The other night my drink was spiked.
This is a story that I share in the hopes that at least one person will come away from it more aware of risks and equipped with the appropriate safety precautions for themselves and loved ones. I was very lucky to come out of my experience with minimal effects, but any twist of events could have easily left me a very different story to tell.
Statistics suggest that 1 in 10 people have had their drinks spiked, although the real number is impossible to tell. Contrary to popular belief, most modern day drugs used to spike drinks cannot be detected by testing, so victims will have no hard evidence and may not report, thinking that nothing will come of it or that they will be disbelieved. Contrary to popular belief, only 20-30% of these incidents are followed by sexual or physical assault; the rest are prank spikings, usually carried on by a perpetrator with no criminal history who's only intent is to watch their victim's response.
The other night my drink was spiked. The man who bought me the drink was a new acquaintance among our circle of friends, generally considered to be at times creepy and disrespectful but otherwise harmless. And while I wasn't exactly thrilled by his relentless requests to dance, buy drinks, and play music after my repeated polite declines, overall he seemed jovial and innocent. That night he told me that he had been playing music with his daughters and invited me to join. "You have to accept my friend request on facebook though!" He teased. "Oh yeah! I'm really bad at keeping up with that stuff. I will," I chuckled. Anyone who knows me knows it can be a pain in the butt trying to get in touch with me through social media, email, or phone. As my husband and I watched him and yet another woman swing and laugh around the dance floor, we concluded that if he was a bit clueless, he was at least well-meaning.
About an hour later, I took a sip of a round of drinks he had bought my husband and I while we played a set of music with the band; the first drink I had taken all day, on a full stomach from eating right before the event. The drink didn't taste like what I had asked for, but I assumed he misheard me. I took another sip between songs. Within minutes, the world around me began to spin and the music boomed and muffled. My ears rang. The song we were playing seemed to last an eternity, but I leaned into my keyboard for balance and soldiered on before excusing myself to sit down. Instead of getting better, my vision and hearing started fading out. My hands went numb. I desperately crawled towards the nearest person, and at the risk of embarrassment muttered that I thought somebody might have put something in my drink... a claim that must have sounded unlikely in a room mostly full of friends. "Maybe it's just the lights," he replied, and quickly walked away. Some well-meaning folks offered water and suggested I eat something, then left me to recover. I thought about begging someone to stay with me, but decided I'd already made enough of a fool of myself. "It's probably just some bizarre panic attack or weird health issue," I tried to convince myself. Alone at the table, I immediately regretted my hesitation as, to my horror, my muscles seized up into partial paralysis. I could only stiltingly move my arms, head, and facial muscles at a snails pace: a stillness that wouldn't seem uncanny to anyone who knew me to be a quiet, reserved individual. The idea for shouting for help was embarrassing, if I could even vocalize at all, given that I had just been disbelieved; the idea of lurching my half functional and disoriented body off my chair towards the nearest bystander seemed impossible. I craned my neck around to see if I could wave anyone down. I locked eyes with the man who bought me the drink; the only one person in the room, who, every time I looked at him, was intently observing me throughout the whole ordeal. The man who, in my short time of knowing him, was always, always flirting with women or dancing across the room with a jovial smile. The man who had never failed to take the opportunity to approach me, especially when I was sitting alone. Now he sat across the room by himself, staring at me blankly. He did not dance with the other women. He did not speak to anyone. He did not smile or approach me, and he did not shy away from my gaze as I stared back at him unwaveringly. Then, he grabbed his things and left.
Shortly afterwards, the nurse at the ER informed me that according to my symptoms I was likely given one of the many modern day substances that do not show up in testing. I mistakenly believed that any drug would show up in testing, and that therefore no one would ever spike my drink in a room full of friends. But he likely knew it would not be detected; that there could be no legal charges against him. That night I looked up our acquaintance on social media: the man who had jovially invited me into his family music project and reminded me to accept his Facebook add only hours before had canceled his friend request to me that evening.
In retrospect, I am fortunate that things turned out the way they did. At high doses, these drugs can cause seizures, respiratory failure, coma, and death; what if I had guzzled down half the glass in the few minutes before I started to feel its effects, instead of two sips? I could have wound up telling a very different story.
Admittedly, sharing this is uncomfortable for me. In general I prefer to present my learnings to the world gently and joyfully, or hide behind the stories and statements of those I deem wiser than myself. I could sweep this under the rug and remain quiet. It would be less risky, less embarrassing. It's something I have done before. It's something many women have done before. But I think it's important I share this; that sometimes hearing the story of someone in your community hits home and registers as reality a little more than vague statistics and distant news stories. I know if I had heard a story like this before I would have thought twice about taking the drink. I've made it a life mission of mine to be a teller of difficult truths, to motivate action through awareness and speak for others who may have been silenced. So I share this in the hope that at least one person will read it and emerge better equipped to protect themselves and their loved ones. Let this be a note of precaution to us all.
