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I think you raped me, I just need to admit it.


It’s been two years, one month and two weeks and I’m only just really starting to admit what happened. At first I thought I must have been misremembering because I can’t be certain I said no, I know I didn’t want to but did I say that? I don’t know. I was asleep when it happened, so I guess it was impossible for me to consent. Is this the cause of everything terrible that’s going on in my head? No you can’t be, because I was screwed up like this before that. Except I’m not the same, I’ve changed, I know I have. It changed me and sex doesn’t normally just change a person does it? I guess maybe if it’s the first time or it was particularly memorable… If it wasn’t what they say it was, then it wouldn’t have changed me. I guess I’d have wanted it to. I wouldn’t see your face when I try to go to sleep and I wouldn’t cry, shaking in the fetal position because the song ‘Boy’s Don’t Cry’ came on the radio. That song was in the club the night before it happened, I wonder if you knew that. 

You shouted at me and got angry because you couldn’t make me cum, it’s weird that that’s one of the few things I remember. I also can picture vividly you kissing my neck – your lips were like sandpaper, I can feel it right now. I can feel you on me, touching me. I thought for a while it couldn’t possibly be what everyone was saying it was, because that stuff doesn’t happen to people like me. Not to people you know, or to boys. Now, it just happens to other people – a friend of a friend or someone on TV.

I guess the other thing that means it must be what they say it is is the fact that it still hurts. My life is ruined, I guess it’s normal to go through a phase of denial. Why didn’t I prosecute? I went to the police, I did everything right. I just didn’t prosecute. I wonder if you did it to other boys, maybe girls. You could be still out there doing the same thing right now. Maybe you’re sat in a club preying on the unsuspecting, the two drunk to fight back or remember. 


The weirdest thing is after it happens, everyone is really upset. It’s like it happened to them to but it didn’t – they have no idea what it’s like. It happened to me. Only me. They might be able to picture it, I’m sure it’s haunting them, I’m sure they want to castrate and hang the bastard. It’s just, that’s not how I feel because I still can’t quite believe it. You may not understand why I didn’t go to the police, or why he’s not behind bars. But that’s not the weirdest thing, the weirdest thing is after six months or so, maybe even less… Everyone else moves on and forget it happens, until you have a breakdown, until you mention it, until you mention nightmares. People assume that it can’t still be hard for you because it’s not for them, the pain fades and so does the memories. They’ve let go, so they assume you have too. Only, I didn’t let go. The wound is still sore, bleeding, it’s never going away. It’s engraved into my bones, the pain and memories won’t stop I just need to come at peace with it.

How can I come to peace with it when it’s been two years one month and two weeks and I can barely comprehend that I was raped? How can I let things go when I still close my eyes and see his face, feel his lips – those sandpapery lips against my neck, against my cheek. How will it ever stop hurting when I can’t feel safe any more? Everyone said I’d get through this, and yeah I guess it got a little easier for a while. For a while. But today ‘Boy’s Don’t Cry’ was in a movie and I still curled up and started to cry, because that was the song that played in the club the night before.