*scoots in* AYO SIS!
Hello you lot. I’m baaaaaaack! I’ve started a few blogs off the past week or so but I haven’t had the metaphorical balls to post them because I don’t want everyone to think I live in misery. So here’s the first. It’s different to the rest of my posts because it’s something I felt I needed to get off my chest recovery wise and again if it helps someone else in their journey I want to keep writing. So yes; have a read of what I’ve written below and lemme know what you think!
A wise woman once said “why is it when a woman is confident and powerful, they call her a witch?” (Yes I just quoted Lisa Simpson. Yes her face is on my leg permanently. No I do not regret it.)
I assume your life began the same as most people’s do. Your mother carried you inside for 9 months. She went through agony to bring you into this world. She cradled you as you took your first breaths and opened your eyes for the first time. She gave you a name; Mitchell.
But I do not see you how she does; with love and compassion. When I think of you, the last four letters of your name spring to the front of my mind. In fact in my opinion, you don’t even deserve a name. You never have and you never will.
I was raised like most young girls nowadays. Never go to the toilet on your own. Don’t walk home in the dark. Don’t take sweets off strange old men. I grew up believing I did everything to protect myself. I turned 18 and I blossomed into an amazing young lady. I had it all; good pals, the best job in the world, a second-hand car with the bumper hanging off and a boyfriend I could stay in bed and play WWE Supercard with. You took all that away from me.
I always wanted answers. Why did you do it? What drugs were you on? What did you enjoy about it? My unconscious body? The fear you instilled in me once I came round? Was it more pleasure from the ejaculation or from having someone who couldn’t fight back? Was your girlfriend not good enough? How fucked were you?
I realised I’ll never understand what was going on in your head that night. You were just a stranger to me. You still are. I’ll always remember the cow painting on the wall of the room you acted in. I had studied the artist in school. She no longer inspires me. Something possessed you and in the process, you ruined my life and happiness. You ruined everyone and everything around me. I was ready to leave this planet. I would sit in the shower for ages trying to wash you off me. I would lay awake at night thinking you were going to do it again and again. I wouldn’t leave the house in case you came to find me. I would look at the marks you left on my body and wonder if anyone would still accept me with them. I wouldn’t sleep with my boyfriend in case he did what you did. I ate my feelings. I was ready to give up.
Eventually something changed in me. It was after I took you to court. After I had to see your mother; I always wondered how she felt about it all. It was just a curtain between me and you. Did you think I looked pretty? with mascara down my face? dressed in black? Did you not like me because you couldn’t take off my clothes this time? I remember desperately looking into the eyes of the jury. Most of them were male. But the women I just stared at, hoping for some telepathic communication that they knew you were guilty.
It didn’t work though. You knew exactly what you were doing. You planned it so no one was around so of course you could carry on as normal. You could go to work. Cuddle the one you love. Drink and party to your heart’s content. At least that’s what I assume you did. I had to rebuild everything I knew. I was a little girl again, learning how to be safe, because for some reason it was always my fault this had happened. Growing up I never expected to be a victim of rape and sexual assault. You just never expect it to be you. But you wouldn’t understand that.
Yet, I am not a victim. I am a survivor. You planned to make me weak; you made me stronger. You wanted me to hate my body; now I love and cherish it. You wanted me to be a shut in; I go out more than ever now. You wanted me to suffer; yet I live another day to breathe and eat and sleep and do things I never thought I’d be able to do. I just want you to know I’ve forgiven you, but I’ve not forgotten. A lot of people want you dead; I don’t, I think you deserve to learn from your mistakes, pain or not.
Good luck with your life. Maybe one day you’ll have a daughter of your own and you’ll name her, hold her in your arms and protect her from people who were like you. I’m done with letting you control my life. Today is the last day I ever think about you, Random Short Blonde Guy in club. Thank you for making me realise how strong and beautiful I am. I deserve much more in life.
Best of luck,
The girl who defied the odds, the girl who found her voice, the girl who lived to tell the tale, the girl who prospers, the girl who survived; Emily Jayne.