“Drugged” by Nic

I remember what I wore.

I still have the denim jacket.

I didn’t want the med examiner to put it with the rape kit and the rest of my clothes as evidence.

It’s designer.

I remember he was a friend of a friend.

A friend of a friend I once trusted.

I remember eating pizza at Mellow Mushroom.

I remember talking about friends we both knew from back home.

I remember enjoying myself.


I remember getting in the bar underage because he worked there.

I remember sitting at a table against a dark wall.

I remember feeling “cool.”

I remember him ordering drinks.  Not from a waitress but at the bar himself.

I remember waiting for the drinks.

I remember how many I drank.

I remember talking about my boyfriend (now my husband) and how they would get along well.

I remember saying, “I have to pee.”

I remember going to the bathroom, flushing, washing my hands, and then walking out of the restroom.

My legs went numb.


I remember telling him, “I can’t feel my legs.”

I remember he said he would take me home.

I remember him lifting my arm over his shoulder to help me to his car.

I remember him opening the car door for me.

I remember getting in the car.

I remember buckling my seat belt.

That’s where I stop remembering… I think…

What’s in my mind after clicking the seat belt could be true or false… reality or imagination.


I don’t know.  I will never know.  Truly.  I cannot turn back the clock.

I remember wanting to turn back the clock.


I remember saying “no.”

I think I remember saying “no” as he pinned my wrists and spread my legs.

It was a whisper.

My voice was hoarse.

I remember pain… physical and emotional.

But did I say, “no”?


I remember waking up in his bed.  He was on the floor.  Naked.

I remember seeing the condom wrapper on the alarm clock.

I remember what time it was.

I remember searching his apartment for a bathroom and being violently ill.

I remember finding articles of my clothing scattered.

I remember not knowing where I was.

I remember getting dressed while he was still sleeping.


I remember seeing that he had gone through my purse because my wallet was out, opened, invaded.

Nothing had been stolen.

Everything had been stolen.


I remember him waking up as I zipped my jeans.

I remember him asking why I was crying.

I remember him driving me to my dorm.

I remember the silence.



I remember him putting his hand on my knee when I opened the car door to get out.

I remember wanting to vomit on his hand.

I remember him asking me if I wanted to go to church with him tomorrow.

I remember wanting to vomit on his hand.

I remember thinking “what the fuck?!”

I remember him asking me if I was ok.

I remember saying, “I don’t think so.”

I remember wanting to vomit on his hand that was on my knee.


I remember showering in scalding water.

I remember burning my skin.

I remember using an entire bar of soap until it disintegrated.

I remember using a new, fresh towel when I got out of the shower.

I remember vomiting more and more and more…

Til there was nothing left inside of me.


But it was all already gone.

Nothing was left.


I remember driving myself to the ER.

I remember telling the triage nurse, “I think I was raped.”

I remember her glaring at me and asking, “you think?”

I remember having vials of blood drawn.

I remember the med examiner looking for evidence from my body.

Hairs, finger prints, scratches, skin under my finger nails.

They took what was left of me.


I remember she was frustrated with me because I had already showered and peed.

“Very little evidence here,” she said while I laid with my legs spread open.

I remember being alone.

Entirely alone.


I remember the exam, the doctor, the cop who sat in the corner.

The rape kit.

I remember the doctor saying, “the abundance of tearing of the tissue is sign of trauma to the area.”

I remember thinking “what the fuck does that mean?”

I remember crying while some stranger combed my pubic hair… for his strays.

I remember pictures were taken of bruises on my inner thighs, my breasts, my arms.

I remember a bruise under my right arm pit from him carrying me over his shoulder.

A bruise on my collar bone.

I remember someone saying, “it’ll be he said/she said…”


I remember asking someone to call my mom.

I remember they left her a voicemail.

Who leaves a fucking voicemail?

I remember leaving the ER and going back to my dorm.

I had to be given clothes to wear home.

They were tossed in the garbage that same day.

I remember hating those clothes.


I remember curling up in a ball on my twin-sized bed and bear-hugging myself until it hurt.

I remember wanting it to hurt.

I remember emailing my boyfriend (now husband) to “CALL ME.”

I remember my dad having to get off a plane he had just boarded after receiving a phone call from my mom, saying what had happened to me.

I remember not speaking for an entire 24 hour period, once my parents arrived.

I remember sitting with my knees curled up to my chest for those 24 hours in the hotel room I stayed in with my parents.

I remember my mom on the phone with my brother.

I remember hearing him ask, “how is she?” and mom answering, “she’s quiet, very quiet.”

I remember being questioned incessantly by the police…

I remember the district attorney was female.

I remember being grateful for that.


But I didn’t know.  I didn’t know everything they wanted me to know, to answer.

I remember the police finding the drug in his apartment.

I remember being told by the police officer “he and his roommate are in the next room,” as I gave my written statement… signed my written statement.

I remember wondering if his roommate was there that night.



I remember not remembering.

nicbottleNic blogs at My Bottle’s Up and originally shared her story at Violence Unsilenced. She is very brave to share her story and I thank her for letting me cross post it.  Please be sure to show you support and thank her for helping spread awareness of sexual assault. If you use twitter, be sure to follow Nic.


~ by After Silence on September 27, 2009.

7 Responses to ““Drugged” by Nic”

  1. […] in other news, the story of my rape has also been published on another activist’s website, After Silence. my story can be found by clicking here. […]

  2. Your story is mind numbing. Hard to absorb. Hard to imagine there are others out there that take what is not theirs to have. I am so sorry that you ever had to experience such a horrible ordeal and personal violation.

  3. Loves you lots. You are the embodiment of what it means to be a survivor. I’m so proud to call you my friend. xoxoxo

  4. […] I want to empower other survivors to use their voices. To help foster that effort, I am allowing anyone who would like to share their story to submit posts to the blog.  You already saw one of these shared stories earlier this week from Nic. […]

  5. hello,

    thanks for the great quality of your blog, every time i come here, i’m amazed.

    black hattitude.

  6. I can so feel the pain in this. The confusion and the shame. The total violation. Heart is with you. I know.

  7. Thank you for sharing your story..thank you for your bravery. I hope to one day share my story, too.

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