Well here it is. May 3rd. Today my life becomes different again. I got the notice last month that he was being released from prison today. May 3rd. He has served his time. Paid his negligible debt to society. And today he rejoins us, rehabilitated or not.
It's been almost 4 years since he raped me. I thought I was past it. But I guess I never will be, not completely. It's hard to adequately explain what it feels like to have someone violate you in such a way, to effectively seize and possess all that is you. Hard to express the devastating vulnerability you are left with, knowing that you were unable-remain unable- to protect even something as basic as your bodily integrity. It is impossible for anyone who hasn't been there to fully appreciate the utter and total humiliation that is inherent to the entire legal process. So many times, I just wanted to give up. To pretend it never happened and move on with my life. But something in me knew I couldn't.
I wasn't his first victim, and I knew I wouldn't be his last. He had to be stopped. If the last girl's parents hadn't backed down, the sick fuck never would have been out of jail to hurt me in the first place. She was only 4. So I stuck it out. Took more than a year of hell to ever even get to trial. The plea bargain he eventually took only added insult to injury. House arrest? Ironic how he commits the crime and we both effectively get the same punishment. His was mandated, mine somewhat self-imposed. I was afraid to leave the house. Sometimes the fear would sneak up on me, totally unexpected, and park like a cement truck on my chest 'til I couldn't even breathe. That was the worst part. Never could tell when some tiny detail of some seemingly innocuous situation would trigger a memory and send me into a panic attack. I hated, too, always looking over my shoulder. Never feeling safe the way I used to, the kind of safe that you don't even have to think about. You just are. You are capable of being carefree. He took that from me forever. Changed the way I experienced myself. Before him, I just was. And since, I have remained acutely aware that I am a woman. And acutely aware of how that fact limits my movement.
He violated his ridiculous excuse for a sentencing arrangement just about the time I had finally become able to make it through a whole day without something reminding me of him, of IT. A resurgent flood of overwhelming emotion accompanied the call advising me that he was in prison. But after, once I finally accepted the news of his incarceration, I relaxed a little. I may not be able to completely lose the fear, but at least I didn't have to fear him. Things got better; I was able to talk about it. I went whole weeks without thinking of it. Life was nice. And now, in a few hours, his sorry disgusting ass gets out of prison and my sentence has only just begun.
I used to think hatred was unhealthy, that forgiveness was the answer.
I haven't forgiven shit, and I will never stop hating that bastard for all that he stole from me.
All this crying is going to give me a huge migraine tomorrow. I think I'll go ahead and hate him for that too.
