One thing I keep re-learning as I get older is that stereotypes and assumptions are never good - they block you from seeing what's really there, or understand what's really going on. It's like you get some sort of mental block from reality.
People form stereotypes, or make assumptions, all the time - and it happens everywhere. I see it when I'm driving, and the driver behind assumes I have the same intentions as him/her (discovered this on a frightening level recently, when I had to drive on a spare tyre with a maximum speed limit of 40mph for safety reasons - I even had lorries swerving out at the last minute, when there was nothing else on the road and they could clearly see me from a mile off, with them frantically flashing their lights as if to say "move out the way" and I'm thinking "I can't go any faster, you're gaining on me like there's no tomorrow and you want me to move?!?"). I also see it at work, when a colleague reacts in some weird way if a patient discloses they have schizophrenia (they become so wary, as if they've just been put in a cage with a hungry lion) because they assume, no thanks to the media, that all schizophrenics are knife-wielding lunatics.
Even certain words or phrases almost encourage people to form their own ideas of the meaning behind them - take the phrase "domestic violence" for example. Almost everyone, and I used to be one of them, immediately pictures a woman with black eyes or other unexplained bruises. The word violence almost implies (or certainly, it allows people to infer) brute force of some kind. So when I was in a domestic abuse relationship I thought certain behaviours were ok because "he never hit me" (my exact words to my first counsellor).
Same goes for rape. Think of the act of rape, and usually you'll picture some violent scene where the victim is grabbed from behind and dragged into bushes, or drugged with rohypnol at a party. I know I did. But then, just innocently watching Hollyoaks a few months ago and seeing everything Jacqui McQueen went through after her rape, I started to get this feeling like it was familiar to me. And a couple of nights later, as I was getting ready for bed it hit me - I'd been raped when I was 19. But there was no violence and no fuss, it just "happened". It makes me sick to my stomach now to think about it, to think about the fact that my 19-yr old self just accepted it.....was my self-esteem so low that I was grateful for the attention? I just don't understand why I ever thought something like that would be ok. And the most sickening thing is it was someone I'd had a crush on while I was on holiday...
This guy was a bouncer in the local club, and he invited me to stay behind one night - I thought I was going to get a snog off the guy (I had only lost my virginity a few months before, and my mind hadn't really transitioned into assuming sex was on the equation) so I did. But he pulled me into the ladies toilets, and after we'd kissed for a few minutes he said he was worried he'd get caught by his boss, so pulled me into one of the cubicles. Next thing I know, he's turned me around so he's behind me, my skirt is hoisted up and he's inside me. It happened so quickly I barely had time to catch my breath. There was no foreplay, no warning, no discussion. And afterwards, he thanked me before ushering me out of a side-door. As I walked down to the taxi rank in my drunken state (it was around 4am when this happened, and we'd been in the club all night drinking) I walked past a woman standing outside the front entrance with 3 kids - I found out the next day that those were his wife and kids. I felt so cheap - but it never crossed my mind that what he'd done was considered rape. I'd certainly never wanted or intended to have sex, and it happened so quickly that I still can't be sure if he used a condom or not (thankfully I've been tested for STIs since then). But I thought because I didn't actually say no or fight him off, that it wasn't rape and somehow I must've been "asking for it".
I've not written this out of sympathy, because I don't want to make a big deal out of it. But this is the first time I've been able to openly talk about it since the memory came back - and only because I finally managed to tell my current partner. I'd been wanting to find a way to talk to him about it for a while, but somehow the words never came out - and then 2 days ago the tears wouldn't stop and I just blurted it out. I do feel relieved now. But I've been sitting on it for months, all because I was so ashamed of it. And now I feel like part of me is grieving for my younger self - the girl who allowed herself to be treated in such a way. I won't be seeking legal action, because it happened so long ago & there is no evidence, plus after going through the horrendous court case against my ex-husband I don't think it will actually help or serve any purpose. Now I'm just learning to let go of the pain, but I've realised that in order to let go I have to actually acknowledge what happened - hence this post. If I can't even admit to others what happened, how will I ever be able to move on from it?
