A Celebrity Assaulted Me. I Never Told. Here’s Why (An Anonymous Guest Post)

She wanted me, of course, to call the police. But I didn’t. I knew how that story would go. I’d seen firsthand how the police dealt with women who reported assault and rape, and they definitely were not sympathetic to the victim. Plus, the man was a well-loved celebrity that they would probably side with. And I sure didn’t want to be the top story on the evening news.

That was the last thing I wanted in my life. I had a future career to think about. I had family members that were also fairly prominent in the community, and this would drag their name through the mud as much as it would me personally. I knew how the press operated, and I knew everything I’d ever done in my life would be investigated and looked into, called into question, and put out there for the entire world to see. I’d suffered from bouts of depression during my teenage years, and I knew that would likely be unearthed and used against me.

I just wanted him to go away.

My friend did eventually arrive, and that prompted him to stumble out of the house and finally leave. She stayed with me the entire night as I was shaking and crying–but despite her urgings, I was still adamant I didn’t want to call the police. I kept saying, “But nothing wound up happening. He didn’t actually wind up raping me, so there’s nothing to report.” I had gotten away, so there was no “evidence” that anything had happened.

It was my word against his. End of story.

The next morning he called … to apologize. That wasn’t “really him,” and sometimes the “demons just overcame him.” (I realize now this is classic behavior from an abuser, but back then … I was twenty-two, what did I know?)

For the next year, I faced him in the classroom every day. He was super nice to me and showered me with autographed paraphernalia and rare items that I knew were probably worth some money, or would be one day. You might say, in a way, he bought my continued silence.

As a result, I developed a type of cognitive dissonance to deal with what had happened. I refused to associate the events of that night with the person I had to interact and deal with on a daily basis. Even now I have feelings and reactions about the event, not the person per se. It’s more of a generalized “fear” and “anxiety” that rears its head when triggered, and still I do not mentally connect with it the person.

After graduation, I moved halfway across the country and didn’t really think about the incident or about him much after that. I just had a general awareness now never to invite men over to my house alone.

Years later, I would move back into the vicinity in which he was still fairly popular and well-known. I still displayed some of the items he had given me, and people thought it was cool. The cognitive dissonance I had developed years ago continued to operate. I pushed whatever negative thoughts I had toward him down into some deep recesses of my mind. People make mistakes, after all, I told myself. And it was a long time ago.

There was even a time when someone asked, since I knew him, if I’d be willing to reach out and ask him about helping with an event.

So I did.

In my own mind, I’d pretty much dismissed the entire incident. It was in the past and over. It somehow didn’t even dawn on me that reaching out would be considered strange. We’d spent a year in classes afterward and had both moved past it. I’d forgiven and forgotten.

Until I was at a movie one day with a friend where a scene very much like the one I had gone through unfolded. I began to hyperventilate and almost had to walk out of the movie.