Losing my religion, part 2

In high school, I was raped the night before a big football game at our local college. My date (who I had known for two years, but only as a passing acquaintance) said we were going to a "party" at his friend's apartment, but when we got there, there was nobody there but the two of us.
"Oh, well, it must be somewhere else," he said. "Let's just wait on D to get here." He made me a drink.

It was clearly drugged, because I drank just half of it, and dutifully blacked out, waking up to find that we were having sex. Except, you know, I hadn't consented. I began to scream and fight, I banged on the wall of the apartment building-- everything. He finally relented, maybe terrified that I put up such a fight, and I numbly crawled to retrieve my dress, which he had neatly hung over the doorknob.

And that's how I lost my virginity.

I demanded he take me home, but I could barely walk. I stumbled to the car. I threatened to call the cops, but knew what would happen in our small town if I brought rape charges against one of our school's golden boys. My reputation would be tarnished for life, and I would be branded a whore or worse for being alone in a house with a boy.

And my parents would find out that I drank. So I decided against it.

He drove me to a frat party, where I called a friend to pick me up.

Three months later, I was diagnosed with depression and put on medication. It never occurred to me that the two events could be related. Meanwhile, I attended church less and less.