It happened the July going into my senior year of high school.
A party, just like all the others that summer. Same people. Same liquor. Same sexual angst that seems to grip every teenager, ever. My heart had been freshly broken only one night prior. A boy who drank with me on the roof of my Ford at three in the morning. The rest of that night was a blur. I remember him saying "I always do this", looking ashamed. And then, "I have to go." I woke up feeling like I was going to puke. It was a mixture of Makers Mark and heartache, and I had never tasted a combination so vile. I was invited to a party later that day and could not wait to get drunk again. To try to numb that feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me I wasn't good enough; that I was no longer 'pure'. The first thing I did when I arrived was down drink after drink. I was belligerent before 10pm. I was passed out before 11, and a friend had put me to bed in the guest room downstairs.
Door open Lights on And alone
My friend came back to check on me later that night and found that
The door was closed and locked The lights were off And I was not alone.
Some "friends" said they heard yelling, but predicted they were moans, and that I sounded like I was enjoying it. One girl tried to unlock the door and another had stopped her by saying, "don't be a cock block."
I woke up to find multiple people in the room, staring at my naked body splayed out on the bed. I was still drunk. They were laughing. One girl threw my clothes at me. They were saying things like "Hannah you lost your virginity!" and "You were so crazy last night," excitedly. My body hurt.
As I walked out of the room one boy said, "You're so pretty, you could have gotten someone better. He was the ugliest guy here." A group of boys snatched the comforter exclaiming "Check it for c**!" and "Dude, he totally c*** inside of her!" High fives.
My eyes were still blurry. I sat on the floor and watched all of this happen in a daze. I didn't know what they were talking about. I couldn't remember my last memory. I woke up shortly after with a Plan B pill next to my head. A group of my friends told me then that they had all pitched in and got it for me. They said they were too drunk to help when it was happening. They said they thought I wanted it. They continued to laugh about the night before. The day carried on like nothing had happened. I went home. I slept.
I slept for the rest of the summer. Without clarity. No answers. I didn't think about it. But sometimes I'd get flashes. "If you want more, you're going to have to suck it, b****."
In the middle of the night I felt my pants being pulled off of me in my sleep. I woke up in an anxiety attack, hyperventilating. And passed out. Over and over all summer like this. I get these flashes still. I'm not healed. I have his name. But I have never spoken it. I'm too afraid. I'm still confused. I'm still ashamed. I blamed myself for being vulnerable. For acting recklessly. For not knowing my limits. I no longer blame myself, but I do still feel unclean. And I feel a little less valuable than I did before. And I Am. Still. Afraid. To. Speak. Up.
It's been a year. I need help.
I told my family I'm over it so they would stop looking at me like a kicked puppy. I don't need any more pity. I need my value back.