I have a confession to make. I am addicted to Baron Batch’s blog. It’s ridiculous. I check it on a daily basis to see what he’s written. Anyone who doesn’t know him, I HIGHLY suggest you check it out:
http://www.baronbatch.blogspot.com/. He’ll melt your heart and inspire you, all at the same time.
After reading his most recent post last night, I got inspired. Not so much to share about my background or my childhood…Lord knows that would take too many nights spent on my laptop and even more glasses of wine. But, I want to share a very personal experience. It’s something that I rarely talk about, but it’s an experience that has helped form me into the woman I am today. It’s no fun. It’s not glamorous and if I’m being honest, it’s ugly. It’s my rock bottom, so, get ready. And be prepared to read..A LOT.
Thanksgiving, 2004. I had just turned 20 years old. I was on top of the world. Living the single life in a tiny apartment downtown in Colorado, working two jobs just to make ends meet. But, I loved it. My life consisted of work, friends & family and the gym. Until I met him. We’ll call him J (Not sure where he is now and just in case he is some kind of crazy person and googles me, I’d rather him not see his name on my blog). Our moms were best friends at the time and had been trying to fix us up for months. He was on an athletic scholarship in a different state, so our schedules never quite coincided to meet. Until the holiday season of 2004. Our first meeting was in church. He was tall, dark and handsome and exactly my type. Instant attraction. He and his family came to my mom’s house for lunch after church and there was quite a connection. In the weeks following, we kept in touch by talking on the phone at all hours of the day. This was before Facebook (what did we ever do without that?) so, we actually had to make a phone call and hold a normal conversation instead of writing on each other’s walls. Everything was going great. We had a million things in common. He was a baseball player and I would have my dad secretly give me questions to ask him to make me sound like I knew what I was talking about. He answered every question correctly. He had a relationship with God..something that has always been important to me in finding a significant other. He loved his momma and had a great support system of friends around him. He was perfect on paper. But, I was only 20 years old and chose to overlook every single red flag that God was literally throwing in my face. After a few weeks of phone calls, he came home to Colorado for Christmas. I even picked him up at the airport. We went Christmas shopping with his family and trimmed the tree at his mom’s house together. It was one of those fast-paced relationships that wouldn’t slow down, even if we would have tried. It took on a life of its own.
New Year’s Eve 2004. We were supposed to spend a quiet evening together with his family. Instead, he decided to go to a house party in Denver with some of his friends. He told me over and over not to come. “You won’t like my friends.” That was his main excuse for not asking me to join him. RED FLAG. But, again, I was 20 years old and very naïve. I didn’t listen to him. So, I got in my car and drove to Denver in the dark. I found the house party and had to park 3 blocks away because there were so many cars parked on the streets. I had no idea whose house I was walking into. But, I was confident in wanting to spend the evening with him. He was waiting on the front steps when I got there. This is where my memory starts to fade.
I recall standing at the make-shift bar they had set up in the house. Looking back, I question the height of the bar. Now, I’m only 5’3, but I swear this bar came up to my chin. And I even had heels on (duh). I should not have been drinking, this I know. I wasn’t even of legal age. I was in a house with at least 150 people—only 1 of which I knew. But, it was New Year’s Eve. I was determined to party and enjoy myself.
I wish I could tell you happy memories from that night. But, I can’t. I think I’ve told you almost everything I can remember. There was no countdown to midnight. No New Year’s kiss. Instead, I was taken advantage of in ways I can’t even detail. The cops and the nurses that attended to me the next day told me I would have flashes of memory for years to come, but that I would never be able to piece the night together enough to make sense of what happened to me. Being barely conscious in a bathtub with no water completely naked is one flash I have. It often appears in dreams…or nightmares…not sure which. I woke up the next morning next to someone I had never seen. And, I was dressed in someone else’s clothes. It was the most bizarre feeling in the world. I wasn’t myself. I was shaking uncontrollably and couldn’t keep myself from shivering from being so cold. I slowly made my way upstairs to try to figure out what was going on. I frantically realized where I was and began my search for him. Where the hell was he? Did he leave me in a house of people I don’t know? Did he have something to do with this? Where’s my purse? Why do I have clothes on that don’t fit me? I found my purse and immediately darted for the front door. As I reached the living room, there he was—asleep with another girl. I didn’t speak a word to him. Instead, I walked out into the Colorado cold and got in my car and drove off.
