Tales From My Bedroom Floor: Volume 5, The Victim Like 0 Twitter Shawn Engel Follow March 24, 2017, 10:49 a.m. in Life and Styles Views: 638 Like us on facebook In the fetal position, at least ten drinks deep, I cried deeply. I cried so deeply, and for so long, that I couldn't even feel my face any longer. The shock had warn off and I was faced with my truth: I was raped. It took me a full 24 hours to digest what happened. I was drunk at the time of the attack, and then a friend came over to console me right after. She successfully convinced me that I solicited the rape, so I took a shower and went to sleep there after. In my state of shock, it was easier to believe that I had a hand in what happened. It gave me a sense of control. It wasn't until the following night, when flashbacks seared through my head, that I started to cry. I cried for myself. I cried for other women who were victimized. I cried for being drunk and discrediting myself in today's society. I cried for the fact that women can't walk home safely in a summer dress. I cried for lost freedom. I cried for my tainted vagina. I cried for feeling unsafe. This loss was more than any I had experienced. This was deeper. It was a fundamental slash at my tires. It broke my already fractured psyche into tiny pieces of shattered glass. And the only way I knew how to heal was to escape. That was my only tool. I ran to the bottle, and then I ran into the arms of a man who would change my life forever. Published by Shawn Engel Share Mail Messenger Twitter Pinterest Linkedin Comments Related Article Life and Styles DEAR WOMEN Life and Styles Escape from the BS Life and Styles It Is Still August Right?