You had been my friend for 13 long years when you raped me.

You were my best friend’s husband, my son’s god-father.

You were someone I always trusted and could count on.

That one fateful night we were hanging out at Downtown Disney and I got drunk I told you I didn’t want any more, but you kept buying shots.  Looking back now, I see this was your plan. I passed out on the way home, only to wake up with you on top of me. I tried to push you off, screaming NO and fighting to push you off me, but you just covered my mouth and told me to shut the fuck up and that you knew I wanted it too.

I passed out again.

The next thing I knew, I woke up in the morning next to my husband. I knew what had happened the night before. I heard your wife out in the kitchen with your kids and my son.

I tried to forget, tried to pretend nothing happened. I tried to go on with my life, but my marriage fell apart for various reasons.

Years have gone by. Six to be exact.

Then I get a phone call from your wife. She is crying and upset. She fills me in on the past year, that you guys were having problems. Then she drops the bomb – you had killed yourself.

Now I feel like I can’t tell anyone what happened.  To tell your wife, one of my closest friends, would ruin her and tear apart our friendship.  It has been too long to tell anyone else.  So now I must live with this.

You have forever changed me.  I can’t trust people anymore, even those closest to me. I am glad you are gone. As selfish as it is, I am glad you are not a constant reminder of that bad moment in my life.