Letters: Part One

Trigger warning: rape

This is a letter to the man who violently raped me in Spain.

You,

When we met you seemed like an awkward yet kind person who wanted to make a human connection.

We got drunk on tinto de veranos and the night. Your friend enchanted mine and suddenly my walking buddy was gone.

It was us. You and I in a bar together. I didn’t have exceptionally good feelings when I realized I was alone with you but I ignored my gut and decided to trust you.

I trusted you the bare minimum of human trust. I trusted you to respect my space, to respect me as a person, and to not hurt me. That’s it.

But the night was in your favor. And we left together. I looked for my friend and you told me not to worry. So I worried.

You pushed me up against a wall and kissed me. You said you had been waiting to do that all night. I asked you not to do it again.

You did it again.

So I got sassy. I told you to go home and I would do the same. You said okay and sulked away.

But I didn’t know that you didn’t keep walking. As I made my way to the main street through a convenient alleyway, you hit me on the head with something ridiculously painful.

Were you intimidated by me? Is that why you had to sneak up behind me and knock me unconscious? Was I just that sexy? Was I so attractive that you very literally needed to take me?

I don’t know, nor will I ever know the motivation behind hitting a woman in the back of the head just to drag her into an apartment entrance so you can violate her.

I woke up feeling intense pain and the weirdest pleasure. I absolutely hate you for that. I came out of unconsciousness and for a split second I felt good. And then, as my splitting headache made itself aware, I understood what was happening. And I felt sick.

All I could think about was getting as far away from you as possible. So I kicked you as hard as I could while you were penetrating me. It didn’t stop you but my screams of agony that I thought were only in my head alerted three angels nearby. Three men that came when they heard my screams. And they removed you from me. One even pulled my leggings up as I sat crying in the alley.

And he grasped my shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and told me to run.

And I wanted to run. But what I really wanted to do was hurt you. And when I approached you with my fists clenched I wanted to take your life. Because you had just taken a strong woman and yanked her all the way back to when she was a frightened teen who has just lost her virginity to rape. I wanted to beat you bloody- I was ready to. And when I hit you it felt good. But then I didn’t want to touch you any more. So I stood there, fists at the ready, sobbing because I had been reduced to nothing but a vessel for terrible memories. And as I turned and ran I heard one of the angels tell me not to worry and not to listen.

You broke the wall that had been holding my memories back. You unearthed the mountain of pain and self hatred and guilt that I had been burying for years.

Thanks for that, asshole.

Because of your bullshit, pathetic, disgusting display of dominance and “manhood,” I have talked about my assaults. I have looked at my trauma head-on and have done my very best to come to terms with it.

You terrible human. You awful man made of hatred and greed. You disgusting creature bent on controlling others… I won’t let you have me.

I won’t give you my fear. I won’t give you my tears or my sadness or my guilt. I will shoulder those things. I will pack them up nicely and only sort through them when I want to. When I have the time. I am my own human and what you did to me will not take my identity away, you fucking waste.

You were not my first assailant. But your letter was the first I chose to write. Because you were the most integral to my recovery. Had you not been the mass of idiotic dick-brain that you are, I might never have been so traumatized that I had to reach out for help.

I may have never found my road to living with trauma.

And while my nights of sleep are sometimes interrupted by your voice or the feeling of you inside of me, I’m still here. And I get the fuck up out of bed and make something of myself and my life every day. Because fuck you. You tried to take my feelings of security and self-love. You attempted to rob me of myself.

And you failed.

I am here and strong and I am telling my story.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s