Wednesday, April 9, 2014

A Letter to My Rapist: The Reality of a Victim's Rage (TRIGGER WARNING. Sensitive Material and Offensive Language)

I wish I could say that I am not deeply angered at the man who raped me. There is a constant fire within me that fuels my ability to fight through the thick web of self-hatred he was able to weave over the time I was his waif. I realize that countless people say "forgiveness is the only path to healing," and I get it; really I do.

I may be able to recognize that I experienced this darkness to help other people, as is my goal through this journey; however, that doesn't require me to say, "I forgive you for stealing my youth. I forgive you for tainting my view of the world. I forgive you for raping me." No. There was no remorse from him. Had there been, MAYBE, I might be able to let go of some of this rage.

When I first saw his face, I knew I had to expel the lava boiling deep within my gut, so I wrote him a letter. I was scared, irate, sickened, and saddened all at the same time. Portions from the first letter I wrote to him (just for clarity, none of what is in this post was ever actually sent to him):
"I have seen your face, after 18 years…I see your beaming smile with your arm around the hip of a beautiful woman...You are happy. Fan-fucking-tasticly happy. AND THAT pisses me off...All these years I have been trying to heal. I have been becoming a strong-willed, fighting woman wise beyond her years because YOU forced me to. I thought that if I ever did see your face I’d be able to brush the whole experience aside and just say, “Fuck it, I’m over it.” That is because I thought that maybe you were lonely and sad. I had hoped for so long that you were handed a shitty life because of what you did, and I was sadly mistaken...Does she even know what you did? Does she know you raped an 8-year-old girl? I don’t get it! How can anyone love such a monster?"
A few weeks later, I tried to write again to him, in an attempt to maybe calm down. Didn't work:
"It has been a few weeks since I have seen your face and to be quite honest, it isn’t getting any easier for me...I am lost. I am as low as I could possibly be since you hurt me...I was sitting there in the bathtub…with the razor. I was thinking the same dark thoughts I used to. What kept me from doing anything? My son. The fact that I have to be strong for my son and my husband keeps me on this earth. What good would it do anyway? You would just be winning even more than you are now... I hate that you have been affecting my ability to be intimate with my husband. I hate that every time we do make love I see your fucking face. It pisses me off...I honestly don’t even know how I would react if I saw you in person. I’d like to believe that I would sock you in the balls but deep down I know you would hold the same power you held over me all those years ago. I would freeze up, palms sweaty, and tremble while the tears flowed down. I am so irritated that just seeing you on Facebook has had this effect on me. I thought I was stronger than that. I apparently am just as weak as the day you first held me down...But don’t worry...One day you will get your repentance. I may have to live with what you did to me every day, but so do you. One can only hope that karma actually exists because thus far I haven’t seen it work against you yet."
Part of me is ashamed when I read these, because I wish not to be violent; it would just be defeating the purpose. However, in these raw moments of blind hatred, it is hard to avoid spitting poison with words.

 I shared these entries in order to represent just how aggravating losing control over everything in your life to a polluted past can be. All it takes is one trigger to release a bundle of indignation. The key is to project those emotions appropriately.

These letters were written before I hit rock bottom and gave into the idea of getting help. For a little over a month, I was pretending that everything was fine. My attempts at denying my past permeated my physical being as I was experiencing pain during intercourse. Taken from my journal (names substituted):

"Whoever got on top of me last night was not Greg in my mind. I kept telling myself it was Greg, but all I could feel was HIS tongue down my throat, his lips smothering my neck with excessive force, his tight grip on my arms to hold me down. I could literally smell and taste him. I became numb and laid there while I was being dealt with. It wasn’t until Greg spoke that I remembered where I was. I was wincing in pain because in my mind HE was inside me. I immediately burst into tears when I realized that Greg was on top of me all along. It was horrific." 
What is interesting, is I STILL denied any tie to my past when it started affecting me physically. I in turn went to visit my OBGYN because I thought there was a legitimate explanation for my pain.

Regardless of tests and ultrasounds, I was physically healthy; however, that visit to the doctor would end up saving my life. That story is for another day.

In regards to the flame that still burns inside me:
I hope the loved ones that read this don't lose faith in my ability to heal. I understand that forgiveness is necessary, but I'm not entirely sure acceptance is.

I may be able to say, "Okay...yes you did this to me and I'm alive and well, but I CANNOT accept your actions."

I pray that one day I am able to forgive, but I will never forget and never accept.


 



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