TESTIMONIAL - So, I put my mother to the torture with questions "what do you prefer?" You certainly know this game. Would you rather be invisible or have the ability to talk to animals? Would you rather be three meters tall or 1m50 wide? There is an infinity of possible combinations. But you have to make a choice. No escape .
In primary school, another girl asked me, "Would you rather be raped or murdered?" I remember thinking for a moment: none of these two options was funny. But you have to make a choice.
I chose "murdered".
It is therefore ironic that I have been raped.
It happened at a time when I was deeply unhappy. A boyfriend I thought would never leave me had just ended our relationship. It's been years since we knew occasional breaks, but it was until then that I broke. A tsunami of repressed suffering overwhelmed me. Several years ago, my father had suddenly left the house. He had never wanted a child, he had said. This new separation confirmed my darkest fear: I was not worth the blow of being loved.
As if that was not enough, I hated my job. It was boring and offered no fulfillment. I did not have to be in good shape to carry out my tedious tasks.
I started going out too often. I thought that by striving to be happy, I would be happy for good. I danced, I drank, I laughed, I flirted. When I really needed to feel wanted, I slept with someone for whom I felt nothing, and who had no more feelings for me.
I met a guy, a friend of friend - let's call him Dan. From the first meeting, he started to turn around. You see the kind: fire of all woods and gloomy remarks. He scared me, and I sent him for a walk each time. But he often dragged around. And I did not want him to spoil my desperate search for this escape from myself.
That evening, many of us were out; Dan was there too. We went from a pub to a bar and then to a box. We ended up at someone's house. It was late, I was tired, I decided to spend the night there.
I went to sleep in the guest room, dressed and alone. When I woke up, my panties were on the floor and Dan in the bed.
I was so horrified, so disgusted that I did not even talk to him. I just dressed and got out of the room.
But in the end, I could not pretend that nothing had happened. Weak memories had pierced my armor of denial. He had entered the room in the middle of the night. He had removed my clothes. He had forced the passage to enter me. I tried to stop him, but I was half asleep, tangled, still under the influence of alcohol.
I was too scared to complain. What if the police blame me? I was angry, it was already enough.
I adopted a fixed idea: do not let the rape transform me. But the more I struggled to stay the same, the harder it was. The worst was the nightmares: I woke up every night, trembling and crying. One day I saw Dan. I burst into tears on the spot.
I ended up going to a great clinical psychologist, a specialist in sexual trauma. She helped me get back on my feet. It took a lot of time and a lot of work. I rebuilt my life. I found a job that I love. I dropped the friends who were not and I got closer to those who are real friends. I started to pay attention to myself. I found someone I love and who loves me in return . I learned to enjoy sex again. The path to healing has been difficult. I have not reached the end yet, but I am much, much better. Now my life is happy.
I still have nightmares, but not so frequently.
I still hate Dan, but I do not hate myself anymore.
If someone asked me today "would you rather be raped or murdered?", The choice would be easy.
I am immensely grateful to my boyfriend, family, close friends and the outstanding psychologist at the public hospital for their support.