Experience: I can't remember getting raped
That morning, after an internal examination by police, Mum drove me to the house to collect my things. I'd been told not to talk to Paul until he'd given a statement, but all I wanted was for him to take me in his arms and comfort me. I remember letting myself in and seeing him sitting watching TV as though it were a normal afternoon. He barely looked up. I knew straight away he somehow blamed me for what had happened.
The weeks after the attack were harrowing. I had to take the morning-after pill and have STI and HIV tests, both thankfully clear. The police still hadn't told me I'd been raped - they didn't want to influence my statement should my memory return. But I guessed what had happened from the way I felt: it was such a brutal attack, I was left with internal injuries that would take months to heal.
As for Paul, I convinced myself he'd call as soon as he'd made his statement. Instead, he sent an email I've never been able to forget: "I know you didn't deliberately set out to get raped, but you are partly responsible for what happened."
Rape's coming up a lot on this blog, but the frequency with which it occurs coupled with the fact that it is still socially acceptable to dismiss it in this way makes rape to my mind one of the most significant signs of the enduring and pervasive nature of gender inequality.
