The Night My Girlfriend Dissociated and Forgot Who I Was

by Anonymous - follow for more.

The situation, as it stood, couldn’t have looked much worse. A man had cornered a tearful, terrified woman in the lobby of a block of flats and wouldn’t let her leave. If another person entered at that moment, the woman would say the man was a complete stranger. She’d say she had no recollection of how she’d got here.

The third person would – quite reasonably – deduce that, in all probability, the man had drugged the woman and, if they had a shred of human decency, would come to her rescue by whatever means. Maybe they’d call the police. Maybe they’d beat the shit out of him. After all, he was clearly planning to rape the woman. There was almost no explanation in which the man came out looking like a goodie. Almost.

I played the hypotheticals through in my head and, to a God I decided in that instant was real, I prayed. I prayed that as long as I stood there with my girlfriend in the midst of a severe dissociative episode, no other soul would appear. God, if you’re reading this: I owe you one.

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