Darkness revealed

After a tiny little woman friend was traumatically attacked and nearly killed by a stranger in Lancaster, I could not sleep for a month.

After weeks of insomnia, I had a panic attack that took me to the ER at four am. Straight to psych.

They released me and asked me to see my family doctor and therapist, which I did.

My therapist asked me to pay attention: during the panic attacks, which have continued, my hands won't work:

MY HANDS:

Won't open doors.
Won't turn on a faucet though I can move my hand to the sink.
Though I can feel the cool porcelain on the skin of my hand.
But not operate my hand to turn a faucet.

MY HANDS
Won't open the purse strapped to my body.
Won't operate the phone I can see in my purse.
Won't clutch at the cigarette.
Won't open the bottle of Xanax I have been keeping in my purse.

The therapist prompted me to trust my body. What are my hands asking me to remember?

I REMEMBERED!

I was drugged on a first date. I have been blaming myself for what happened.

July 2012, NYC:

I WAS DRUGGED AND RAPED ON A FIRST DATE AT 32 YEARS OLD.

It does not matter that I broke three single girl dating rules that night.

I forgive you, Regina, for getting into a taxi that he insisted I take when I had wanted to cancel because I had been hanging out with friends and it was too late for me to take a train.

I forgive you, Regina, for entering his house hesitantly at his invitation to be polite because he had just given the taxi driver the $40 fare.

I forgive you, Regina, for taking small, hesitant, polite sips of the cold white wine with his sickening words, "Drink up."

Maybe one day I will stop hearing his voice...............................