I hurt beyond words and had no control.
To The Man That Changed My Life,
Twelve years ago today, you possessed me, took me, and started an invasion that went into my mind as well. Do you even remember me? Do you remember what you did to me?
You took advantage of me. You drugged me and didn't take no for an answer. There was no consent given, but that didn't stop you. You raped me.
It was a week before my 21st birthday, and you destroyed the girl that I was then. Shattered her beyond repair.
Do you know that you were almost a father again? That's right, you left a "gift" behind, a constant reminder of what you had done. I found out on Mother's Day. Ironic, isn't it? You ruined that holiday for me. All I had wanted was a family of my own, yet the only family I was going to have was the child of the man that raped me.
Fate took control, though, as I had a miscarriage right after I had decided I had wanted to keep the baby. It was not that child's fault.
I would scream and cry, wasting tears on you, while I was in the shower or had music up so loud so no one would hear. I felt dirty, used, worthless. I hurt beyond words and had no control. I shut down, becoming an emotional zombie, allowing no emotions to be felt.
When I wanted to feel something, on my own terms, I would cut, punch, scratch, or burn myself. If it hurt me, then I would do it. I had control that way.
I bet you didn't know I had made a New Year's Resolution at the end of that year. I tried to commit suicide. Tried. I was rather unsuccessful, obviously, as I'm here writing this to you. I didn't want to be in the darkness I had fallen so far into. I wanted the hold you had on me gone.
The anger and hate, sadness and hopelessness, I wanted it all gone. I needed the memories and images gone, the flashbacks that wouldn't end to disappear.
I never told anyone what happened to me. I was embarrassed you had this control on me. I didn't want to admit I needed rescuing to anyone. I didn't like that I was now a victim. I thought I was better than that. I could not bring myself to say, "Save me, I need help."
I did it, though, despite you. I saved myself. I became a survivor, a fighter. I grew stronger and took control. I fought for my survival. I had to, as my only other choice (suicide) was taken away from me. I sought help at the rape center. I learned that the only hold you had on me was the one I created in my mind.
I broke the hold. I tore you away as if you were nothing, because that's what you are. You are not worth a single thought. You don't have control of me. You mean nothing to me.
How does it feel to have the tables turned? You treated me as if I was nothing, and now you are nothing.
And yet the irony is: If it wasn't for you, I would not be the person that I am today. I wouldn't be strong. I would not be the fighter that I am, nor would I be able to love and accept myself, in turn letting myself love others. I now believe in myself. I kick ass now.
For that, I thank you, but I still hate and despise you, like the worthless f*ck you are.
Your Former Victim
This article was originally published at Mad Tea Party in My Head. Reprinted with permission from the author.