The Brutal Truth Most Forget…
Tears fall from my face when I have flashbacks. The amount of times I’ve ran to the washroom and cried remembering those nights. Frozen in fear, unable to move. Feeling his hands on my skin. And hearing his voice as he tries to make sure I’m not awake. The excuses I’ve heard and the disbelief I’ve been through, that I still go through. Most dont believe my story, they believe his because “how could he do that?” They act like he never added the second part of his side; he admitted to touching me without consent. People don’t realize that I check that the doors are locked before I go to bed. They dont realize that I always have an eye on him making sure he’s not about to pull another stunt. The excuses they use. They believe his excuses and act like nothing happened. Sexual assault has been normalized but they forgot about me who’s still drowning in grief. The little girl inside of me was forced to grow up that night. That part of me that I will never get back. The fear that I will never lose. And the memories that can’t be erased. Most blame it on the clothes I was wearing. Those nights I was wearing pajamas. Shorts and a tank top. Considering it was 40° outside I believe I had the right to be wearing those clothes. When I think about that night my heart gets heavy. It’s like my heart gets bigger and it’s pushing against my chest. Every time I have a flashback I relive the experience. I feel his hands on me and remember the pain I felt. Most survivors say that they were almost broken, but I dont think I qualify for almost broken. I am broken. And I surprise myself everyday that I don’t cry in front of him. People think I need words of encouragement but in reality I need a hug. That's all I want, a hug from the right person. A hug.
7 months later
The « man »
It’s been seven months since I first published my story. It’s been more then a year since the assault. The person, the “man” who did this to me is unfortunately appart of my family. With Christmas around the corner, we had a get-together last night. I looked him in the eyes for the first time even tho we go to the same school. My heart sank as he walked passed me. I felt on edge the hole night. I still do. I stepped out of my shoes and looked at him from another perspective. I realized that he’s changed and has grown since the incident. I realized that he’s more mature now. I don’t forgive him, feel safe around him or understand him. I might never. But I have come to understand that that’s ok. It’s ok to cry, scream, fall, be hurt. Because letting those feelings out is what’s going to help you get through this.