It made me realise something though - since that holiday, I've never allowed myself to drink enough to be "out of control" or potentially vulnerable. When I was younger, I drank a lot. It started when I was 13 - me and some friends used to meet up somewhere, usually behind our old primary school, and we would drink cider & vodka. In fact, my first ever "street drink" was a small bottle of Diamond White, but I swiftly moved on to 2litre bottles of White Star, then I started adding a half bottle of Grant's vodka on top. By the time I was 14, I was almost arrested for being drunk & disorderly, and I spent most weekends being so drunk that I couldn't walk/see and puking it up became the norm. When I turned 18, I was so used to alcohol that I'd have to consume 1-2 bottles of wine before a night out, just to ensure I'd be "drunk enough" by the end of the night. And when I went to uni I could practically drink everybody under the table, matching them pint for pint - I was always the first one to arrive, and the last to leave. But after that fateful holiday, somewhere I made a decision to cut back, and by the time I turned 21 I'd given up drinking altogether. I don't think I touched another drop until my wedding day, which was a few months before my 25th birthday. And apart from 1 occasion, when I was still taking fluoxetine & hadn't realised it acts like 10 shots of aftershock when mixed with alcohol (the night still embarrasses me - it was after I'd turned 30, and was staying at my parents' house on a visit, and ended up being sick everywhere! My partner had to clean it all up as well....) I've never been beyond that relaxed, happy feeling and don't intend to. 1 or 2 drinks is my limit these days, and even then that's a rare thing - I can go months without a single drop of alcohol. We actually have a ton of bottles of beer, wine and other things sitting in our kitchen - mainly gifts, or excess that visitors have left behind - and everybody thinks we own a brewery or something, but it's genuinely because we don't drink enough to use up what's there! I actually use more alcohol cooking (cider is great for gravy!) than anything else!
So this latest revelation has been a learning exercise - realising that my younger self was actually much more vulnerable than I have ever considered possible - but even though it was borne out of something negative that happened in my past, I feel that it has left me stronger and more determined than ever to be "well".
People form stereotypes, or make assumptions, all the time - and it happens everywhere. I see it when I'm driving, and the driver behind assumes I have the same intentions as him/her (discovered this on a frightening level recently, when I had to drive on a spare tyre with a maximum speed limit of 40mph for safety reasons - I even had lorries swerving out at the last minute, when there was nothing else on the road and they could clearly see me from a mile off, with them frantically flashing their lights as if to say "move out the way" and I'm thinking "I can't go any faster, you're gaining on me like there's no tomorrow and you want me to move?!?"). I also see it at work, when a colleague reacts in some weird way if a patient discloses they have schizophrenia (they become so wary, as if they've just been put in a cage with a hungry lion) because they assume, no thanks to the media, that all schizophrenics are knife-wielding lunatics.
Even certain words or phrases almost encourage people to form their own ideas of the meaning behind them - take the phrase "domestic violence" for example. Almost everyone, and I used to be one of them, immediately pictures a woman with black eyes or other unexplained bruises. The word violence almost implies (or certainly, it allows people to infer) brute force of some kind. So when I was in a domestic abuse relationship I thought certain behaviours were ok because "he never hit me" (my exact words to my first counsellor).
Same goes for rape. Think of the act of rape, and usually you'll picture some violent scene where the victim is grabbed from behind and dragged into bushes, or drugged with rohypnol at a party. I know I did. But then, just innocently watching Hollyoaks a few months ago and seeing everything Jacqui McQueen went through after her rape, I started to get this feeling like it was familiar to me. And a couple of nights later, as I was getting ready for bed it hit me - I'd been raped when I was 19. But there was no violence and no fuss, it just "happened". It makes me sick to my stomach now to think about it, to think about the fact that my 19-yr old self just accepted it.....was my self-esteem so low that I was grateful for the attention? I just don't understand why I ever thought something like that would be ok. And the most sickening thing is it was someone I'd had a crush on while I was on holiday...
