The mind is a complex entity, holding our memories and shaping our identities. It is a vault for our past experiences, yet it can also be a source of confusion and fear. There’s one particular incident from nearly a decade ago that I still struggle to comprehend—a shadowy experience that I am both unable to fully recall and terrified to forget. What occurred on that summer day in Atlantic City when I was drugged with a roofie and possibly experienced date rape remains shrouded in uncertainty.
Ironically, the details of that day are vivid. I checked into the Tropicana Hotel, a charming resort with a Cuban flair, around noon. I visited a beach bar, ordered a daiquiri, and began writing furiously. Afterward, I wandered along the Boardwalk, enjoying the coastal views until hunger struck, leading me to grab a table at Hooters.
The afternoon passed uneventfully; I ate, wrote, and ordered a few more drinks. In my twenties, my ambition as a writer was matched only by my tolerance for alcohol. However, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the atmosphere shifted. After 9:00 p.m., a man I had been chatting with slipped something into my drink while I was momentarily distracted.
You may wonder how I know I was drugged. Isn’t it difficult to distinguish between being roofied and simply being blackout drunk? I can answer this because I have experienced both. The feeling of time slipping away is similar—both experiences leave a void. However, in a blackout, I still remember the sensation of being drunk, the laughter, the stumbling. But when I was roofied, everything vanished in an instant. I went from feeling slightly tipsy to an overwhelming sense of unease.
I left money on the bar while my “friend” was in the restroom. I called my husband in a hurry, abandoning my drink. During that five-minute call, he sensed a drastic change in my voice, expressing fear and repeatedly asking if I was alone.
To be clear, I have no recollection of what transpired that night. I lost nearly 12 hours of time. I woke up with no headache or urge to use the bathroom, my hotel room door was locked, but the chain wasn’t secured. I was still dressed, yet I have no idea what occurred. I told my husband a man was there, but I’ll never know the truth. Instead, I find myself wondering, trying to avoid thinking about it, though it lingers in the back of my mind.
I’ve kept this experience a secret for nearly 10 years, never discussing it in therapy, with friends, or publicly. My reasons are threefold. There’s a sense of shame; I feel guilty and naive, believing that I somehow contributed to the attack by being alone in a bar, a woman with a drink.
There’s also anger directed at the man who drugged me and myself for not seeking help afterward. No rape kit was performed, and I will forever remain in the dark about what happened. I feel ashamed for engaging in conversation, for putting myself in that situation. But the main reason I’ve stayed silent is that I don’t know how to articulate what happened. Everything stopped; my mind went blank, and I lost a significant part of my life. How do you convey something that is so absent from your memory?
I am now choosing to share my story because it is mine. I hope it serves to help others who might find themselves in similar situations—not to protect them, as I cannot do that, but to remind them they are not to blame. They have not failed, and I want individuals like me to feel less isolated, ashamed, and victimized.
If you believe you have been a victim of sexual assault, reach out to resources available for support.
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Here are some related search queries that might interest you:
- Signs of date rape
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In summary, the complexities of memory and trauma shape our experiences in ways that can be difficult to articulate. Sharing personal stories can foster understanding and offer support to others navigating similar challenges.