There is silence.

Why don't we say anything? Could we just "speak up"? For someone who has never been used, abused, or controlled for their body, it's a reasonable question. Those who have never experienced the deep, dark shame that results from being used as a tool and a remedy People who have never experienced the dirt that you believe you will never be able to wash away in your lifetime.

There is so much more to sexual exploitation than just two bodies. It is a scourge. an epidemic. A bed bug outbreak The leprosy. The virus spreads quickly and affects everyone in its path as soon as reports of it surface. How do those in close proximity to the infection behave? People flee from it. Within their homes, they lock themselves. They envelop themselves in as much "I wasn't there to see for myself" and "there are always two sides to a story" personal protective equipment as they can

But what's the actual story here?

Everybody left me there. You departed. You were horrified and alarmed to learn that things weren't what you had assumed, and you abruptly left me without saying anything. Before I could even finish speaking, you cut me off and silenced me by running as quickly as you could. How come? Because the least disruptive option for your comfortable lives was to leave me.

You chose him even though my life was upended, engulfed in guilt, hate, and blame, and everything I knew was taken from me because I trusted him to look out for me in my hour of need. You chose him because you have a longer relationship with him (even though his past includes manipulation and betrayal of his family). You chose him due to his ties within the community. You chose him because staying in the matrix is the easiest pill to swallow. The reason you chose him is that he signs your paycheck. It's why you chose him: he can act as if it never happened.

And you chose me to be the antagonist. It had to be her fault, surely? Where can the fault lie? What about her being a woman? She was close to him, which “weakened his resolve.” She wasn't supposed to be so alluring. Even in the midst of her brokenness, depression, and suicide thoughts, she ought to have defended herself. The man who betrayed her trust and took what he needed should have been able to repel her with strength. In order to assist the man in charge of her in controlling his cravings, she ought to have been stronger during her moments of brokenness and vulnerability. She was it. It certainly had to be.

She ought to have been more powerful.

To the same people who looked at me in my brokenness and said, "You're so strong to be getting through this; we know how hard this is," and they prayed for me. You're not alone; trust your therapist and start taking medication. I lost you. He perceived an opportunity to pounce and repeatedly take what he wanted, whereas you saw my helplessness and desperation and wanted to help me. And now that you are aware of what was going on, she ought to have been more resilient. " We weren't present." But you weren't. You noted me. You were aware of my weakness. It was YOU there.

Why, then, do we say nothing? Because our natural sense of survival tells us that we cannot withstand any more attacks. We want to heal, not have our wounds torn open from head to toe in order to justify our "weaknesses." Because of our presence and closeness, we don't want to be "the home wrecker." Because when we look in the mirror again, we are attempting to restore the least amount of value to ourselves.

We remain silent because you abandoned us in the face of an army of people who wish to have as little disruption in their lives as possible. We also know we won't make it through the battle when we compare the forces in front of us to those behind us.

You silence us, so we remain silent. We don't say anything because we somehow believe that our very existence is the problem. We don't say anything because we are powerless against the legions of rumors and finger-pointing. To survive, we don't say anything.