***This next part may be disturbing so please read with caution***
This guy was a bouncer in the local club, and he invited me to stay behind one night - I thought I was going to get a snog off the guy (I had only lost my virginity a few months before, and my mind hadn't really transitioned into assuming sex was on the equation) so I did. But he pulled me into the ladies toilets, and after we'd kissed for a few minutes he said he was worried he'd get caught by his boss, so pulled me into one of the cubicles. Next thing I know, he's turned me around so he's behind me, my skirt is hoisted up and he's inside me. It happened so quickly I barely had time to catch my breath. There was no foreplay, no warning, no discussion. And afterwards, he thanked me before ushering me out of a side-door. As I walked down to the taxi rank in my drunken state (it was around 4am when this happened, and we'd been in the club all night drinking) I walked past a woman standing outside the front entrance with 3 kids - I found out the next day that those were his wife and kids. I felt so cheap - but it never crossed my mind that what he'd done was considered rape. I'd certainly never wanted or intended to have sex, and it happened so quickly that I still can't be sure if he used a condom or not (thankfully I've been tested for STIs since then). But I thought because I didn't actually say no or fight him off, that it wasn't rape and somehow I must've been "asking for it".
I've not written this out of sympathy, because I don't want to make a big deal out of it. But this is the first time I've been able to openly talk about it since the memory came back - and only because I finally managed to tell my current partner. I'd been wanting to find a way to talk to him about it for a while, but somehow the words never came out - and then 2 days ago the tears wouldn't stop and I just blurted it out. I do feel relieved now. But I've been sitting on it for months, all because I was so ashamed of it. And now I feel like part of me is grieving for my younger self - the girl who allowed herself to be treated in such a way. I won't be seeking legal action, because it happened so long ago & there is no evidence, plus after going through the horrendous court case against my ex-husband I don't think it will actually help or serve any purpose. Now I'm just learning to let go of the pain, but I've realised that in order to let go I have to actually acknowledge what happened - hence this post. If I can't even admit to others what happened, how will I ever be able to move on from it?
It made me realise something though - since that holiday, I've never allowed myself to drink enough to be "out of control" or potentially vulnerable. When I was younger, I drank a lot. It started when I was 13 - me and some friends used to meet up somewhere, usually behind our old primary school, and we would drink cider & vodka. In fact, my first ever "street drink" was a small bottle of Diamond White, but I swiftly moved on to 2litre bottles of White Star, then I started adding a half bottle of Grant's vodka on top. By the time I was 14, I was almost arrested for being drunk & disorderly, and I spent most weekends being so drunk that I couldn't walk/see and puking it up became the norm. When I turned 18, I was so used to alcohol that I'd have to consume 1-2 bottles of wine before a night out, just to ensure I'd be "drunk enough" by the end of the night. And when I went to uni I could practically drink everybody under the table, matching them pint for pint - I was always the first one to arrive, and the last to leave. But after that fateful holiday, somewhere I made a decision to cut back, and by the time I turned 21 I'd given up drinking altogether. I don't think I touched another drop until my wedding day, which was a few months before my 25th birthday. And apart from 1 occasion, when I was still taking fluoxetine & hadn't realised it acts like 10 shots of aftershock when mixed with alcohol (the night still embarrasses me - it was after I'd turned 30, and was staying at my parents' house on a visit, and ended up being sick everywhere! My partner had to clean it all up as well....) I've never been beyond that relaxed, happy feeling and don't intend to. 1 or 2 drinks is my limit these days, and even then that's a rare thing - I can go months without a single drop of alcohol. We actually have a ton of bottles of beer, wine and other things sitting in our kitchen - mainly gifts, or excess that visitors have left behind - and everybody thinks we own a brewery or something, but it's genuinely because we don't drink enough to use up what's there! I actually use more alcohol cooking (cider is great for gravy!) than anything else!
So this latest revelation has been a learning exercise - realising that my younger self was actually much more vulnerable than I have ever considered possible - but even though it was borne out of something negative that happened in my past, I feel that it has left me stronger and more determined than ever to be "well".
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