herlucidlife

I’ve often taken on blame too easily. Giving myself all of the responsibility. Looking at my bad behavior as a means to say I was “asking for it.” Most of the shame is knowing that I played a part in my own demise. That I put myself in harm’s way and now I’m mad I was harmed. It doesn’t make sense. 

2017, in my mother’s home grieving her death by online dating. Having met this young man maybe 2 weeks ago. Nothing warranted him being in my house except the fact I was looking for a way out while still drowning in my sorrow. He sat on the floor of my bedroom while I took a shower. I came from the closet dressed in oversized sweatpants with no underwear and an oversized sweatshirt. 

Migrating to the sofa, I felt uneasy because I really didn’t like this person all that much, but I didn’t like myself enough to not be desperate for anything. Allowing him to go down on me for two minutes, I said “no” at anything going further. He became a little more insistent and I said no.  Feeling him crawl on me and thrusting himself inside, I kept saying no. 

I kept trying to squirm my way free but I couldn’t. Sad how five minutes can feel like a lifetime. Feeling utterly disgusting and violated, I asked him to leave right away. Sitting on the floor thinking “how did I get here?” I said no! But did my actions before make him think it was okay? Should I have done more? That night often replays in my head. Something I’ll never forget. 

Yet after all the “no’s”, after scrubbing myself in the shower, after crying. Somehow I still manage to take all the blame, thinking “it was all my fault.”