After a few months of chatting with this rando I met on OKCupid and being ghosted every time it seemed like we were ready to meet up, it finally happened. Up until that day, I thought that whoever that slightly mysterious and very hilarious (in a completely politically incorrect sense) stranger was, would remain a stranger forever. I was sort of OK with that.
Then one Saturday he texted me completely out of the blue and told me we should meet soon. I didn’t have any open slots in my agenda to accommodate a rendez-vous, so I casually told him I could try to meet up with him in a couple of weeks from then. He immediately replied with a single question:
How about tonight?
I thought about it for a couple of minutes and then YOLO’d my way through the whole decision-making process, so I asked where we should meet and at what time. His response was a mix of perfection and total creepiness, all in one: He said he would like to have dinner with me at his place.
Well, crap. My life is heavily influenced by pop culture and all things trashy, so of course I suddenly pictured myself receiving a red rose like the contestants of The Bachelor, followed up by my dying in a very Hostel-esque fashion. So, basically my love life was in a very shaky position – and possibly my actual life too.
However, before making my decision (which should have obviously been a big ‘No’ right from the start), I casually asked if that included a round of “Netflix and chill”, cos I’m all up for spontaneity, but I also hadn’t had sex in a while. I hadn’t even thought of it to be fair, so clearly, arrangements had to be made before actually taking my clothes off in front of someone else.
So I finally arrived to his place and he immediately welcomed me with dirty martinis. He was already sort of drunk when I got there but I figured nothing too bad could happen. I also figured I could get roofied and raped, so I politely took the cocktail and poured it in his exotic plants when he wasn’t watching. Those plants might probably be dead now by the way.
We had dinner and we actually had a lot of fun, but he kept pushing me to drink and I eventually gave in. I was raped once exactly like this, I should have known better than this. I got completely wasted somehow. In the end, “Netflix and chill” happened but I got slapped and kicked out on the street completely naked in the middle of it.
Well, damn.
I suppose there were plenty of red flags leading up to that moment but I somehow decided not to pay attention to any of them. What makes this situation even worse – other than the fact that I smashed my phone during what was perhaps the longest walk of shame ever – was that I agreed to meet him again because I was too stupid to believe that he wasn’t a psycho, just the consequence of too much alcohol.
So I met him again two days later. This time, he was also completely wasted when I got there. That put me on high alert mode. We started making out and began chocking me all out of the blue, saying that he wanted me to go rougher on him. I broke free and he immediately kick me out of his place once again.
While I walked back home, I became aware of all the thoughts that this situation had triggered in me. Of course the first and most evident thought was just how stupid I was for falling for such a guy, not once but twice. This immediately got me thinking of just how badly things could have gone with him. He could have literally raped me or worse, killed me.
Suddenly something else struck me. I wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed of what I had just done. I felt absolutely no remorse whatsoever. Even though I knew things could have gone pretty bad for me, I just didn’t feel fear or shame or anything else for the matter. I just didn’t feel anything at all.
This was my first hookup ever. Something I hadn’t done before because I thought it was beneath me. Something I thought I would never engage in. And yet, after obviously proving myself wrong, I just didn’t feel anything.
It is as if I had just stored all my feelings in a box, and what I was doing, who I was doing it with, and the risks I had taken didn’t matter at all. I felt as if I were just an empty shell. Then I thought about another possibility: what if I was unconsciously trying to punish myself?
What if all the pain and regret I have been experiencing in these past few weeks is making me do this? Am I displaying self-destructive behavior because I blame myself for all the things that have happened? Do I really think I am that worthless that I rather put my life at risk than being alone?
All these questions popped inside my head, one after the other, but I wasn’t able to answer any of them. It was just so clear to me that I was in a bad place and had been for a while now. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to get out of it.
