The Missing (ish) Piece Of The BMI Story – Part 7 (I Found Out He Was Going Back…)

February 8, 2017

[I’m so sorry that I’m gone then I’m back and I’m all over the place with this blog. I never finished this story. So, let’s do that now…]

Picking up from last time –

While the reason I was repeating was a super bummer, I was still going to get to repeat!

I was trying to find that bright side! I thought, “I am getting a second chance at BMI that I would’ve never gotten otherwise. Perhaps that is the ‘silver lining’… I know it can seem nearly impossible to find silver lining in an assault, but by golly, if it’s gonna be anywhere, this is one the places it has to be, right?”

I was under the impression that sexual assault guy was not going to be around on Mondays the following year. (After all, why would he be?) I thought I’d get the freshest start possible and not have to see him anymore.

Again, at least giving the ol’ college try to keeping his identity safe, even if it’s becoming harder… whether he was supposed to leave the librettist workshop, or advanced, or 1st year (or leave whatever capacity he’d be involved in or around those things), all of those classes meet on Mondays)… No matter who he was, he had been around on Mondays in my year, and I was under the impression he now would not be the following year.

And then.

This is the part where I stop typing and just sit here. And then go check twitter. And then check the refrigerator. And then check my emails. And on and on. I distract myself because it’s hard to think about…

I was trying so hard to keep pushing through everything – don’t let it all affect me too much, etc. etc… But then…

[To set the scene, I had had therapy not too too much earlier in the day, and we had just recently gone over the “I knew you didn’t want to, but you needed to” incident… And then, at this point, I didn’t have my apartment available to go to. (I may or may not have been AirBnBing my place, thinking I’d be gone and then came back to work on Dancing with the Stars, or whatever… Anyway, so I had no place to go with privacy or to settle in. I’m having this weird phone conversation at some booth in the corner of some ice cream place. Anyway…]

You know toward the end of any contact with sexual assault guy, how we had a few final sporadic conversations for whatever reasons… Well, we had one because we were kind of at this crossroads. Trying to “make things work” wasn’t super working, so he asked if I still wanted to be his friend. And basically, I kinda said no. I said I couldn’t sit across from him having brunch or something. (It had never worked well. I could barely eat. I felt sick. I couldn’t be around him. I told him maybe I could have phone calls with him until I comfortable around him to see his face again, but he didn’t want that weird dynamic of phone calls only – especially for a relationship/person I don’t think he cared about.

Then when I told him I couldn’t be friends with him, the conversation took a very weird turn, where he was wondering out loud if I was so against being friends now, did that mean I was only “using” him for sex, back when we’d been having sex?
It was so insane to me that the person who literally used me as an object – who completely took away my humanity and ignored my objections and my crying could wonder if I used him for sex. (Are you kidding me?)

And I finally got to have this kind of strong-ish moment. So often, I just would quietly take whatever he said to avoid arguments. But this time, I was like, “How can you possibly say we were ever friends? My friend would not have given me the silent treatment for 30 days after such a terrible night – not only making me feel so uncomfortable, but making me pushed out of school. My friend would not ignore my wishes over and over. My friend wouldn’t have treated me this way at all. You were never my friend.”

It sounds kinda mean, but goodness was it warranted and being that I almost never stood up that strongly and resolutely for myself (in the confines of him), it was kind of nice to say – especially because for once, he dropped his argument. He dropped blaming me and was just like, “You’re right. I can’t argue with you on that.”

I’m right?! Wow. That’s a first.

Anyway, then before we got off the phone, he let me know he was coming back… Whatever that means – if it means he was a bookwriter becoming a lyric writer or vice versa (or spending an extra year in advanced or whatever the situation could’ve been… really trying to keep him pretty anonymous… and really struggling at this point, but this is an important part of the story)…

Anyway. He told me he was coming back. He wanted to give me the heads up that I’d be seeing him, when I hadn’t thought I would be.

He didn’t have to do that, and that was nice of him. He even asked me, “How do you want me to treat you?” And I told him, “Please leave me alone. Do not start a conversation with me about anything. If somehow we end up in a large group conversation, I’ll try not to ice you out or be a jerk… But please, do not engage with me one-on-one. Just leave me completely alone at BMI.”

And he actually agreed. He didn’t fight me. He said that was fair and agreed. This was the most magnanimous he ever was. It was one of the very, very, very few times that I didn’t have to argue tooth and nail for my points/anything I wanted or needed.

So, I should’ve maybe been happy and maybe been able to take it? After all, he was being wildly reasonable…

But no. I still felt sick. I left that ice cream place immediately and began bawling. And we’ll talk all about why in the next post.

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