I‘ll never forgive you for what you did. But I’ll also never forget what I realized in the months that followed after you so selfishly decided to have your way with me. You see, after you raped me, I spiraled into the deepest, darkest parts of myself and here’s what I found.
The feelings of pain and sorrow that drained emptiness into my core weren’t new. They had been there long before you raped me, because you see, before you, it was him—the one I trusted the most—at least I was supposed to—trust him. But it turns out that he was no more trustworthy than you. I just didn’t see it, because I was in love. But I was in love in the worst kind of way. Trauma-bonded, after being pushed to talk about the awful things that happened when I was just a little girl—but I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to revisit those memories, but I wasn’t ready to lose him either, so I gave him what he wanted and as he dug deeper, I became hollow and numb.
Over time, I grew to believe that it was me and I was broken when he got upset that I didn’t want to have sex, because at the time I didn’t know what trauma-bonding looked like. I didn’t know that the reason I writhed in pain or cringed when he touched me was because I was being triggered over and over by the man I chose to trust. I didn’t know it was him causing me mental, physical, and emotional anguish, because I truly believed it was me.
You trudge forward, carrying the weight with you as you move through the deepest, darkest, roughest waters…
“Fix me,” I said. “Help me feel better.” “Help me feel happy.” “I want to be better for him.” Thoughts and directions for my therapist, who, even now, is still helping me unravel and make sense of the damage that has been done by men like him. And men like you. Boys inside, who have yet to realize the emotional maturity required to see beyond your sexual desires in the moment. Not considering the whole picture, but rather, focusing on isolated moments and deciding when it’s your time to enter my body and fill my mind with more trauma. As if I didn’t already have enough.
When I was little, I believed that once I was grown up, everything would be better and I would escape the darkness and abuse that gave me nightmares. But no one told me that patterns of abuse are repeated and even disguised in adult relationships. And who would have told me that anyway? No one could tell me what to look out for, because I never told anyone what was happening. It was all a secret game. Just between us. Don’t tell Mom. Don’t tell Nana. Don’t tell anyone. That was my conditioning.
So of course, when I unwittingly trauma-bonded with the one I loved and grew to believe I was broken while being triggered over and over; I didn’t tell anyone about true depths of the anguish I felt, because it was up to me to feel better. It was my responsibility to get better, because the demons that arose from being forced to talk about my early abuse were mine and mine alone to slay. But I better not expect an adequate amount of healing space, because I had duties to fulfill in my role beside him, you see—we were partnered and there was a timer on the needs he expected me to meet. And this, I have realized was the true root to my lack of healing, but I didn’t realize it until after you raped me.
Because after you raped me, all of the pain and anguish rolled back into me—except—it didn’t roll in from the outside. It was stirred and knocked loose from you driving yourself inside; and you dredged it from my core, where it had lain dormant following my leave from the one I loved. You woke the darkest traumas that had been living in my body for years—decades even—and you brought them to the surface, leading me to recognize the true depths of abuse I’ve endured throughout my life, because I was conditioned to “just move on” and “get over it.”
[He] woke the darkest traumas that had been living in my body for years—decades even—and brought them to the surface…
And here’s the depressing, enraging truth about abuse and being violated over and over by the people you’re supposed to trust—family, friends of family, partners, close friends. You don’t “just move on” and you don’t simply “get over it.” You trudge forward, carrying the weight with you as you move through the deepest, darkest, roughest waters with a continuous feeling that you’ll drown, alone, and that no one will care. Even if that’s not true—even if you have an entire support system willing to help you carry the weight—you still feel completely alone. Isolated in the pain and betrayal that no one else can feel but you. And sure, eventually the waters become shallow, and you realize you can set some of the weight down on the shoreline, but you never forget the feeling of carrying it—swimming with it—sometimes just hoping it will take you down so the suffering can finally end. Even sitting on the shore, listening to the waves, knowing I’m safe, doesn’t alleviate me of the memories that I will likely spend the rest of my life healing from as I’m met with unexpected triggers because of people like you.
You ruined parts of me. And so did he. And so did they. I will never forgive you for that, but I suppose “thank you” is in order, because without you and your vile selfishness, I might not have come to understand that there was never anything wrong with me and I was never broken. He was careless in the realm of loving a survivor of childhood sexual abuse; and they were all predators, wolves in sheep’s clothing—much like you.
Photo by Shot by Cerqueira on Unsplash
