Date Rape and Taking Off Some Weight

I will get to the date rape teaser in a moment. First, though, I want to touch on my feelings of fear around a challenge that I am facing as my work's Wellness Captain; a weight loss challenge.

The corporate offices give us outlines of what they want the Wellness Captains to cover, and a "Lose 8 Pounds in 8 Weeks" Challenge is one of them.

I've been avoiding this. Mainly, because of my own experience with goal setting - I then avoid that goal like the plague - and then simply, the gaining back of the weight. I don't doubt I can lose it. What I doubt is whether or not I can keep it off.

So the inner turmoil I am experiencing about losing some weight got me thinking about many things. For one, I have been not going out and meeting with old friends and aquaintances. I say yes to their requests, and then push out the dates we set.

On one level, I know I am doing this because I think they couldn't possibly want to be seen in public with me now that I weight 230ish, 240ish pounds. Whether male or female, I just simply believe they must cringe at being associated with someone who looks like I do. It's really interesting to be confronted by my own beliefs. I mean, all I'm doing is projecting my feelings about fat people onto them. And honestly, I didn't think I was that kind of a person.

Then, an old high school classmate of mine, Matt, moved to town a few months ago, connected with me on facebook, and suggested that we get together. Fine, old classmates are great.

Well, he friends me on facebook, a bit later he messages me to go out sometime, and then finally calls me and asks when I'd like to go out and get a drink or some coffee. I say, oh! Yes, that would be lovely! How about next week sometime? I'll call you!

I have not called him back.

That was about three months ago.

Mike is moving out of state with a job transfer, and this is revealing to me how little of a social life I have had. It has dwindled without me realizing it. The fact of the matter is, Mike and I have been like an old married couple for the last 10 years. His moving is making me realize that I am going to have to "get out there" again.

How this relates to my high school friend, and possilby my fears around having to bite the bullet and lose some weight? Last night I was driving around, and I got thinking, you know, I really should call Matt. I've been avoiding him, and I don't want to be like that. So, why have I been avoiding him? Why do I refuse to call him back?

And then it occured to me. Enter Joe.

Joe and Matt and I were all in the same smart kids classes growing up. I wasn't all that close with Matt growing up, but I liked him all the same. I'm not sure how close he and Joe were in high school, but Matt and Joe both went to the same Big Ten college together, and I know they are very good friends still.

Joe and I ... hm. How do I sum this up. Maybe the quickest way is to say that while I am getting facebook friends requests from many old high school friends and aquaintances, Joe and I have not requested that of each other. And here's why: The short version is because we have a sordid past. The long version follows. If you don't want the long version, you can skip to the last paragraph or so for the feel-good lesson. If you want the long version, then continue here:

Joe and I were both in the smart kids classes together growing up, debated politics -he the conservative, I the liberal, already in the 8th grade - and overall, I thought, had a basic like and respect for each other.

In high school, a few months before prom, Joe asks me out on a date. I thought this was great! He would have been who I envisioned going to prom with. In fact, freshmen year, the girls all got together and decided who would go to prom with who. It was determined I would go with Joe. That was good with me, I had always liked and respected Joe, and thought he'd be a fun prom date. Done - at least from the girls' end of it.

Now it's the fall of our junior year, and Joe has asked me out on a date. I think; awesome. We are laying the groundwork for having a great prom together. Yay!

Joe picks me up for our date. I have no idea what we are going to do for the evening, but I'm picturing a pretty standard dinner and a movie. And here's where it all went horribly wrong.

Looking back on the night, he did not get out of the car and come to the door to get me. Maybe I was too excited and didn't give him time to come and properly take me away. I have since that night always viewed this perceived action - or inaction - of his not wanting to meet the parents as an early signal of imminent danger. But that night, I go out to his car and get in. I don't know what we talked about or how we greeted each other. I think we were both a little shy about our little date.

At the end of our road, Joe takes a right instead of a left. Left would have taken him to Madison, about 40 minutes away and where most dates took place in our small town world - at least the good ones, anyway.

