You’re Not Alone: The Friday the 13th Incident Part 3

The rest of that year was hard. It was close to summer break. I remember writing an obscene amount of love poetry for LLY. It was hell until break. Over the summer I was depressed. I wrote poetry and cried a lot. I didn’t go out with any of my friends. I felt like my life was over. I was totally broken.

When I got back to school after break things were still as bad. LLY had hooked up with a blonde bimbo and she made it a point to flaunt her acquisition of my ex. She openly made fun of me for the poetry when she found a piece. LLY never looked me in the eye. I was tormented by the other kids. It wasn’t long before I’d had enough. I couldn’t take the looks and whispers and B? looking at me every day.

One day I went home and said I never wanted to go to school again. My grandmother didn’t even ask why. She didn’t blink, she just said yes. That was the end of school for me. There’s a pretty big blank space in my memory after that.

I still have a hard time thinking about that day. For a LONG time I blamed myself. I was a straight A, Honor Society student. How could I have been stupid enough to drink or do drugs? Why didn’t I stop drinking sooner? Why didn’t I shove him off the bed? Why didn’t I get up? Why didn’t I figure out what he was going to do? Why didn’t I wake up? Why didn’t I scream? I kept thinking it was all my fault. I should have done something different. Even now I still get pangs of guilt from time to time. But I guess most girls who’ve been raped do.

The simple fact is this: I was unconscious. He had no right. Even if I’d said something in my drunken stupor, he was in the wrong. Who does that to someone who’s not even awake? He also should have never touched his friend’s girlfriend. AB should have helped me too, she knew how much I loved LLY, I’d never have been willing to be with that ugly scumbag. A lot of things could have been done differently, but what happened happened, and it was wrong. He committed a crime against me.

I managed to find him on FaceBook back when I could remember his last name. He has a wife and kids now. I guess karma never got to him. LLY didn’t fare so well. I saw him when I was 24. he was emaciated, his lovely black locks chopped in a short mess, his eyes sunken from years of shrooming and drinking, he was mopping floors at Dunkin’ Donuts. I found out too that he’d gotten that blonde pregnant and they were living with his parents, their baby, his sister and her baby. I’d somehow hoped to find that B? had died or gone to prison. No such luck.

I’ve let go of most of the hate and the pain over the years. I’m not sure if I forgive B? or LLY, but I don’t harbor all that hate in my heart anymore. I couldn’t let it keep eating at me forever. I became a survivor. I’ve become a survivor of so many things over the years. Too many if I’m honest about it. But at least I’m still here, and now my pain will bring strength and hope to others. At least something good can come of all my years of suffering.



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