding me of how I had felt before, the morning when I woke up delirious. I still didn't believe it. Until we were lying on his floor, and I said that one stupid sentence.
"could you hold me? I want to feel safe"
What a weird thing for me to say. He asked me why I didn't feel safe. I said I didn't know. Then it all came crashing down. The way my ass felt, the way I felt that morning two years ago, that I couldn't deny it anymore. I could feel his pain, being the one who had to reenact the assault for me to believe it happened. I told him every disgusting detail of that night. He couldn't touch me. I couldn't reach out to him. I felt him love me less. I felt dirty, and I knew that he felt I was dirty.
So we smiled to his parents, put on our fake "okay" faces. And that's how he shattered my denial.