By Eleanor Cowan A young woman from my building banged on my door at 3 a.m. “It’s me! Darlene!” Soon on the couch and sipping the hot tea I made for us both, she wept uncontrollably. “I know what happened,” the twenty-four-year-old cried as we waited for the police to arrive. “I know what happened. He ordered me a night cap at the bar while I was in the washroom. I don’t remember going to his place. I woke up undressed and in pain. Oh! I’m lucky I escaped.” “Wow, a nightcap knocked you out like that?” I asked, tucking my shawl around her shaking form. “No, not the drink but the drug dropped into it when I wasn’t looking!” she replied, in tears. The two responding officers, both women, ge …
Unearthing my repressed memory of being drugged and rapedRead More