By Faith
The dimly lit bar. The questions about jobs, family, and aspirations. The race for the check. I have danced this dance before. At one point I think I would’ve even told you that I was pretty damn good at it.
“Are… you ok?”
We are on our second date. It is my first second date in over a year; my first second date since I pressed rape charges and the grand jury decided my case would not move to trial. My first second date since I determined that my rape was no longer going to be the paralyzing secret that threatened to consume parts of me if I did not confront it.
The rape that happened on a second date.
No, I am not ok. I woke up this morning sick to my stomach and vomited on my way to work. I struggled to focus on daily tasks that I can typically complete with my eyes closed. In this moment, I don’t care what I look like or how interesting he finds me; I just want to get this over with.
At this point, I am so far deep in my own head that I am on two dates: the one with the man across from me, and the one that happened the night I was raped. Strangely enough, it was the harmless parts of the latter date that were coming to mind. But the man sitting across from me here on this date isn’t to blame for those moments or what happened after them. As his eyebrow raises and my subconscious threatens to overtake me, my conscious wrenches me back to the present.
And there he is. His sharp perception and deft nature, which piqued my interest in the first place, is the reason I feel exposed as he stares at me with eyes of concern and confusion. He doesn’t really know me, but he knows enough to recognize that I am off. He’s right.
Pressing charges felt almost like a coming-out process. It forced me to be open and honest with my family and closest friends in ways that I was not naturally good at. I’ve always struggled to acknowledge emotions that felt inherently negative, like they had the potential to derail the progress and achievement I’ve worked so hard to attain. Throughout this journey, though, I’ve committed and recommitted to experiencing the negative instead of just steamrolling through it. The ensuing moments of pain, frustration, and heartbreak gave me good practice.
I am still so angry at my attacker for forever changing how I receive situations. What I once would’ve considered simply a nuisance, like a catcall on the street, now has the power to make me question my safety. In the case of my second date, what was supposed to be a purely fun and liberating experience had become uncomfortable and nerve wracking.
The rational part of me recognizes that a rape will undoubtedly affect the very core of a person, and that is bound to manifest itself in different ways. I still struggle to fully accept this. Initially, I felt like acknowledging this truth was a way of giving my attacker back the same power he took from me that chilling night years ago. In retrospect, I think I was mistaken. Moving forward is reclaiming that power, and owning my emotions is a necessary step in this process. Pain has been followed by joy. Frustration has given way to understanding. And with heartbreak has sprung hope.
The date wraps. As I jump into the back of a cab, he kisses me goodbye before I prepare to head home, alone with both my heartbreak and my hope.