I was going to respond to that “me too” meme, saying:
Although I have experienced things that would qualify me for this meme, I personally refuse to conceptualize my experiences as sexual harassment or assault. There seems to be an enormous social pressure to categorize things that way, and to condemn them as immoral, but I never perceived them as such. To me, they were always just social interactions – perhaps annoying ones, perhaps complicated ones, but always just ordinary interactions between real human beings with human desires and flaws. Not manifestations of evil or things that could be clearly and decisively condemned.
Except then I remembered the time that I legit almost got raped in the hotel near my house in Harpers Ferry. And I want to tell that story, not for “me too” reasons, but just because it’s interesting.
Unfortunately, I can’t remember all the details. This was during a very serious depression, where I had lost access to my emotional state and had trouble feeling anything. Perhaps for that reason, this event didn’t make a big impression on me, and I barely remember what happened. (A lot of the memories from that part of my life are similarly “faded”.)
But anyway, I’ll tell the story as best as I can. Brace yourself.
Perhaps she would faint from too many emotions. Or perhaps she would run away. For a moment she even considered knocking him out. He knew too much. He knew things. Things nobody else knew. She felt disassembled and resembled as he described her and himself.
She watched him sink onto the couch and understood well that tomorrow he would probably not remember his confession. She approached and her hand lingered above him before she took the decorative blank it nearby and put it over him so he would not be cold.
“My mother… when I was a…child. Forced me to kill my own father.” she confessed “at the threat of killing me if I did not.”
She was not sure why she told him this. It simply seemed the right thing to do.