A Letter to My Rapist, 10 Years Later

To __________,

Letter writing is one of those therapeutic tools often recommended to people who have experienced trauma or loss. At every invitation I've received to write a letter to you, I have declined. Sometimes, it’s because I don't want to spend another moment actively thinking about you. Other times, it's because I don't think there's anything I have to say that hasn't already been said. However, this date feels like it deserves recognition. So, I’m choosing a letter. The likelihood you will read this, while not zero, is extraordinarily slim. But this letter isn’t really for you. It’s for me.

I’ve spent years working through what you did to me – talking through it with therapists, reading about how trauma impacts the body, grappling with the reality of what happened. This will always be a part of my story, woven into the fabric of my life.

With each passing year, I still dread May 9th. I pray that something great will happen to take away the shadow that hangs over the day. And I am aware that for you, this is likely just another day. The story in my head is that what happened means nothing to you. That you think you did nothing wrong. Because if you thought you had done something wrong, then surely you would’ve reached out after it happened. Who does the things that you did and thinks, “Wow, that was a normal sexual experience. Just another one-night stand!” 

For you, it was probably a one-night stand – something you chalked up to a night of drinking.

For me, it is a night that continues to haunt me. 

You are an uninvited guest everywhere I go. You were there the day I met my husband. You were there on my wedding day. You were there over the many, many months it took us to conceive our children. You were there in the hospital room when both of my boys were born. You are hiding in the shadows of my bedroom and every unfamiliar place that I go.

There are still several nights each month when I wake up in a panic. I look around and make sure I am in my space – my bed, my room, with my loving partner. Because sometimes, when I wake up, I still think I am back at the house I’d never been to before, in a room that I’d never seen, on a bed with someone I had never met. Because that is the nightmare I continue to live through.

And it’s not just at home. While I wouldn’t be able to identify you in a group of people, you still haunt me. I wonder if the person sitting in the car at the stoplight next to me knows who you are. Maybe you’re three aisles over from me in the grocery store. Or one day, I will hire someone to work on my house, and you will show up. I can never be sure.

The body and the brain are deeply interconnected. Each is more aware of the other than most of us realize. The thing about sexual assault is that it leaves a lasting mark on you. My soul hurts. My body hurts. They remember—the roots of trauma run deep and shallow all at once.

So here I am, ten long years later, still fighting daily battles.

Fighting not to blame myself – because it is never the fault of the victim.

Fighting for awareness.

Fighting not to be silenced.

From,

Victoria - Fighter. Survivor.