This march was the 5 year anniversary of my sexual assault. At fifteen, it happened at an incredibly formative time in my life, a time that is already so hard. At that age, there's so much work to be done to be ok with being a person, with becoming yourself. There's so much stress and self-hatred even for those of us who manage to magically escape trauma free. But when you throw that trauma into the mix, there's so much more work that needs to be done in order to be able to love yourself and accept the person you are as valid and worthy of love. I had meant to make a post here a month or two ago talking about how far I had come since then. I've genuinely grown so much as a person. I went from being a sad and broken girl who hated herself to a confident and happy woman. I have so much love in my life and a bright future, and I'm genuinely happy with myself and my life. I'll never forget the moment my senior year when my father told me, after a very rough time in my life, that he was glad to see me so happy again. But trauma isn't something that leaves you, despite time and distance and hard work.
He sent me a friend request on facebook today. I saw the name on my screen and immediately began to sob uncontrollably. I had no idea who to go to, my gf was taking an exam, and so I had to decide between seeking out someone who knew about my trauma but who might not be free or someone who I'd have to tell my whole story to. I'm thankful that that someone was there for me, she's one of my good friends who luckily lives right upstairs from me. She made me tea and held my hand while I cried and listened to my story with compassion. After I was able to stop crying, all I felt was intense anger. How dare he. After 5 fucking years, after all the work I've done to heal, he's lived his life free of consequence. He likely doesn't realize the upheaval he caused in my life, the pain, the isolation he caused me. I blamed myself for over a year for what he did. I felt worthless and alone and broken. And he thinks he has the right to my life after all this time. He is nobody, an insignificant man, but with this simple action he made me feel powerless and small again. I feel such intense hatred and a deep, deep sadness. When he had sex with me after I told him I didn't want it, he killed a part of me. Another part of me died again while we sat in silence and he made me tell him that I loved him. And today, by seeking me out, and having the audacity to try and connect with me without awareness of how I'd already died, he killed me a little bit more.
