He raped me. Not in the 'attacking in a deserted place by a random perpetrator' sense. But he raped me. In the 'you can trust me, never will I hurt you, this will make you better' alluring kind of way.
18 and naive I went to University. I was recovering off the back of a bad breakdown at college and newly diagnosed bipolar. Retrospectively it wasn't the best time to go, but home was suffocating. This was my fresh start. The world was mine.
Cue a trip to the drs and being told I was far to young to be on those kind of medications, it cant possible be correct, a massive crash (I never did conquer the world) and a pit of despair. That's where my lecturer 'came to the rescue'.
At first it was a chat over coffee, a friendly ear, some support in the madness. This evolved to completed dependency on my part as he manipulated and took control of my life. There were never romantic on my part. Looking back I was so vulnerable. I only escaped being sectioned after *he* stepped in as a *carer*. I wish they had taken me away.
There would be times I'd wake up feeling his weight crawl up my body. His breath in my ears. The dirty whispers and grunts. I still feel and hear it now: "You're enjoying this, I will heal you". I wasn't. It didn't.
Trapped. Trapped by my own mental health and incapacity to find an escape route. Trapped by the fact he didn't hear my voice say no.
Trapped feeling shamed, like I only have myself to blame.