Turning right can also get him there; just a little different route. I thought maybe he didn't know which way to get there, as I lived out of town a ways and was going to head back into town to get there. Not necessary - and notice how I don't offer any information or questions? It's how I was taught to be with guys. But I digress. He didn't seem to need any help. He didn't ask for directions. He seemed to have a plan in mind.

We drive around the country block, and Joe pulls into one of our neighbors field roads. Now, for you city folks out there, I know you think the hicks out in the sticks just magically have these paths that nobody uses. But what the city folks don't realize is that there is a reason these paths aren't grown over with weeds. It's cuz we use them. All the time. Somebody owns that path, that field road. And if somebody is on his field road, the owner knows it. Especially if there's a house nearby.

So Joe pulls over on to one of my neighbor's field roads. I thought about saying, hey, we know these people, but I really didn't know what Joe had in mind or why he was pulling over. Joe was an upstanding guy, a smart guy, a football player but not a player with the ladies. It never occured to me that Joe had anything malevolent in mind for me.

Joe stops the car on my neighbors land. We were completely facing the house and although we were probably a quarter mile away, knowing how my dad had the binoculars out at the slightest notice of anything going on on his property, I didn't doubt that the neighbors were doing the same thing now.

Joe suggests we get out of the car and sit outside for a minute. Sounds nice, except all I can think is that people are going to see us, we're on somebody elses land. But I say nothing, I don't know what Joe's got in mind or how long we'll be here. So I decide to just roll with Joe's seeming plan.

He then pulls out a pint canning jar with a clear liquid in it. He tells me its vodka, and suggests we both have a little to loosen us up. We chit chat a little as we pass the drink between us. I remember him telling me how he noticed a slight mark on the lable of the bottle; he thinks his dad marked the bottle, and that he re-marked it after he took this bit for us. It was about a pint of liquor. I thought he was oh so smart for that.

What happened next? I do not know, and Joe wouldn't speak to me after that night to tell me what did happen. He and I both went to school together and worked at the same after school job, and he wouldn't say a word to me after that night. Which made me suspicious on two counts: you know me day in and day out - you can't be that mad at me for not knowing how to handle my liquor. So what happened that night that makes you not able too look me in the eye? What happened that was so wrong that you won't talk to me?

What I do know is that I was so nervous about our date, I hadn't eaten all day, and although I had drank beer at parties, I was not a seasoned drinker; I never did the hard stuff, and had no idea how much vodka - or how little vodka - was needed to catch a buzz. Or get me wasted.

Within less than half an hour of him picking me up, I was completely drunk. The last thing I remember is laughing and Joe opening up my shirt and sucking on my tits. I was surprised by his doing this, but I was so drunk, this feeling so new, that what Joe was doing to me was an after thought. I was just laughing! And laughing! I blacked out after that point.

I vaguely remember being dropped off at home at midnight, maybe; I just know that it was late and very, very dark outside. I remember throwing up in our bathroom, and my mom coming to check on me. Seeing that I was visibly drunk, she says, "I'm not going to tell Dad about this," and sends me up to bed. I remember waking up fully dressed in my clothes, in a position that I must have passed out in. My sister, home from college for the weekend, commented on how strange I was for sleeping in my clothes.

I go downstairs to the bathroom that next morning and notice a big scrape on my forehead. What the hell? A few days later, an itchy rash developed on my forearms. I showed a teacher at school; ironically, it was the chemistry teacher, who was also the football coach. He told me it was poison oak, then said something like it must have been some weekend you had, with a slightly raised eyebrow and a smirk. My mom didn't talk to me about what may or may not have happened; didn't tell me you might want to protect yourself a little bit and not drink or take drinks from boys, for they might have different motives than you do when they do this. It was as if nothing happened at all. I had to get ointment for the poison oak. Nothing. No comments, no concerns. Just tight lips and no help.

Back at school, Joe wouldn't talk to me about what happened. I asked him what went on, and he just said, Ann, you were totally drunk. You were eating dirt. I said, I was eating dirt?! He said no, I mean that figuratively. I went, oh, I couldn't stand up or walk straight ... then that explains the scrape on my forehead ... and the poison oak. Joe just walked away. More silence. I wasn't the one who supplied the liquor! It didn't matter. Joe wouldn't talk to me. I tried getting info from his friends, who I thought were my friends, too. Nothing. The most I got was out of Casey, who said, Ann, you were really drunk. Joe came and got me to help ... You just puked all night. That was it. All night. Just you puking.

