I am sitting here trying to figure out how to write one of
the most vulnerable things I have ever put out into the world. Knowing that in
doing this I open myself up to criticism and naysaying. That being said, I have
to do it, not for anyone else, but for me. Over the past week as the country
was anticipating the Brett Kavanaugh hearing where he and his accuser would
both be questioned, a public discourse unlike any I have ever seen in my
lifetime was on display on a subject that is haunting for millions of people
throughout the country. Initially, I didn’t really anticipate how this would
all affect me. I figured that as a mental health therapist who frequently works
with sexual assault survivors that I would be furious about what people were
saying about the accusers. What I was not prepared for, was being triggered by
the way these women were treated. You see, almost a decade ago something
happened to me that up until this point in my life I have viewed as a fairly
insignificant event. It was horrific at the time, but I moved past it quickly
and it did not appear to leave many lasting scars…that is…until today.
When I was about 19 years old, I was invited to go to a small
house party, where many of my friends from work and their friends were
assembling. It was late and I had to work in the morning, but a friend of mine
said that a “few people” were spending the night so I could do the same. It was
my impression that more people would be staying, some of them women, so I
agreed and went to the party. While there, most people were drinking. At that
time, although I was not overly active, I still considered myself Mormon and
therefore did not drink alcohol. I also took a nightly medication that made me
drowsy and also made it difficult for me to wake up in the morning if I didn’t
get enough rest, hence my decision to stay the night rather than drive home. Unfortunately,
that decision was the catalyst to one of the worst experiences of my life. As
the party died down, I realized that most people were actually not staying
over. If I recall correctly, there were only 3 people other than myself who
ultimately stayed, all of them being male and all of them being incredibly
intoxicated. I had extreme trepidations about this, but I had already taken my
medication at this point and therefore couldn’t drive. Furthermore, I did not
feel comfortable reaching out to any other friends or family members to come
take me home because 1. I would have to leave my car there and have no way to
get to work and 2. It was two in the morning. I didn’t want to bother anyone.
To make a long story short, after the majority of people left, an acquaintance
of mine came into my room where I was trying to sleep. He began to climb into
my bed and put his hands on me and tried to kiss me. I turned him down and
stated I had no interest in hooking up with him, to which he showed no concern and
just kept repeating “Come on Megan, you know you want to” or something to that
affect. It has been 10 years, so the exact wording is a bit hazy at this point.
Clearly, by now I began to panic. This man was extremely inebriated. He had no
inhibitions whatsoever. All of my attempts to convince him to leave my bedroom
and to take his hands off of me failed. I’m not really sure how I got away or
how long it all went down, because my brain went into pure panic mode, but I
did finally wriggle myself free and grabbed my phone and locked myself in a
bathroom. This man then continued to sit outside of the bathroom and knock on
the door and called my name repeatedly. This was the time I called a male
friend of mine, who I had been working out with at the gym earlier that night,
and apprised him of the situation. Without question, that friend came to the
house and rescued me from that bathroom. For that, to him I will be eternally
grateful. At this point, my rescuer took me to his house so I could get some
sleep. I slept through the last couple of hours I had left in the night before
I had to wake for work and he drove me to work.
At this point it is
imperative for me to reiterate that all of my friends at this party were my
current coworkers. The man who assaulted me was a friend of these friends. I
only knew him as an acquaintance through them. Flash forward to working that
day, where word began to spread about what happened. At first, the men who had
left were distraught and angry. They were confused, but believed me. That is,
until another man with whom I worked, who stayed at the house that night,
denied that any of it happened. Ya know, because he was there he would
definitely have known. At least that is how he worked it out logically in his
mind. That makes sense in a way, except for the fact that he was so drunk at
the time he was dancing around his own house riding a mop for a horse and had a
lampshade on his head. So, the witnesses to the actual event were the man who
attacked me, the man riding a mop with a lampshade on his head, and another man
(who I can’t even remember who it was or if I even knew him that well), who was
so drunk he was completely passed out on the floor in the living room. Aside
from the nightly medication, I was stone cold sober and the only sober person
in the house. That fact though, apparently wasn’t that important, because as
quickly as people believed me they began to turn on me. The people who were
apologizing for their friends’ behavior soon began to tell me that I must be
mistaken, because he would never do something like that. The pain that I felt
when my coworkers, MY FRIENDS, completely invalidated me was so unbearable I explicitly
remember going home and into my bathtub and crying for over an hour. The doubt
continued for weeks. Ultimately, for everyone else in that house, it became an
insignificant event. It never really happened, I must have been mistaken.
Admittedly, in the many years since this happened, I have
not thought of that night too many times, but I have felt that pain and
betrayal intermittently throughout. So, although I hear stories of sexual
assault on a regular basis from my clients, not a single story has triggered
me. But, listening to Dr. Blasey Ford’s testimony and reading her story and
statements, everything from 10 years ago came flooding back. Like Dr. Blasey
Ford, I was not raped, but I was attacked. Years have passed since the actual
event. I had “witnesses” in the house when it happened who were able to “refute”
that it happened to me. When I told others what had happened, first I was
accosted with “well you shouldn’t have stayed the night” comments and my
friends didn’t believe me. So when I woke up this morning to a text from KTAR
stating that Senator Flake was voting yes for moving to a vote for Kavanaugh, I
felt like I got hit by a bus.
“My god, they don’t believe her. They really don’t believe
her!” I just kept thinking to myself. I walked out of my bedroom, said hello to
my husband and children, and walked quickly downstairs and out of sight. My
thoughts raced back to that time and I broke in that moment. My tears began to
flow. “They didn’t believe me then, they don’t believe her now, they didn’t
believe Anita Hill then. They are never going to believe us.” My thoughts began
to race. Worse, was I had a full day of therapy ahead of me. I had to get my
shit together. I used all the coping skills in my toolbox, put on my big girl
panties, and went to work. I got through my day through the grace of the
universe. I have always been good at pushing through when I needed. But I
struggled in my alone time. I sat in my office and just stared. I had 3
cancelations on top of my lunch, so I did the only thing that I knew would help
me and I went home and snuggled with my children. Fuck, today sucked.
So why am I writing this now? Mainly, because I needed to
talk about it. I tried to reach out to people several times today and I just
couldn’t. I’m crying write now as I write that sentence. I don’t know why I
couldn’t, I just couldn’t. Reaching out to someone individually about my
feelings was too vulnerable and raw for what I’ve been feeling today. So, this
is how I cope. Seriously, I’m not looking for pity. What I do hope that happens
from me writing this, is for people who question “Well what about the people
who don’t remember?” “well what about the people saying it never happened?” “If
it happened, why can’t she remember some of the details?” to be able to
understand in a small way what Dr. Blasey Ford is feeling. This happened to me.
It was real. Someone’s opinion on whether it happened or not doesn’t change the
facts. I am grateful that what happened to me has overall not impacted my life
in a negative way. A few weeks after I was attacked, I saw my attacker at
another public get together and I forgave him. To this day, I am not sure if he
even remembers that this happened or maybe he eventually resigned with the public
opinion that I was overreacting. But regardless, I was able to move on with my
life. I don’t hold resentment toward the people who didn’t believe me, it just wasn’t
worth the effort that took to hold. But to say that what happened after the
attack didn’t imprint on my brain would be a lie. It is there, forever. I stand
with Dr. Blasey Ford, because I believe survivors. There has been far too much
evidence to demonstrate the negative impact of disbelieving survivors. But most
of all, I believe Dr. Blasey Ford, because I believe in me.
