The Day My Memory Returned

I am not ashamed of what happened to me, and most people in my life know what happened. The story that I want to share is a story that I rarely share. I have no idea why. I was abused a few times in my life. This was the second time that it happened. I think I was abused more in my life after, but I think this time was the only time that I didn’t have any say in it, and I wonder if this is why it’s harder for me to tell this story.

I want to tell my story this way so it will not be about me but more about this story. You can hear that I am in therapy and I have been going to therapy for so many years. I tend to overanalyze my feelings. I am still trying to figure it out.

I also think I would rather write my story so that I will remember everything. This is giving me control over my story. Please don’t edit what I have to say. Please keep it as it is. And I hope you know what you do is important.

I am sorry for the long opening. I will try to keep it short.

I was 14 years old when it happened. I had a girlfriend at that time and she was living in a different town than my father was living in. That’s how I met her actually. But the story is not about her. I was seeing her that night when I was staying with my father for the weekend. She was one year younger than me so at some point I had to go back home; her mom didn’t want me to stay over. After all, she was a year younger. But I didn’t want to go back to my dad’s place. I don’t know why, but I just didn’t. So I stayed out. I was just sitting outside. I think it was summer but I am not sure. I think it’s weird that I remember so much from that night, but I don’t remember if it was summer. I can’t remember the season.

I was sitting and I had this feeling that I wanted to be rescued. It’s a feeling that I still carry with me. I am always waiting for someone to come and rescue me. But I don’t know what. Is it from myself? I don’t have the answer.

So, I was sitting outside, waiting for someone to come. And someone did come. I started to notice that there was a car that kept coming by and slowing down when it went by me. I could see a man sitting in the car and looking at me. I didn’t think of it that much until he stopped his car next to me and called me to come over. I don’t know why I stood up and went to him. I also don’t remember him telling me to get into his car. But he did. And I did. I went in his car and he took off with me. I remember looking outside at the streets that I knew. I didn’t know where he was taking me. But I knew the streets.

He was an older guy. I think he was in his 50s or 60s. He had long white hair. A long white beard. And a long white Arab dress. I think it’s called a jalabia. But he was not Arab at all. He looked like a cult leader or something. But he had no cult around him. Just him and his car. He took me to one of the tallest buildings in the city. It was my first time inside. I always thought only rich people lived there. But I am not sure he was. I didn’t know this man. But it felt like I would. Like he would know my parents. But he didn’t. He was just this man that took me to his home. He asked me to come to his car. I told him yes. Or maybe I didn’t. But I was still on the way to his place. How did I get there? Why did I get in his car? Why did I say yes? I don’t know. I keep asking myself these questions still, 30 or 40 years later.

When we got to his place I remember that everything was in gold. I was thinking to myself that he must be rich. I wanted all of his gold. I remember pictures of family members all over. Next to his bed was a picture of an older woman. Just like him. I was wondering if this was his wife. Everything was dark but the nightstand light was on. It was in gold. He asked me to get naked. I was shy. I didn’t want him to see me naked. But I did as he asked me. He also got naked. I remember his old fat body. I didn’t want it near me. He asked me to suck him off. I didn’t want to do that. He was not violent with me. He didn’t say that he would kill me if I did something wrong. He was just asking me to do things. I didn’t want to do it. But I did and I don’t know why. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I was doing there. He didn't threaten me.

I don’t remember giving him a head. But I think I did. I remember that I didn’t like it. And it’s so strange to think, that I don’t remember doing something, but I can still remember not liking it. Fuck, the brain can be so strange. Did I erase it from my brain to protect myself? And if yes, why do I remember not liking it?

The next thing that I remember is his cum over my belly. I remember how disgusted I felt. I wanted it to be off me. I didn’t like the smell of it. I didn’t like it all over my body and I just wanted it to be off. I still to this day don’t like cum. I was on his bed, completely naked. Covered with cum, waiting for him to do something. He threw a towel at me and said nothing. I cleaned myself. And that’s all I remember from his place. I don’t remember myself cleaning the cum. I don’t remember getting dressed or even leaving his place. But I do remember his wife looking at me from the picture next to the bed.

The next thing that I do remember is us driving back to where he took me from. It was next to my dad's place. To take me back to the place he took me from, he had to go by a different road, but he didn’t and I don’t know why, but he took the road that led to my dad’s place. Did I tell him where my dad’s place was? I don’t remember that. Before getting to my dad’s place, he told me that it would be better if I got out a bit far so no one would see me going out of his car. So he knew that he did something wrong. At that time, I didn’t. But I still understood why it was better if I got off there. And I did. I left his car and I never saw him again.

I got back to my dad’s place. Everyone was sleeping. It was late at night and no one knew I was out. No one waited for me. No one asked where I was and why I was only now coming back. I believe that I went to my sofa bed and went to sleep. And I never talked about it again for many, many years.

About 15 years later, maybe less, maybe more, I can’t tell at this point, someone that I knew offered me to join him at a film festival going on in that city. I didn’t visit the city for years at that point. My dad moved to a different place. I didn’t have friends living there and I had no reason to come back there. I never liked this city anyway. But I wanted to go to this film festival. The guy who took me there was an important film critic and I was naive to think that he wanted to help me get into the film industry. On the first day of the visit there, we walked by the place that this older man took me from, and in a second, everything came back. All of the memories. Everything that had happened to me and I just blocked it until that moment. It just came back in a flash. I couldn’t talk. I told this man that I needed some time alone. I was embarrassed that he took me all the way there, and let me stay with him in his hotel room and now I was acting so strange. I left him for a few hours. I don’t know what I did but at some point, we met again and I told him what happened. That was the first time that I had ever told this story to anyone. He was kind to me and listened to my story. At the end of the day, we went to his hotel room where we both stayed. I should have known that something might happen but I didn’t think of it at all. My body and my soul were exhausted and all I wanted was to go to sleep. And I did.

I woke up the next day early in the morning feeling strange. I quickly came to the understanding that he was giving me a blow job. I was sleeping and he took it upon himself, without my consent. I froze and I didn’t know what to do. It took me a few minutes to stop him. He looked shocked but he stopped. I don’t remember what happened next. But later that day I took a train back home and I left him there. I didn’t want to see him again or ever talk with him. I shared what happened to me, and the only thing that he could think of, was to have sex with me.

My life was full of misunderstanding. My life is full of regrets. I abused myself for so many years. With drugs. With sex. With unhealthy relationships. I abused my body. My soul. I think I still do. But I did get better. I am in a better place in my life. I stopped being a victim to my life. I don’t blame anyone for anything that happened to me. I took responsibility. Not for my abuse. Not for my rape. But for what came after? I can only control myself and how I react to things. This is the most important thing I learned in therapy. To take my life back into my hands. To reclaim my narrative. 

I can’t say that I am a happy person. But I am better today.

This was part of my story. Thank you for letting me share it with you. Like the men before me, I really hope that this will help someone. I really do hope so. I was silent for so long and I hope that other men will find a way to open up and talk. This was not your fault. You should not feel shame. I know it’s easy to say. I feel shame but I am working hard to change it.