Consent is not a given, and lack of the word ‘no’ is not consent

He picked me up from work and invited me to take a nap at his hotel room. I was experiencing severe fatigue from my new anxiety medication and so I agreed. He had flown in from Idaho to visit Portland. The original plan was to visit a few art districts in the area. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year.

Plans changed. I took off my shoes, pulled back the linen, tucked myself in and laid my heavy head on the pillow. I was out like a light. Whipped from the powerful influence of medication, I was stirred almost awake by my ex, who was aggressively peeling off my pants and underwear, after which he penetrated me.

We had had sex before. But this time was not okay. I cried, “No! I am in a relationship.” I hated myself. Why didn’t I fight? I blamed myself. My boyfriend is going to be angry with me. I hadn’t even been intimate in my new relationship.

Distraught, I overdosed on my medication, cried, and passed out shortly after. Barely able to stay alert, I watched him have sex with me a second time. I felt like I was outside of myself, unable to respond. My vision went dark.

I woke up a third time. He was sitting me up on the bed and trying to feed me a Starbucks hot sandwich. He handed me the sandwich and I didn’t know what to do with it. He held my hand to my mouth. I still didn’t know what to do with it. He told me to bite. I was so out of it. I don’t remember getting dressed. I don’t remember how he knew where to drive me.

The next morning I hustled to get ready for another day of work. I happened to tie my hair up and a co-worker mentioned that I had some gnarly hickies on my neck. I was shocked and embarrassed. In my rush to leave for work, I hadn’t noticed.

Yesterday’s events hit me like a flashback. And then he texted me, “I have a gift for you. I’m on campus.” I met him in the Main Mall. Disgust came over me – a realization that I had been violated. And yet, I didn’t avoid him. The gift was spices for rice dishes. He flew back to Idaho that night.

I felt so disconnected. I saw a trusted staff member on campus. I asked if he had a moment. He had a few minutes. “What is rape?” I asked.

I’m sharing my story because I still grapple with actions I could have taken then and what I can do today.
To the survivor who is reading this, it’s not your fault. You don’t have to face this alone. There are resources to support you. I didn’t take action and I still regret that.

The first person I saw after he dropped me off that night was my best friend, my mother. Instead of reaching out to her, I zipped past her and collapsed in my bed. To this day, she still doesn’t know – and I tell her everything.

I am not the example of what you should do. Avoiding the people who are there to help me was no solution and was not a means to find closure. I still don’t have closure.

Too often, the rape scenario is a stereotype of a person assaulted by a stranger. The predators in my life have all been people I once trusted: family members, family friends and a former partner. Based on my own experience and the stories of others, I gather that it is a common matter among us and is also under-reported. Some victims are stunned action-less.