The Aftermath

So my last post was very vague. But things have changed a bit. My roommate told me that I had to go to my bishop about what happened. Because I had been drinking that night. I told my roommates what happened because I thought that they would support me. Until the ultimatum came. Either I do or she does.

With all the legal issues going on at BYU, I was scared, scared that I was going to get kicked out 4 months before graduation. Everything was falling apart. My ability to trust others, trust myself, move on. All of it was over. Some of it still feels like it is. It’s been 2 weeks now. Many people know. I told my parents. But first I had to talk to my bishop. I did, and things went well. Did I tell the whole truth? No I couldn’t. Girls were getting kicked out of school for being in the same situation as me. The made a mistake, correction THE mistake. The mistake of trusting someone that didn’t deserve it, never really earned it. Their rape was being evaluated on how much of it was their fault. The questions they got were the same that I got. Were you alone with him? Were you inhibited? Did you say no?

Everything was so prodding. I had to repeat the same parts of the story over and over. And then they ask if you went to the police. Why? So the same questions could be asked again. So that every aspect of what happened can be analyzed. Every stupid decision you made that terrible night makes them question: Was it her fault? Well was it? Was it my fault? The jury is still out on that one. At least in my head.

So I lied, “I wasn’t inhibited” I said. I didn’t go lay in his bed, taking him at his word that he would let me sleep it off before I drove home. But what I did do that night, something that I will never get out of my head, I missed the red flags. I didn’t notice those details of, “Oh shit, I might be in trouble” So yeah, I get to stay in school. But what I don’t get is to forget that those questions, they pick apart everything and showed me that I was stupid I didn’t see that he wasn’t drinking, or at least I didn’t care. I didn’t feel when he got on top of me. I didn’t think. And now I get to live with that because its been 2 weeks and the cops know nothing. Its been 2 weeks and no one treats me like I’m me. Wanting to forget and move on should mean that people would stop handling me like I am going to break. Maybe I am already broken, because I don’t feel anything. But in my head the thoughts run rampant, “what if?” they say. What if I paid attention? What if I had one less drink? What if I could still trust my own judgement? What if I am responsible for what happened to me?

The aftermath of the rape, the way I am left numb, is the new hard part.