After getting lost in Denver, I finally found my way back to I-25 and headed home. I called one person on my drive home and to this day, I don’t know if he realizes what a life saver he was for me. I tried my best to explain to him what was going on without sounding panicked. He was calm and collected and began asking me questions I couldn’t answer. Were you drugged? Were you raped? Whose house were you at? Where is he? Every answer was the same. I DON’T KNOW. I drove straight home and got in the shower. That’s when I realized that not only had I been used as a human canvas; I also had bruises in places that shouldn’t have ever been touched. I was covered from my chest to the bottom of my feet with permanent marker. There was no art to it whatsoever. Just scribbling. Did I mention it was permanent black marker? The hour-long hot shower I took didn’t even scratch the surface to begin to remove it. So, still out of sorts, I threw on some sweats and headed to the local coffee shop where I worked. The girls working that morning immediately knew something was wrong. I walked in the back and lifted up my shirt. After discussing what to do with several close friends, I finally realized I needed to get to a hospital. I was still shaking. Almost as if I was coming down off of something. So…one of the sweetest and most loyal friends I know left her family and took me to the ER on New Year’s Day. Shortly after, her parents came to check on me. Her father is a police officer and immediately went into action, firing question after question. He was prepared to find whoever did this to me and put him (or her?) away for good. I was escorted into a small area where I had my own bed and the nurses drew curtains all around me. After two more cops, several nurses and one representative from a sexual abuse organization talked to me for what seemed like hours, I was released. I refused to give the cops his name. I just knew in my heart he didn’t do this to me. He stood by and watched it happen, but surely he wasn’t the instigator. So, I had a drive-thru meal from Wendy’s for dinner and got dropped back off at home. All alone. I sat there with my thoughts all night long, trying to remember. I promise you my brain hurt. I wanted so badly to put together the missing puzzle pieces. Was this my fault? That was the question that kept ringing in my brain, and to this day, still does. I never should have gone to that party. He warned me in his own way. Did he know what his friends were capable of? Apparently so. I never talked to him again. My amazing father drove to Colorado from Texas to bring me home for two weeks. It was the worst two weeks of my life. I wasn’t depressed. I was confused. I would literally sit at the dinner table surrounded by my family and burst into tears before the blessing was even said. I rarely ate. I called him several times and never heard a word back from him. About a year later, I ran into him when I was in Denver. He was working as a waiter and I was seated in his section. Immediately after making eye contact with me, he asked a fellow employee to take over my table. We never said a word to each other.
This was my rock bottom.
It took one fateful night in December to make me fall hard enough to realize I was on a path of destruction. I went through stages of emotions. I was scared, angry, hurt, confused, disappointed. But, I finally realized how lucky I was. I was lucky to be alive. I’ve lost very special people in my life due to circumstances just like this. What if I never would have woke up that next morning? What a waste that would have been. For some reason, God kept me around. My time here wasn’t finished. I have things left to accomplish. And I think one thing I’m supposed to do is share this story. It’s not a story to make anyone feel sorry for me. That’s the last thing I want. I want it to be a story that changes lives. Every once in a while, I feel a tug at my heart and feel God telling me to speak up. I was in the salon not too long ago, and the two young girls working the front desk were candidly talking about heading to South Padre Island for Spring Break. As I walked out, I stopped dead in my tracks and gave them a 20- second version of what happened to me. Their eyes were wide open when I walked out that day. If I can change one life—then being open about what happened to me is completely worth it. No matter what kind of rock bottom you’ve experienced, don’t let it hinder you. Let it teach you and make you a better person. Learn from it. Share it. It may even change a life. Pick yourself up, swallow your pride and move on. Choose to be happy. Choose to trust again. Choose to love. Believe me when I say this…it’s worth it.
