Struggling to Categorize

**Trigger Warning*** This post deals with a possible sexual assault.  If you are deeply effected by these types of experiences, please do not read.

October 2014 was a crazy time for me.  The Second and I had broken up, and I was trying to figure out just exactly what I had done wrong.  It came out of left field.  He was constantly criticizing me, my sense of silliness, and even how I dressed.  I had changed it all in an effort to make him happy, and it had blown up.  I was devastated and having trouble not seeing myself as a failure.

A friend at the time invited me to Atlantic City for the night to party and relax, really let my hair down and have fun.  She had the room and everything for us to have a good time.  The night started out normal enough.  We were getting ready, drinking in the room.  We had two vodka and red bulls and an apple pie moonshine.  We walked in, got a drink and had a group of men offer to get us drinks.  That’s when things went down hill.

I’ve never been one who’s ever blacked out while drinking.  In fact, I always stopped drinking once I felt a buzz.  Getting drunk was a rarity and even my college friends who really saw me party only remember me getting drunk once. But 10 minutes upon entering the club, I can’t remember a thing.  I remember getting that drink, and not much else after.  There are flashes of dancing with my friend, then sitting down next to the bar with someone next to me.  An arm was around me, but I don’t know who it belonged to.    It was a phantom appendage to me. I remember the bartender noticing something was wrong and asking someone to get me to security.  I remember security asking me if I was okay while someone walked me back to my room.  I remember giving my room number to this person by holding up fingers.

I don’t remember letting him in my room.  I don’t remember getting undressed.  I don’t remember how we started having sex.  I don’t even remember if I wanted to. I don’t remember where my friend was.  I don’t even know how she made it back to our room. I just remember “waking up” mid-act and not knowing what was going on.  I was disoriented and confused as to who this person was.  It took a few minutes for me to realize what was happening.  When it dawned on me, he stopped.  He wanted to stay and cuddle and went to go to the bathroom to clean up.  My mind was swimming and couldn’t focus on anything.

The next thing I remember, he came bursting out of the bathroom laughing.  I had no idea what about.  He told me my friend was in there passed out over the toilet. She woke up when he walked on and ended up kicking him out of the room.  Somehow, she was no longer in a dress and in pants.  I somehow was in my pajamas.  I don’t remember how that happened.  He left, but I must have given him my number since he texted me in an hour to see how I was feeling.

I began texting my best friend, trying to explain the night to her.  She was scared and anxious.  She felt I was raped.  The friend I was with laughed when my best friend called to try and help piece together my night.  She yelled no one was raped…she just got laid…or something along those lines.  I was confused and scared as well since I couldn’t remember the night before.  I couldn’t remember if this was what I wanted, but I also couldn’t remember if it was something I didn’t want.  I didn’t know how I felt about it or even about myself.  It was nothing I had ever experienced before…or since.  The friend I was with at the time shared she always gets black out drunk when she goes out to party, and that unnerved me. I wasn’t sure what I could trust.  The whole morning was a fog.

We left the hotel a few hours later after a shower and a little breakfast.  I could only hold down toast.  It was about a 2 hour ride home, and I didn’t even make it the full way.  I had to stop at my sister’s house as I felt like I was going to be sick.  She lived 45 minutes from the hotel, and I prayed the whole time that I would make it without getting sick.  I stopped at the pharmacy, picked up Plan B since I couldn’t remember anything about the night before really. I was on the pill at the time, but I wasn’t thinking straight.  Picking up Plan B was just something you were supposed to do after a black out night where you wake up having sex with someone….right?

I stumbled into my sisters, ordered my nephew to let me borrow a pair of his sweatpants and hid in their guest room.  I didn’t come out or speak to anyone until that night.  I ordered food for the family due to my unexpected visit, and after an hour or two, went to go to bed.  I didn’t tell them a word. I texted my friends throughout the day, only telling them of how drunk I got.  I didn’t tell them what happened.  They laughed; one told me I needed Jesus, and that hit home.  I met her at church the next day.

Over the last few years, I’ve struggled with what happened that night.  I debate myself on if it was rape.  Or if I just can’t remember.  Since I can’t remember, it’s not like I can say for certain.  The guy kept in touch for a few months.  He’d message me to see how I was or to talk about something random, a new song he was putting together, but he disappeared about 3 months later.  I still don’t know his name.  He was in my phone as “drunk guy.” I think it still might be in there.

I’m still not sure how I feel about this.  I haven’t told many people, and only recently started discussing it in general.  It wasn’t until the last few months that I’ve even considered using the word rape, and I have with specific friends.  After all, how do you tell someone you were raped without knowing if you didn’t want it in the first place?