2005 and 2006 were really hard for me.  I had been suffering from moderate depression for a few years at that point.  I had tried different medications and went to therapy but I was still struggling.  Outwardly things were going really well.  I was in a relationship with a good man, I was working and getting promoted quickly, and I was a youth leader at the church I was heavily involved in before moving away.  My psychiatrist suggested that I try a newer medicine called Cymbalta.  It worked differently than a typical antidepressant by controlling norepinephrine in addition to serotonin.  I figured it was worth a shot.

Over the next few months as the medicine took effect I noticed a change in my personality.  It was subtle at first and likely looked like my depression was lifting.  But I started behaving erratically.  I spent $500 on baby clothes for a friend and some family members who were expecting little ones, despite the fact that I couldn’t really cover my bills.  I would stay up all night reading even if I needed to work the next day because I wasn’t ever tired.  Months later after my medication was increased, I made even worse decisions, things I would not ever consider under normal conditions.  I cheated on my boyfriend and treated him horribly.  I walked out of my job in the middle of a shift and took some of the staff with me.  I ran up major credit card debt.  The pastor I volunteered with told me leave the leadership team I was on.  He said that I wasn’t depressed, I just had sin in my life.  Everything I was experiencing was due to having sex before marriage.  It didn’t matter that my depression began years before I started having sex.  Because all of my close friends were on the same leadership team, I lost contact with them.  Later I was told that they were advised to stay away from me so that I wouldn’t rub off on them. 

Unfortunately my psychiatrist didn’t take me seriously when I suggested that maybe something other than depression was going on.  Her response was to once again increase my medication.  A few months later when the new dose was fully in my system, I began having hallucinations and panic attacks.  I was terrified to sleep so I was once again awake at all hours.  I wanted to get in my car and drive until I ran out of gas and then live wherever I ended up.  I ended up spending eight days in the psychiatric unit of a local hospital.  I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.  A completely new medication regimen was prescribed, with a focus on heavily sedating me.  In the last 15 years, I have never had another episode like this.  As soon as the Cymbalta was out of my system, I returned to my normal self.  My new doctors have since said that it was likely just a reaction to the medication and not bipolar disorder.

This was a really lonely time.  I only had one friend that I spent any time with - my best friend of the last six years.  We were really close and he was like a brother to me.  I knew I could always be myself around him and that he wouldn’t judge me.  We told each other everything and would drop everything to help one another.  He was the only person other than family who came to visit me when I lived in Chicago for two years.  Even though he was part of the same leadership team I was on, he didn’t abandon me.  I considered myself lucky to have him.  He worked at a video store and didn’t get off until midnight but we would spend time together after work.  I was recently out of the hospital and was only working a few hours a week at a retail job, mainly in the afternoons and evenings.  I spent most of my days sleeping thanks to the medicine.  He would usually bring over some movies or a TV series to watch.  We would hang out until about 2:00 am when I would take my prescribed cocktail of Ambien, Seroquel, Prozac, Abilify, and Benadryl.  When I fell asleep he would let himself out and lock the door behind him.  I was living with my parents at the time and I think they were just glad I had a friend.  They never seemed to have a problem with my late nights and we were always careful to be quiet and not awaken them.

One of my favorite shows was Alias.  I had seen every season except for the last part of the final one.  My work schedule in retail meant I was never home when it was on and I always forgot to record it.  My friend brought the whole series over and we were working our way through the from the beginning.  We were down to the final episodes.  My medicine usually took about an hour to kick in, so I typically took it before we watched the last episode of the night.  About halfway through I started drifting off.  I let my friend know that I likely wouldn’t make it to the end.  He said that was fine, we could always restart it next time.  The last thing I remember as I was drifting off was him next to me in my bed.  I was on my right side facing the wall and he pressed up against me, put his arm around me and started trying to kiss me.  I told him to stop and scooted closer to the wall.  He said, “You know you want to.”  And I replied, “No, I don’t!”

The next thing I remember is waking up to bright sunlight around noon the next day.  I was undressed and my clothes were thrown around the room.  When I picked them up I found an empty condom wrapper on the floor.  I had no clue what was going on but I was starting to get freaked out.  I called my friend to find out what happened.  He said, “We had sex,” like it was the most normal thing in the world for us to have done.  I asked him what he meant, because I was asleep, and in no way agreed to have sex with him.  He insisted that it was consensual, even though I was unconscious.  I was floored.

I didn’t tell anyone what happened.  I showered and got ready for work.  I was still really confused.  I trusted him with everything.  I had never shown any sort of interest in him in a romantic or physical way.  He had never mentioned anything to me, either.  Why did he think I wanted to have sex with him?  I spoke with him again that night.  He continued to insist that I wanted him, even though I was out cold.  I kept telling him I never would have agreed to have sex if I was awake, and if I was asleep, then I clearly could not answer him.  He knew that when my meds kicked in, there was no waking me up.  He knew that I never noticed when he left, or if he tried to call me shortly after leaving.  He took advantage of the fact that I trusted him.

I still didn’t tell anyone.  There wasn’t any physical evidence of rape.  I was unconscious so he didn’t have to restrain me and I couldn’t fight back.  It was literally my word against his that it wasn’t consensual.  I like to hope that if this had happened today, I would have been believed.  But in December 2006 no one would have believed me.  I had no other close friends.  I was disgraced from youth ministry for having sex.  I had just spent over a week in a psych ward and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.  I had no evidence as proof.  I also figured that since I couldn’t go to the police with my lack of evidence, it was pointless to tell anyone.  Why suffer through the shame if it wouldn’t lead anywhere.  I knew that my old friends and pastor at the church would either not believe me or say it was my fault for being alone with a male, since men can’t help themselves.  Or that I somehow encouraged him to make him think it was okay before I fell asleep or wanted it and then regretted it.  I didn’t have the strength to deal with the backlash, so I kept quiet.  I avoided my friend and only saw him a few more times when he made an appearance without notice.  Six months later I moved away and haven’t seen him since.  A few years later I asked him if he ever felt bad for what he did.  He was still claiming it was consensual.

I am sharing my story now with the hope that it will help someone.  My husband knows about the rape.  He is one of the only people I have opened up to over the years.  I also made a generic post on Facebook during the height of the #metoo movement.  I try to tell myself that I am lucky because I have no memory of the rape.  Those images don’t haunt me.  But I still don’t trust anyone.  My best friend betrayed me in the most horrible of ways.  If he can do that, than anyone can do anything.  My husband knows not to wake me up when I am sleeping to try to start anything physical.  I am always on high alert when I am alone, more so than what women are typically taught.  I have addressed the rape in therapy and seem to have overcome the PTSD associated with it.  About five years ago I was able to finally watch the last season of Alias.  I was on the verge of a panic attack during the final few episodes, but I made it.

I need the world to understand something.  You are NEVER allowed to touch someone without their permission.  If someone doesn’t clearly consent, do not proceed.  If you are unsure of how they feel, ask them.  If they say no, stop immediately.  If they are incoherent or appear to be “out of it,” don’t continue.  And if they are unable to respond because they are unconscious, stay the hell away from them and make sure they are somewhere safe.

If someone trusts you enough to share their story with you, listen to them.  Don’t blame them.  It doesn’t matter what they were wearing, or drinking, or doing.  It is their body and consent is necessary.  Without it, everything needs to shut down.  If it doesn’t, it is assault.