There’s a lot I don’t remember about December 30th and 31st of 2006. In fact, it might be a shorter list of what I do remember. I had gone home to Alabama for Christmas and spent a nice, quiet week with my parents and brothers. On the 29th I came back to CA for our annual Family Christmas Party, a big to do with lots of relatives I hardly ever see. I spent much time out back playing with the various and sundry kids. I remember the drive home, and having a headache.
On the 31st I declined a few invites to parties, because I was exhausted. I unpacked during the day. I remember that. I remember how nice it was to be back in my apartment. Family and friends told me later that I had been very excited to catch up on TiVo and watch The Little Mermaid, which one of my brothers had given me for Christmas. I remember being on the couch, and having a glass of white wine.
I woke up on January First with my roommate in the bed with me. I felt very groggy. I thought maybe she had come home from her party a little tipsy and we had decided to have a slumber party; but I was a little disturbed that I couldn’t remember her coming home. I took a shower. I was sore everywhere. My face hurt with the pressure of the water. I had cuts on my hands and long scratches on my chest. There was a knot in the back of my head and a patch of hair that was oddly shorter than the rest in the back. The soap suds were mildly pink when they rinsed off from between my legs.
When the water started to turn cool, I really didn’t want to get out of the shower. I was terrified. I stayed in the steamy bathroom as long as I could, and then I sneaked back into the bedroom to dress without looking in the mirror. I sat on the edge of the bed and woke up my roommate. By now my eye was almost swollen shut, and I had a nasty fat lip and could taste blood.
My roommate asked me what I remembered, and I said nothing. Nothing since the party two days before. I started to cry, which made my face hurt even more. She said that the night before, around 12:30, I had called her a dozen times or so, leaving her incoherent voice mails. We finally connected, and she said I had begged her to come home. When she came through the door I was lying on the floor and our living room was dishevelled. She tried to wake me but I would barely stir. There was still a huge party going on the courtyard outside. She found a lock of hair lying next to me on the floor. She said I kept repeating “I got him with the scissors. He said sorry. The Christmas tree was watching.” I also said that there were toothpicks in my drink. She called her mother, and they helped put me to bed and went out to question the party guests.
Her mom came back on the 1st, and we all went to the ER. I tested positive for GHB and pot (which, if you know me? Uh, no). I had a pretty bad bruise on my temple and eye; the doctor was worried that I’d fractured my cheek bone. The police were called automatically, and they encouraged me to have a rape kit done at a different police building. I, unfortunately, do remember most of that. It was horrendous.
The piece meal scenario that everyone came up with from my distorted memory, cell phone records, and police interviews is that about 9:00 on New Years, a neighbor invited me to come up to the party. I had tried to say no, and was even in my PJ’s already, but I went just to be polite. I brought my own drink with me, and didn’t take anything from the party. My wine glass was missing the next morning, so the cops assume that whomever attacked me slipped the GHB in my wine. One of my male neighbors saidI got drunk and he brought me back down to my apartment, leaving the door unlocked. He said that we kissed goodnight. He said that no one else went in my place until my roommate came home. Officially what happened to me was an “assault with intent to commit rape” because the test was inconclusively, most likely because of the drugging. But there were some small tears.
I never went back to the apartment once I finished with the police and the rape test. (To this day I’ve never even been back to that part of town). My mother flew out and my family packed up the apartment and moved us out in a day. Our landlord tried to sue us for breaking lease, but as the neighbor who was the mostly likely perp was their employee, they dropped it rather quickly.
And now it’s been a year. There have been some horrible times. Times when I couldn’t stop sobbing. Times when I couldn’t eat without throwing up. Times I couldn’t sleep, or couldn’t stop sleeping. Times when I couldn’t breathe because there was a vice like grip on my lungs. But I got help right away. I found a wonderful counselor. My friends and boss were incredibly supportive. And so was my family, mostly. My roommate and I ended up having a lot of problems. Still do, even though I now live alone. I try not to think about that.
But even so, even though I’m estranged from part of my family now as an indirect result of this crime, life is so much better. I’m happy. I like my life. I feel that I’ve come a long way. I’m sure of my self, of what I can handle. I was shown so much kindness and love that I managed to come away without being jaded about all humanity.
It’s been a long year, but I refuse to call it a bad one. And I refuse to believe that the ones to follow will be anything less than extraordinary.
Technorati Tags: Life, Rape, Recovery, Post Traumatic Stress, Depression
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