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“Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.” – Stephenie Meyer
The human mind is a complex entity, holding not just the memories of our past but also insights into our personalities and future selves. It serves as a vault of experiences, instincts, and knowledge. Yet, there exists a moment in my life that remains shrouded in darkness. Nearly a decade ago, an incident occurred that I cannot fully recall, leaving me to grapple with the unsettling possibility that I may have been drugged and potentially assaulted.
Ironically, I can vividly remember the details of that day. I checked into a charming hotel around noon and made my way to a beach bar, ordering a daiquiri while immersed in my writing. After some time, I strolled along the Boardwalk, feeling the warm summer sun. Eventually, I found myself at a Hooters restaurant, enjoying a meal and jotting down my thoughts. The day was typical until a shift occurred after sunset.
It was after 9:00 p.m. when a sociable man, curious about my work and my solo visit, slipped something into my drink. How do I know I was drugged? It’s simple: I’ve experienced both blackout drunkenness and the effects of being drugged. While both scenarios involve losing time, the difference is stark. When intoxicated, I remember the laughter and stumbling; when drugged, it felt as if I had been plunged into darkness without warning.
I rushed to pay my tab while he was in the restroom and called my partner, a conversation I have no memory of. My partner later said they were alarmed by the sudden change in my voice, repeatedly asking if I was alone.
What transpired that night remains a mystery. I lost nearly twelve hours of my life. I woke up with no headache or need for a bathroom break, and although my hotel room was locked, the chain was not secured. I was dressed but had no way of knowing how I ended up that way. I told my partner there was a man in my room, but I will never know the truth. The uncertainty haunts me.
This is the first time I’ve shared this experience. I’ve kept it hidden for almost a decade, burdened by shame and guilt, believing in some way that I was responsible for what happened. After all, I was alone in a bar, a woman with a drink in hand.
There’s anger too, directed at both the man who drugged me and myself for not seeking help at the time. I regret not going to authorities or a medical professional. A rape kit was never completed. I am ashamed for engaging in conversation with him, for not being more cautious. But perhaps the most significant reason for my silence is the difficulty of articulating an experience that feels so fragmented and elusive.
I’m sharing my story not just for myself but in hopes of connecting with others who may have endured similar experiences. You are not to blame; you haven’t failed. It’s essential to recognize that feeling alone is common, and together we can lessen the weight of shame and victimization.
If you suspect you have been a victim of sexual assault, I encourage you to seek help from resources like RAINN.
For further information on family planning options, you can also explore more about pregnancy and home insemination at Make a Mom. Moreover, for additional insights on family-building options, Resolve is an excellent resource.