The one year anniversary is almost here. It’s not an anniversary that I can get excited about. I can’t even call it what it was yet. The police reports labeled it as sexual assault. I still can’t define it as that. Maybe with the one year anniversary approaching, I will be able to call it what it is. Maybe this is the first step in me being able to define it by typing it out. Just maybe…
Unfortunately, I could be considered one of the college statistics about sexual assaults and rapes on college campuses. But I am not a part of those statistics because my voice was hidden as if it did not happen. That’s how I feel, but I want to stay hidden.
I’m a smart twenty something girl working on a masters degree with a good head on my shoulders. How did I let this happen? People tell me it was not my fault. That once I said no he should have stopped. He tried for weeks to find out where I lived, but I never told him. He found me. Came once, and I did not let him in. Came a second time, and I did not let him in. Came a third time …. I opened the door. That’s the moment I changed …. mentally and emotionally.
I wish I never had to see him again, but I’m not that lucky. Every time I see him it brings it all back, every single detail that led up to it happening and the day of. It’s so vivid as if it happened yesterday. I relive each moment. He does not make this easy. He looks every time he sees me. That creepy look that takes me back to that moment. I sometimes wonder if I led him to believe that it was what I wanted. I did not want it.
Maybe I should not have told anyone because it’s as if he did no wrong, and I am the guilty one. I did not even want to report it. I did not want to give the police his name. I did not want to write his name on my written statement, but for some reason I did. I wrote his name. Giving his name changed it all and all he got was a slap on the hand.
Yes, I could make this easier on myself by quitting my job. Some may think that I should remove myself from seeing him. But why should I have to stop doing what I enjoy because of him? I will not give him that satisfaction. It is painful every single time I see him, but he will never know that.
There is only so much pretending that I can do, but honestly I must admit that I have gotten pretty good at pretending and putting a smile on my face. Sometimes I have begun to fool myself into believing this did not happen. But deep down I know the truth. I want to be me again. I want to be able to move on. I want to put this in the past. I know it will never completely go away, but I want to move forward with my life.