Peace and love,
Nymphaea
This is a story that I share in the hopes that at least one person will come away from it more aware of risks and equipped with the appropriate safety precautions for themselves and loved ones. I was very lucky to come out of my experience with minimal effects, but any twist of events could have easily left me a very different story to tell.
Statistics suggest that 1 in 10 people have had their drinks spiked, although the real number is impossible to tell. Contrary to popular belief, most modern day drugs used to spike drinks cannot be detected by testing, so victims will have no hard evidence and may not report, thinking that nothing will come of it or that they will be disbelieved. Contrary to popular belief, only 20-30% of these incidents are followed by sexual or physical assault; the rest are prank spikings, usually carried on by a perpetrator with no criminal history who's only intent is to watch their victim's response.
The other night my drink was spiked. The man who bought me the drink was a new acquaintance among our circle of friends, generally considered to be at times creepy and disrespectful but otherwise harmless. And while I wasn't exactly thrilled by his relentless requests to dance, buy drinks, and play music after my repeated polite declines, overall he seemed jovial and innocent. That night he told me that he had been playing music with his daughters and invited me to join. "You have to accept my friend request on facebook though!" He teased. "Oh yeah! I'm really bad at keeping up with that stuff. I will," I chuckled. Anyone who knows me knows it can be a pain in the butt trying to get in touch with me through social media, email, or phone. As my husband and I watched him and yet another woman swing and laugh around the dance floor, we concluded that if he was a bit clueless, he was at least well-meaning.
About an hour later, I took a sip of a round of drinks he had bought my husband and I while we played a set of music with the band; the first drink I had taken all day, on a full stomach from eating right before the event. The drink didn't taste like what I had asked for, but I assumed he misheard me. I took another sip between songs. Within minutes, the world around me began to spin and the music boomed and muffled. My ears rang. The song we were playing seemed to last an eternity, but I leaned into my keyboard for balance and soldiered on before excusing myself to sit down. Instead of getting better, my vision and hearing started fading out. My hands went numb. I desperately crawled towards the nearest person, and at the risk of embarrassment muttered that I thought somebody might have put something in my drink... a claim that must have sounded unlikely in a room mostly full of friends. "Maybe it's just the lights," he replied, and quickly walked away. Some well-meaning folks offered water and suggested I eat something, then left me to recover. I thought about begging someone to stay with me, but decided I'd already made enough of a fool of myself. "It's probably just some bizarre panic attack or weird health issue," I tried to convince myself. Alone at the table, I immediately regretted my hesitation as, to my horror, my muscles seized up into partial paralysis. I could only stiltingly move my arms, head, and facial muscles at a snails pace: a stillness that wouldn't seem uncanny to anyone who knew me to be a quiet, reserved individual. The idea for shouting for help was embarrassing, if I could even vocalize at all, given that I had just been disbelieved; the idea of lurching my half functional and disoriented body off my chair towards the nearest bystander seemed impossible. I craned my neck around to see if I could wave anyone down. I locked eyes with the man who bought me the drink; the only one person in the room, who, every time I looked at him, was intently observing me throughout the whole ordeal. The man who, in my short time of knowing him, was always, always flirting with women or dancing across the room with a jovial smile. The man who had never failed to take the opportunity to approach me, especially when I was sitting alone. Now he sat across the room by himself, staring at me blankly. He did not dance with the other women. He did not speak to anyone. He did not smile or approach me, and he did not shy away from my gaze as I stared back at him unwaveringly. Then, he grabbed his things and left.
Shortly afterwards, the nurse at the ER informed me that according to my symptoms I was likely given one of the many modern day substances that do not show up in testing. I mistakenly believed that any drug would show up in testing, and that therefore no one would ever spike my drink in a room full of friends. But he likely knew it would not be detected; that there could be no legal charges against him. That night I looked up our acquaintance on social media: the man who had jovially invited me into his family music project and reminded me to accept his Facebook add only hours before had canceled his friend request to me that evening.
In retrospect, I am fortunate that things turned out the way they did. At high doses, these drugs can cause seizures, respiratory failure, coma, and death; what if I had guzzled down half the glass in the few minutes before I started to feel its effects, instead of two sips? I could have wound up telling a very different story.
Admittedly, sharing this is uncomfortable for me. In general I prefer to present my learnings to the world gently and joyfully, or hide behind the stories and statements of those I deem wiser than myself. I could sweep this under the rug and remain quiet. It would be less risky, less embarrassing. It's something I have done before. It's something many women have done before. But I think it's important I share this; that sometimes hearing the story of someone in your community hits home and registers as reality a little more than vague statistics and distant news stories. I know if I had heard a story like this before I would have thought twice about taking the drink. I've made it a life mission of mine to be a teller of difficult truths, to motivate action through awareness and speak for others who may have been silenced. So I share this in the hope that at least one person will read it and emerge better equipped to protect themselves and their loved ones. Let this be a note of precaution to us all.
Peace and love,
Nymphaea
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