I originally wrote this on my FB page but thought it was worth repeating and expanding here.
Here’s the thing. You don’t forget being attacked. You remember every last physical detail –not the date, not whose house. You remember the smell of his hair and his sweat. You remember it down to what his finger nails felt like on your skin. You remember the weight of the body you couldn’t lift off of yours. But at the same time that you have these memories, you want to live your life and not dwell in the freak zone of the memory that can kill your soul. When you one day have a relationship and someone says a word or holds your hand in a certain way your whole body remembers even if you are trying to forget. And you try not to tell people because you are trying to flee that space not live in it.
I remember the first time I saw my attacker’s profile come up on FB. I froze. I could hear my heart beat louder and louder. I looked at his page a moment. He’s not a ghost in my journal. He’s still alive. Average joe shmoo with joe shmoo job. old. balding. didn’t look like much happened in his life. Good I thought. I’ m glad your life wasn’t much. But if I’d have seen his profile and learned that this predator was about to sit on a court to sit in judgement about what I can and cannot do with my own body? I’d send a letter to Feinstein too.