Trigger warnings: sexual assault, abuse.
This is a letter written by an anonymous person who asked me to post it here in order to help others who have gone through a similar ordeal. I have changed nothing from the post they sent me; these are all their own words.
This is my reality of how I was sexually assaulted at the beginning of this year. It was a bretrayal of a best friend. I myself have a blog that you may know of but I don’t want people to know that I’m the girl who was abused so I asked my friend, Elm, to publish it for me to help others or to help myself be able to feel a little more at ease. Just love and respect one other.
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Dear boy who hurt me,
I call you a boy because that’s all you are. A boy. You aren’t a man even how much you think highly of yourself. Or how people around you feel hindered around your loud presence. Even though you’re taller than the most authority figures in my life like my father, your height doesn’t make you a man and the way you treated me made me feel like a little girl.
On several occasions, you would message me or frankly, just plainly say it to my face with this stupid and patronising smile that I was a ‘good girl’ when I gave up and froze. Good girl. It made me feel like a dog almost, like I had no significance to others apart you and your dick. Good girl. It makes me generally feel like there is a sick pit in my stomach gurgling at the word. Good girl. When I hear that word, my heart fills up with a strong emotion; sadness or guilt? I can’t tell.
The moment I closed my eyes last night, I saw your sofa. The red one where in the beginning of our friendship, we used to hang out; drink coco cola, play the PS4 and listen to each other’s worries. I loved your sofa; it represented relaxation at it’s highest. I used to feel relaxed with you.
Last September was when there was a defining line between before and after. September I felt like I had no one around me apart from you, the boy who hurt me. It was a relief to go out for our walks where we would slag off the people who hurt me. You knew I was beginning to lose what I once thought men were. Especially after what my father had done to me and my family. And in December, it was a breaking point.
After my breakup in December, I was in a pretty difficult place. I lost something which I had for a year and a half where I belonged to someone and then, he belonged to someone else straight away after we broke up. You used that. A few hours after saying a sad good bye to another boy that I loved, you would help me get through it with our late night talks in KFC where your jokes and charisma would cheer me up.
The first time is the most clear to remember. The first time when you sexually assaulted me and mentally abused me. In my dream, it went through the events again where you would manipulate me to the red sofa. The beginning of the first time started like how we always used to hang out. We would go to yours and just chill out with other friends. However, this time you pretended to invite others so it wouldn’t cause any suspicions or weirdness about me coming over. The moment I sat down on that sofa, it felt strange. You kept looking over at me with this weird look in your eye almost like a puppy but not cute at all. Sorry wrong description. It was more hunger and madness like you had to have me. Well you’re wrong. You didn’t have to have me.
When you picked me up with your big lanky hands all over me, I told you to get off. It was as simple as that. However, I had this thought in my head that I didn’t want to offend you as you were my best friend and I didn’t want to lose another person. But, however calm my voice was, it was clear that I didn’t want you. But you continued. Sometimes, I touch my lips with hate and disgust how drops of your spit was forced onto my lips and my body. How you forced my top up and grabbed my skin like it had no value.
The next morning after the first time, seeing my body was difficult. In anyone else’s eyes, nothing had changed. Many a few purple bruises around my chest but nothing that would change someone’s attitude. When I managed to look in the mirror, I saw a different person. A person who was stupid. Was pathetic. Was worthless. A person who deserved it.
You apologised to me and I forgave you. I felt like maybe I gave the wrong signals and that, it’s just a misunderstanding. So that’s why I met up with you.
The second time. A time which is harder to think about. This time my other friend couldn’t make it to yours. Let’s just say this time was more aggressive. You grabbed my hands and forced them down you. It was explicit. You showed off, you thought I was impressed by your dick and that I was trying hard to get. I said no, no, no. ‘My dad is going to be here soon’, ‘Look, I’m not good at this’, ‘I’m on my period’, ‘I haven’t shaved.’ Anything to stop you. I remember the moment I froze. It was when I felt my hand cramp under the intense force of your hand and you made me touch you. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and in my head, I still wasn’t annoyed with you. I just felt sad and alone.
But I made it clear that I didn’t want to and that’s what confuses me. You knew I didn’t want to. You even messaged me saying sorry and we even decided that we would just be friends and that I won’t be going to yours any time soon.
The third time. We went to Mcdonalds. I was talking to another boy that I liked. You even said that you weren’t going to ruin that for me. The third time was a few weeks after the second time and I repeatedly told myself that the other times were my fault and that I shouldn’t have given off the wrong signals. After our burgers, you demanded for me to come over…even shouting at me in the middle of the fast food place. I said no and laughed it off…did you seriously think I was going to come over after what had happened previously?You did know but you also knew that I don’t like hurting people. You threatened to message the boy that I liked about the other times and you knew I wouldn’t explain to the other boy what actually happened because I didn’t believe myself that I was sexually assaulted. All I felt was guilt. So I went to yours.
I don’t like talking about what happened the third time. I find it agonising even thinking about it. The moment I got to yours, you grabbed me by the throat where I found it hard to breathe. You pressed down hard on my neck to force my head to go down to your crotch. You gripped my breats under my t-shirt which you commented ‘You’re skinner than I thought you would be’. You got your fingers inside my trousers. You blocked the door so I couldn’t get out. You ignored my screams for you to stop. You ignored how I cried and collapsed under you.
Even after that, I still feel guilty. Despite what my counsellor says and what my friends say, I feel like I deserved it. But I know, deep down inside, I didn’t do anything wrong. I just wanted to have a friend there with me.
You are a dick. A massive one. You think yourself as a man with your low voice and being the tallest boy in the school. You are just a boy. You know what you’ve done and now, you like to show off about it.
And even though, I feel damaged. I’m getting better. I do have someone that respects me now. I, now, look into the mirror and see someone who is strong and deserves love.
Yes. I do still need to do more work. I do feel that guilt or sadness still but I understand that what you did to me isn’t my fault at all but yours; it was your cowardly act.
So, the boy who hurt me. I’m not going to stay hurt forever. And I’m happy to move on but also, say good bye to your face forever.
The young women who you abused.