Omg. Terrifying. And this whole world of sick fuckers is incomprehensible. But unfortunately we need to know about it to try to make for safety, for ourselves, our daughters, and all women. It’s so disgusting that these cretins get birthed by us, and then become monsters. I wonder if they were threatened with castration whether that would be a deterrent, because obviously they have no moral compass. Glad you escaped one close call, and listened to your intuition on the other one. Jeez. What a world. I need a huge dose of nature, exercise, birdsong, Tonglen, and maybe journal writing to wipe off the slime from allowing this in.
I’m so sorry, Julie. I seriously wondered about writing about it, but it’s been haunting me, and it felt necessary somehow. The need for a nature cleanse is why I led with the image of Crater Lake.
I was compelled to read this even though I feel so in shock about the fact this Motherless site exists at all; and at all the things that have happened recently.
It’s bringing up old memories for me, not as serious as yours but still not acceptable behaviour. Having read this, I am beginning to think I will have to write too.
Maybe the writing of it will allow me to more fully accept what happened and stop me blaming myself for not saying no clearly enough. Because quite clearly, a ‘no’ doesn’t mean anything to some men.
This is all making me nauseous. Everytime I read about anything like this, I just want to throw up.
Thank you Ros for your courage in writing this, and in such a well-written piece too.
Thank you, Jane. For a long time I have thought about writing about my drink being spiked. It is a planned chapter in the memoir I’m writing. I have tried several times to write about it, and failed. Finding out about the Motherless site brought it to the fore, and I finally found a route in. Write yours, too, if you can. I think it might help. I am glad to have finally expressed that night in words. It’s like an exorcism.
What a terrifying story, all the more so for it being in central London surrounded by people. I commend you for getting away and onto the 159 bus (I’m guessing!). Then staying awake.
I think your instincts about the American man were correct. He could’ve just been a friendly guy who wanted to hang out, but why was he pushing you to leave an important conference and what was his issue with you driving? Red flags!
Yes, the repeated desire for me not to be driving, the desire to separate me from the herd and then wanting to get me a drink without me seeing it being poured? Too many echoes of the guy who drugged me. Yes, the 159. It felt like a miracle to finally get safe.
I’ve just summarised your piece to my husband (who is one of the good guys). He was horrified - predators, he said. We know that bus route well because before I came to Glasgow to live with him, I lived on Brixton Hill. It’s a long ride to SW16. But well done you for keeping it together - you really did save yourself there.
As for a guy getting you a drink - the 1990s was a more innocent time. It would’ve been nice to be asked for a drink by a handsome stranger. The times I did similar things which always turned out well. But it now makes me wonder if this creepy French guy was even lost at all when he saw you.
Wow. Thank goodness you were lucky. This world is getting sadder by the day. What is it that makes men behave like this? I just don't understand it. Now I'm going to go outside and stare at squirrels.
My blood boiled when I read the article about the rape academies when it broke. I'm so glad you trusted your intuition and safely got yourself home. In my youth I had so many encounters that could have been much worse and now I'll teach my daughter what to watch out for. When did you live in Berkeley? I'd love to hear what your "old haunts" were. It's my hometown!
It took me 40 years to figure out what happened to me when I was 15. Dealing with who did it...that is going to take the rest of my life to figure out. I would almost rather not know.
Omg. Terrifying. And this whole world of sick fuckers is incomprehensible. But unfortunately we need to know about it to try to make for safety, for ourselves, our daughters, and all women. It’s so disgusting that these cretins get birthed by us, and then become monsters. I wonder if they were threatened with castration whether that would be a deterrent, because obviously they have no moral compass. Glad you escaped one close call, and listened to your intuition on the other one. Jeez. What a world. I need a huge dose of nature, exercise, birdsong, Tonglen, and maybe journal writing to wipe off the slime from allowing this in.
I’m so sorry, Julie. I seriously wondered about writing about it, but it’s been haunting me, and it felt necessary somehow. The need for a nature cleanse is why I led with the image of Crater Lake.
I understand, and I have the tools, a mature practice, that will support me in regulating my nervous system.
I was compelled to read this even though I feel so in shock about the fact this Motherless site exists at all; and at all the things that have happened recently.
It’s bringing up old memories for me, not as serious as yours but still not acceptable behaviour. Having read this, I am beginning to think I will have to write too.
Maybe the writing of it will allow me to more fully accept what happened and stop me blaming myself for not saying no clearly enough. Because quite clearly, a ‘no’ doesn’t mean anything to some men.
This is all making me nauseous. Everytime I read about anything like this, I just want to throw up.
Thank you Ros for your courage in writing this, and in such a well-written piece too.
Thank you, Jane. For a long time I have thought about writing about my drink being spiked. It is a planned chapter in the memoir I’m writing. I have tried several times to write about it, and failed. Finding out about the Motherless site brought it to the fore, and I finally found a route in. Write yours, too, if you can. I think it might help. I am glad to have finally expressed that night in words. It’s like an exorcism.
What a terrifying story, all the more so for it being in central London surrounded by people. I commend you for getting away and onto the 159 bus (I’m guessing!). Then staying awake.
I think your instincts about the American man were correct. He could’ve just been a friendly guy who wanted to hang out, but why was he pushing you to leave an important conference and what was his issue with you driving? Red flags!
Yes, the repeated desire for me not to be driving, the desire to separate me from the herd and then wanting to get me a drink without me seeing it being poured? Too many echoes of the guy who drugged me. Yes, the 159. It felt like a miracle to finally get safe.
I’ve just summarised your piece to my husband (who is one of the good guys). He was horrified - predators, he said. We know that bus route well because before I came to Glasgow to live with him, I lived on Brixton Hill. It’s a long ride to SW16. But well done you for keeping it together - you really did save yourself there.
As for a guy getting you a drink - the 1990s was a more innocent time. It would’ve been nice to be asked for a drink by a handsome stranger. The times I did similar things which always turned out well. But it now makes me wonder if this creepy French guy was even lost at all when he saw you.
Yeah, I don’t think he was lost. He targeted me from the start. This was always his plan.
Wow. Thank goodness you were lucky. This world is getting sadder by the day. What is it that makes men behave like this? I just don't understand it. Now I'm going to go outside and stare at squirrels.
I needed to find some light at the end. I struggled to find it. The squirrels will supply it. Squirrels are wonderful that way.
My blood boiled when I read the article about the rape academies when it broke. I'm so glad you trusted your intuition and safely got yourself home. In my youth I had so many encounters that could have been much worse and now I'll teach my daughter what to watch out for. When did you live in Berkeley? I'd love to hear what your "old haunts" were. It's my hometown!
It took me 40 years to figure out what happened to me when I was 15. Dealing with who did it...that is going to take the rest of my life to figure out. I would almost rather not know.