Promiscuity after rape

Part two of ‘Ten year after rape’

A year after the rape I reported it to the police. It was the first time I had said what happened in any detail. I felt like my skin had been been worn away with sand paper. I felt raw, vulnerable and exposed. My attempts to keep the memories at bay failed. Flashbacks, nightmares and panic attacks were a daily occurrence. The only times I had a reprieve was when I drank. So I drank. Like a fish. And with the excessive drinking came promiscuity. I fucked to forget. I fucked to not feel. I fucked because I thought if I fucked enough I would overwrite the memory. I fucked because sex was nothing…or I was nothing. And sometimes I fucked because I couldn’t cope with being raped again.

I may come back and add more to this but it hit a few nerves so I have decided now isn’t the time to really unpack the topic. 

Part three: The rape trial

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