Looking back at the days that followed my attack is hard. There doesn’t seem to be a lot to remember and everything that I do remember is caught up in a tangled web of confusion. But one thing I faced is clear. It may not have been clear all those months ago but it definitely is now…. denial. I didn’t want to acknowledge that I had been raped. Of course I didn’t. All I wanted was to rewind, rewind so I could take back the control that my rapist had so flippantly stolen from me. But how do you do this?
My solution… sex.
I put pressure on myself to get back out there and to take back control. I just wanted to feel normal again. It is so widley assumed that being raped leaves an individual unfixable. That rape will leave a person sexually broken. I had to prove to myself that this was not true.
Unsurprisingly I didn’t get the result I had so desperately hoped for. I cried. I was left shaking. I was sick. I was convinced having sex again would leave me basking in feelings of relief and freedom. Instead I was faced with flashbacks.
Looking back now it is painfully clear that trying to have sex again after a month was to quick and it probably resulted in more harm than good. But some good did some from the trauma of having sex to soon. I have now come to understand that rape is not a form of sex. Rape is assault. Sex feels good. Assault is traumatizing.
One day I will learn to enjoy sex again. Its just going to take some time. And I’m okay with that.