So, as I write this now, I laugh at the image of this trainwreck of a date. In all honesty, this is the first time I have ever laughed about this night. I have, for all these years, harbored immense anger at Joe. Oh, I've read the positive psychology books and tried the think happy thoughts clinics. I've told myself to let it go. I thought I had. And it's not like I think about it every day ... but when I do think about it ... it was kind of a date rape attmept. Right? Get her drunk to get a little? How shitty is that? How tragic is that? Sadly, it's a standard operating procedure for a lot of guys. Especially where I come from.

This is what I got thinking about last night; and I realized how badly I needed to let this go. Holding on to the anger was doing me absolutely no good - but how do I let it go? I realized the reason I wasn't calling Matt is because I WAS still harboring a lot of anger about this. And maybe, it's part of why I keep the weight on, as well; a sort of hope that there has to be a point where I get so heavy that no one will try to take advantage of me. Ever. Again.

However, once I got looking at it, really looking at my life and my experiences, I realized Joe wasn't the only guy who fed me drinks and then tried to get a little. Joe was the only one who I got angry about over it. And I realized, the reason that Joe's crime was more offensive than the others' is because ... I didn't expect that kind of behavior out of him. The other guys, I was surprised that they did that to me, but I wasn't surprised that they would do something like that. I felt betrayed and hurt when these guys made their attempts when I was inebriated ... but they had kind of douche bag tendencies any way. Joe wasn't a douche. Or at least I thought.

As I drove last night, trying to clear my angry heart and head, I conjured up images of hurts from the past. I started looking at my own culpability in those occurences. As I look back, there were about five guys I knew from my home town who pulled similar stunts on me. These guys hadn't fed me the drinks, they just tried stuff after I was good and drunk. One guy even did it when I was passed out. I woke up after a night of all of us old friends partying together at a friends house to him sucking on my tits. When I stirred and found him there, he just kind of slunk off me, laid down on the floor, and acted like he was sleeping. He was a neighbor of mine, was in good ol' 4-H with me. I never confronted him about that. His slinking off without a word seemed to tell me that he wasn't up for that conversation.

I remember talking at my college job about that experience; that experience of being passed out and waking up to find a guy in essence diddling me. I told it in the classic "my friend had this happen to her" point of view. One of the guys that worked there was in his 30s, and when I said how appalling I thought it was of this guy to do that to "my friend", he defended the guy. Your friend was stupid for getting drunk and NOT expecting a guy to do that, he stated. I was shocked. I said, why is she unsafe? What gives the guy the right to think he can even do that? Where is the guy's responsibility? He said you can't expect a guy to NOT do that; your friend is the one to blame for being passed out at a party. I just remember thinking, wow - he and his wife had just had a son, and I remember looking at the picture of that sweet little baby, and wondering what he was going to be taught about what it means to be a man.

Long story still long, as I drove last night, I was finally able to let go of that hurt and anger. I forgave the guys for being taught horrible, um, interpersonal skills (?). I forgave Joe for pulling a trick that other guys I'm sure told him would work. And I forgave myself for having to learn the hard way. To me, getting drunk was just a fun way to let loose. I never ever thought I was putting myself in danger. I now know better, even if it has taken me about 20 years for the lesson to sink in. Strangely, as I look back on that night, me getting as drunk as I did probably was a bizarre protection of sorts - it's hard to go all the way with somebody who's puking.

In my forgiving these acts, I am not AT ALL saying I condone the behavior. I also am not saying I condone my part in these acts. However, that belief that the guy has to get the girl when she's not thinking clearly is definitely in the water where I come from. Everyone just accepts it as fact.

I like to think that this is all part of our evolution as human beings. I like to think that we will grow out of teaching our boys that they have to trick girls to be with them, and that we will grow out of teaching our girls that they have to accept it. At least, I hope so. You might have had completely opposite teachings in your upbringing ... my hope is that it will all shake out in the end to two things: love and kindness. And that's all. Thanks for listening. Until next time.