My extended nightmare last night—which truly was a nightmare—began with me “waking up,” or coming to “consciousness” (in the dream), in a very public place, with my clothes ripped, my breasts exposed, and covered in bruises and stickiness. My awareness was foggy, and as I tried to cover myself up and get away from the stares and leers in this public square, I had a vague recollection of having seen a man I knew and trying to avoid him as he pursued me.

This was a man with whom I had a cordially friendly professional relationship. It suddenly became clear that he had drugged me, raped and beaten me, and left me out in public to shame and humiliate me; moreover, once that became perfectly clear, it called to mind a separate occasion in which I had seen this man during a business outing, and woken up the next day sore with my clothes half-off. At the time, I had passed this off as having drunk too much the night before and not having finished undressing myself before bed, but in the context of this new situation, it was all too obvious that this man was a repeat offender.

This would have been enough, except that the rest of the dream—which seemed to go on forever—dealt with my futile attempts to procure a rape kit to properly indict my attacker. I couldn’t find anyone who cared about administering it, and it seemed even harder to find anyone that would take me seriously. Sobbing and wretched, I bounced from person to person asking for someone, anyone, to help—and no one would.

thewordunheard—10/21/09