Endless Recovery: A Sexual Assault Victim's Story, 5 Years Later
TW: Sexual assault, violence
What I’ve written below is probably the hardest thing I have ever written. But I wanted to get the words out in case someone needed to hear them. If that someone is you, then please know that you’re not alone. I see you, I hear you, I feel your pain, I’m with you. I love you.
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It’s been a little over five years since I was assaulted by a friend in my college dorm room. A few weeks after it happened, I wrote about it here on Her Culture. At that time, I felt so many things and nothing at the same time. I felt anger, confusion, delusion, bitterness, sadness. Other times, I felt absolutely nothing. Each minute was a roulette of feeling and un-feeling, a constant tide change and battle with my own emotions. I would walk into a new room and smell a faint mist of sweat, dirtiness, 10-hour-old cologne. I could hear the sounds of his metal belt buckle moving and his sneakers sliding on the wooden floor, a record being set on repeat. I heard all of the words that I said over and over and over again, but for some reason could not, for the life of me, remember his.
I was a phantom running away from my own self. I was a shell getting washed ashore, the waters dragging me by their brute forces and just barely getting me to land. I talked about the assault with many different therapists in many different sessions. I got so used to repeating what had happened that it didn’t feel real anymore. It felt like a story that I got so good at telling. I hated that. I resented the fact that I had the speech so well memorized that it didn’t make me cry after a while. It was like a cruel clockwork.
Through it all, I blamed myself. I believed that because he was my friend, because I had let him into my dorm room that night, because I had flirted with him on the phone before the attack, because I walked him to the subway after he was done having his way with me, because I was still kind to him for a few days afterward for my safety, it was my fault. I wanted someone so desperately for someone else to affirm my own belief that it was my fault. But nobody ever did. It was only after years and years of people telling me that it wasn’t my fault that I actually started to agree.
It’s now been about five years since the attack. For the first few years, always around May or June, I would feel an inexplicable sadness. It took a while for me to realize that I was feeling this way because my subconscious was remembering. Always, constantly remembering. And then, after several years, I didn’t feel as sad during that time. Or I would have a brief moment of remembering that would be followed by exceeding joy, from some other memory or some other event going on at that time. I don’t believe that this is what happens to the average person. In fact, I believe that there is no average recovery. Some victims feel the same way and have constant memories over and over again for the rest of their lives. Some victims have suffered so deeply that their brain keeps them alive by never allowing them to remember it ever again.
Just after the attack, and with the help of some of my friends, I sent the guy a text explaining how he had hurt me and that I never wanted to hear from him again. He acknowledged that he had done something wrong, and that he was “sorry,” and that he would leave me alone. I blocked his number and didn’t hear from him again.
About a year after the attack, I received a text from that number I had blocked. I could figure out that it was my attacker just from his words. “Hey,” he said, with a winking Emoji.
I could not believe that I had actually received this message. I was so angry, so unbelievably hurt, that I felt my face get hot and a rage rise up through my throat. I replied, “How dare you!” followed by a long explanation about how disgusting it was for him to try and reach back out to me.
He again acknowledged his wrongdoing. It wasn’t enough.
He explained that he had joined a “women’s empowerment club” at his college as a way to make up for his mistake. It wasn’t enough.
Nothing that he could say or do or act on or volunteer with could take back what had happened. It could never erase the horror that I faced that day and all of the days following it.
I recently decided to Google my attacker’s name to see what would come up. I know what you may be thinking—why would that ever be a good idea? The answer is, that I just don't know. Some part of me couldn’t believe it has already been five years since it happened. I wanted to see if he was able to live his life without a scar on his record, without any trouble. In my search, I found an old interview he did (about two years after my attack) with his college newspaper. The article gushed about his accomplishments, and even talked about that “women’s empowerment club” he decided to join. From what I can find, he went on to do anything and everything that he wished.
And you’re probably thinking that I couldn’t. But the complete opposite happened. I was able to finish college with flying colors. I graduated early and landed a job that I absolutely adored — which I’m still doing today! I work with the absolute best people, I have a fantastic boyfriend, I can experience love in all of its forms, and I can give love to anyone. There are some days that are harder than others. There are some seasons where I remember more and dream about it more. But there are also seasons where I don’t think about it at all, where I am able to just focus on myself and how to live my best life.
Again, all victims are different. Unfortunately, I know that my experience is just one out of so, so many. But something that I think threads us all together is that recovery isn’t finite. It is endless. While I do have more better days than bad, I still do have those bad days. I still do have haunting memories. I still have times where I want to “expose” and “cancel” and hurt him in some way.
But I have learned that that is not the answer. That as someone who believes in the power of forgiveness, that is God-fearing and God-loving, it is not my job to hurt him. Not everyone gets the chance to tell their attacker how they made them feel; I am lucky in that regard. However, I just need to heal me. Hurting him will not do that.
The five years since my attack has taught me how to love better, forgive better, and live better. I’m far from perfect, and I still make mistakes, but I try harder and harder every day to remember to take care of me. And if you’re feeling similar to me, please remember that you are not alone in this. If five years after your attack you still can’t get out of bed, and the day still feels too difficult to tackle, you are not wrong, or broken, or damaged. You suffered an unspeakable trauma, and all I can say is that you are loved. Give yourself permission to feel (or not feel) whenever they happen. I am thinking of you and I love you.
