The Restless Poet

I lie awake at night and create things so I don’t think about the dark. I’ve been flooded by flashbacks I can’t control and I have no idea why they are so bad right now. Maybe my brain is processing everything in the background but damn…it makes it hard to breathe.

Confront the unknown…face the pain, regardless of the overflow of panic and emotion. I need to stop avoiding by creating and accept and move through this storm. Details, details, details. Deep breath, gulp of coffee and let’s do this. What else do I have to do on a Friday night? Well, other than deal with packing up the cabin😂🤪. Another avoidance. But the heater is running and I’m sitting in the quiet for one more weekend. Perfect time, right?

I know I will bury myself in the cabin loft as I’m doing this, so I will just go lie up there now. It is second best to my closet floor when I am overwhelmed. Tonight, I will deal with the college (note: the word college is what triggers a flashback. How odd that a simple word can do that) flashback. Get it out there and be done with it, hopefully? I’ve never spoke of what fully happened that night. This memory is the one that has caused the most feelings of disgust and shame about myself. I always thought that I should have been able to prevent it and I was weak for being naive. I wasn’t weak, I survived it, even if it wasn’t the prettiest form of survival.

It was a Tuesday night, fairly quiet in the dorms. My roommate was with her boyfriend in his room at another building. I had went to bed early because I had an 8:00 chemistry class on Wednesday mornings. Unusual for me to ever go to bed early but I remember being fully engulfed in a deep sleep when I heard someone knock on the door. I assumed it was my roommate. She always forgot her key and I would have to open it for her unless she went to our suite mates side.

I remember my bed was parallel to the window – side view to the door. I can picture myself climbing out of bed to open it. I was wearing a short nightgown and I just realized that was the last time I ever wore anything like that to bed again. I always wear a shirt and pants now. I remember trying to wear one once and even now my whole body reacts to the thought of it. Deep breath.

I walked across the room, my feet were bare. I can hear them as I padded across the cold tile. My bed was the furthest away from the door. I can feel the hard metal of the handle under my palm. Silver handle, heavy wood door. I was half-asleep, eyes barely open. Perturbed slightly that she was so forgetful. I turned the door handle and realized it wasn’t Sharon standing there.

I recognized him. I had seen him around, mostly in the lobby. I knew his room was on the 17th floor because I had seen him talking to some of my friends in the aviation school that were up at the top too. He was a swimmer for SIU. He would walk across the lobby with the other swimmers wearing the red (not sure why they were red since SIU’s colors were maroon and white) parkas they wore back and forth to practice. Maybe why they were red, practice ones only? Not important but that detail is forever imprinted in my mind. He was tall, 6’5” and big – muscular big. He looked every bit the typical swimmer build. He had red hair and his name was Troy. I can’t look at that name and not want to puke.

I could immediately tell that he was drunk, clumsy drunk. Probably a nice way to say that. I started to tell him he had the wrong room but then realized he was trying to come in and he knew my name. He pushed the door hard enough that I had to take a step back so I wouldn’t fall. I can feel (note: I had to stop here for a while. I was frozen and couldn’t see past that moment).

I could feel the heat coming off his body he was that close so quickly. He smelled like alcohol. Probably whatever was the special at the bar he’d been at that night. I tried to push him back out the door. It was like trying to move a wall. He was heavy. He wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug – so tight it was hard for a breath to escape me. In that position he picked me up and moved me across the floor. He didn’t say anything. Just moved me. I know he didn’t know which bed was mine but it was probably the only one in his line of sight or it was the first thing he blindly ran into that stopped him. He kind of dropped me, sort of fell on top of me. I’m not even sure how he managed to walk. I could feel his breath…hot, pungent fumes of a last call. His arms were still wrapped around me and I thought he was going to pass out at first. I tried kicking him off but he was too heavy and it only managed to get him moving.

I started yelling for my suite mates (Nissan and April) not knowing that they were with their boyfriends. He stuck his hand over my mouth but he was pushing down so hard it went halfway in, gagging me. I could feel him pull his pants down and unfortunately my nightgown made it easy for him. I know I was trying to cry but I was struggling to breathe. All I could smell was his palm jammed in my mouth and feel his hot breath on the nape of my neck. He had to pry my legs open, I tried so hard to not let him. I don’t think he even realized that while he was doing that he had his hand that had been in my mouth around my neck using it as leverage.

Stop here…I almost said thankfully he let go after he got me in the position he wanted me but I don’t believe there was much to be thankful about at that point. He put his hand back over my mouth as he was _aping me. I still can’t say that word and I think I have a right not to. Maybe something I need to get past but for another time. I don’t know how long it lasted. It seemed like forever but I know my mind went elsewhere during it. Much like when I was little. I would turn my head toward the door and hope that someone would open it. Outside my body looking at a door that had me trapped. Even now – when I dissociate, I turn my head toward the direction of the door and get lost in the void. Something to tell my therapist.

The worst part…he passed out on top of me. All of his weight pressing down with his hand still over my mouth with half of it over my nose. I should have never opened that door. I should have pushed back harder. I should have kicked him harder. I should have been stronger.

He wasn’t budging. I understood at that moment what dead weight felt like and what it is like to move a sleeping bear because I would try and shift his weight and he would – ugh I can’t say it right now so I will leave it unsaid.

He only moved when he heard my suite mates go into their room. By then I didn’t even know how to get my body to shift. My brain was numb and somewhere other than the place I would never feel safe in again. I could smell what happened in that room…no amount of water could erase the disgust off my body. My roommate made it back and knew immediately something had happened, called my friends down the hall and took me to the hospital next to campus.

I need to finish the story but it has taken me almost five hours to get these few short paragraphs out of the vault of secrecy. That is the most I have ever spoken on that night. I’m exhausted. As with EMDR, I may need a few days before I can come back to this. I am curious as to whether or not it will have an effect on me and if so, how? However, even though I’m tired, I have a strange calmness surrounding me. I truly hope that means something. If only I could do the same with the rest and release them.

Now let’s see if I sleep tonight…I can only dream