Stop telling women to 'cover their drinks' - I was spiked by people I trusted

When the doctor told me my drink had been spiked, I was a consumed by guilt. I questioned, impulsively, what I had done wrong

I didn’t expect to wake up in a hospital bed, body bruised inside and out, with no memories of the previous night (Getty/iStock)

There were a number of things I didn’t expect on that fateful night. The Mexican food. The tube delays. The deal on the top-shelf gin. But the surprises were meant to stop there. A decade of experience at house parties meant I knew what was normal to expect on a night out: drink a little, dance a lot and share an evening with a handful of the people I trust most.

I didn’t expect to wake up in a hospital bed, body bruised inside and out, with no memories of the previous night. But I did.

When the doctor told me my drink had been spiked, I was a consumed by guilt. I questioned, impulsively, what I had done wrong. I tried to Sherlock my drink’s journey from the second it was poured. I tried to remember the faces of friends’ friends I met for the first time, questioning if I had been “too friendly”. I tried to visualise anything past my first drink.

Nothing. Nothing but the realisation that I was blaming myself. The years of well-intended warnings had encouraged me to never accept a drink from strangers, never carry anything expensive enough to make me a target for spikers, to always cover my drink with my hand in large crowds and pay heightened attention to my drink, as well as the people around me if I’m wearing anything more revealing than a turtleneck.

Simultaneously, warnings for those spiking drinks are missing from the conversation. Society accepts the twisted inevitability of date rapists, thieves and ill-conceived pranksters, yet constantly blames the victims.

It’s no surprise that UK police forces report that drinks spiking has more than doubled in three years. But it should be a surprise; it should be deeply shocking.

Despite its unspoken prevalence, a spiked drink can – and often does – deeply affect its victim. It is a calculated and predatory act used to take advantage of another person. Never less. And never at the fault of its casualty.

In a post-MeToo world, it is more important than ever to challenge the culture behind these toxic ideas. To hold those who would rather condemn what someone is wearing or drinking before holding a predator to account.

By adopting a victim-blaming rhetoric, we empower the attackers and belittle the victims. Especially in context of an epidemic so closely linked with sexual assault.

Last year, there were over 40,000 cases of rape reported in England and Wales alone. These numbers were tied to the understanding that thousands or tens of thousands more cases go unreported. Personally, the reports are linked to the fact that almost every victim of sexual assault and rape I know did not report it at the time. And that absolutely every one of the same group has never reported their drink being spiked, even if it led to assault or rape.

We (and I mean everybody, even you) need to shift the systemic response. Rather than releasing posters suggesting “one in three cases of rape happen when the victim has been drinking”, the government needs to conduct prevention campaigns focused on the illegality and immorality of drinks spiking itself. Rather than teaching young girls to cover their drinks and bodies defensively, we need to report and penalise culprits.

The change starts in our culture, not in our caution.