It couldn't have been rape. Because I had already consented. We were already in the throws.
It couldn't have been rape. Because this was someone for whom I deeply cared, and assured me he cared for me.
It couldn't have been rape. Because there was no FORCE.
It couldn't have been rape. Because I was there of my own accord.
I have spent 4 months telling myself this. The fact that I can't let anyone touch me is irrelevant. The fact that I panic the moment I feel I've lost control. The fact that the panic is that all encompassing screaming huddled in a corner type of panic. The fact that I felt guilty for letting him down. The fact that when I remembered it I nearly crashed the car with my son in it. These facts didn't matter. It wasn't rape.
It was emotional disregard. It was a breach of trust. It was a misunderstanding. Whatever it was, it wasn't rape.
And I made progress. Hell, I even conceived a child a couple months later. It wasn't rape.
Last night it all came flooding back when I tried to be intimate with Hubby. When I nearly punched him. When I screamed, cried, curled in a ball. Covered myself with a robe because I had to be hidden. Tried to huddle in a corner. Felt guilty for letting HIM down now.
You know what? It was rape.
It was rape.
Maybe now that I can call it what it was I can get the help I need.