The Road To Justice

There was a small part of me that hoped when my old friend, otherwise known as the man who sexually assaulted me, sat in the police station for the first time, that he would admit what he did. Therefore ending the need for me to keep re-living and re-telling my story.

As I sat on the beach watching the sun begin to set behind the hammering, thundering waves, I received an email. My ability to see the good in people made me smile as the email came in. But, Unfortunately, the smile didn't last. It was quickly replaced by a frown. The hope that ran through me when I opened the email was replaced by anger and pain. The ocean was fierce and brutal that night, it was like it knew what was coming, as if it was showing me that I would have to fight to get to the sunset.

Reading between the lines, he'd denied what happened. My hope was based on the fact that I know he has admitted it to friends. Yet when there are actual consequences that might affect his life, he hides behind the law. Unfortunately, A law that we all know when it comes to sexual assault and rape victims is more often than not, on the side of the perpetrator.

As I sat watching the sunset that evening, I stopped being able to think about the new day approaching. Instead, I was whisked back to that one day, that one night that changed everything. That changed me. I made my excuses and left the beach. I sat in my car screaming and crying, releasing all of the anger. The anger at myself, for allowing myself to hope that he may turn out to be a decent human. The anger at him for not being a decent human. I wanted it to be over but, instead, I was faced with the unknown of not knowing what would come next.

I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let him win. But by thinking about him, I knew he would win. I've spent too much of my life with the shadow of his actions holding me back. After my screaming marathon, I did feel better. I had managed to name and feel my emotions and then get them the hell out of my body. I struggled with feeling my emotions for as long as I can remember. Rather than feel, I would push them away and say that I was fine. But, let's be honest, who isn't guilty of that same thing?

After a night of pure unadulterated hate and pain coursing through me, I woke up the next day feeling OK. My throat was a little sore, but I was OK. He did the worst thing he could do and denied the truth, but I was OK. It was quite a liberating moment. I took the day for myself, wrote, watched cheesy movies, spoke to friends, meditated and did some yoga. I had some valuable me time to remind myself that I am important. The anger didn't rear its head again, nor did the pain, not because I pretended it wasn't there, but because I let them have their say the night before.

I do not know what is going to happen. I have had to admit to myself that it is going to be a long and difficult journey. One where I am going to be taken back to that night. One that at times is going to be incredibly painful, as I learn to deal with each new turn in the road, and navigate whatever obstacles come my way.

I'm sure he was scared, and maybe he will admit to the police what he did one day. Perhaps he won't. That is not my concern. I am my concern. Other people that have been through what I have are my concern. I can sleep at night knowing that I am telling the truth. If my walking down this sometimes scary path helps even one person feel that they're not alone and helps them come out from beneath their own secret and shame, then every knock I receive is worth it, and it will only make me stronger.