**I’ve thought about what to title this post for a while now, and although what I’ve chosen is a little blunt and may make any reader uncomfortable, you have no questions as to what this post is going to be about… but if I’m being honest, this post isn’t intended to be for any of my readers… it’s for me. It’s my way of coping with something and processing it.
So if this makes you uncomfortable, you can stop reading. But if you decide to keep reading… you’ve been warned? Yeah. **
But here it goes…
In titling this “To the Guy who Sexually Abused Me,” I found myself oftentimes very hesitant because I know that accusing you of such a thing has met me with threats of physical violence, as well as definite verbal and emotional abuse. I recognize that you didn’t rape me, and that there are girls who have experienced far worse than I have experienced.
However, I’ve invalidated my own pain and shame that has come with what you have done for long enough because “others have dealt with way worse.” I’m recognizing that it’s not my job to base my own experiences off of how bad someone else may have it.
I thought, maybe I should title this, “To the Man who Sexually Abused Me,” but you are a far cry from what it means to be a man. You are still just a boy, who has no respect for women. You only see body parts. You only see objects of your own sexual pleasure. And that is what you saw me as.
To you, “no” doesn’t exist. And it didn’t exist on the night that you took advantage of me.
It was as if my “no,” in your eyes, was either a challenge to just keep pushing me to have sex with you or it was “I really mean, ‘yes,’ so please continue.”
On either account of what you interpreted my “no” as, you’re an idiot and a selfish asshole.
I will admit that I had two faults in this.
At first, I was interested in maybe making out with you. I should have read the situation better and recognized that your intentions were to only have sex with me. I was interested in something harmless. You were definitely not.
And second, I stopped pushing you away after a while. My “no” should have been more stern. I should have “spoken up” and communicated that I was uncomfortable more clearly. But why? You weren’t listening.
My first ten, “I need to leave,” or “I want to go home” phrases should have been a clear sign that I wasn’t interested in having sex with you. Clearly, I wanted to leave. I obviously did not want you to stay on top of me. But rejecting you, for a reason only God Himself may know, caused you to think I was interested in having sex with you.
You’re an idiot and a selfish asshole.
Body language is what makes up a majority of communication, and my body language was clearly communicating that I was over this situation. Then what my body language didn’t communicate, my words did. You knew you were taking advantage of me. Don’t play stupid.
The problem is… when I actually confronted you about it, you had zero remorse. Instead, you spoke to me as if I were a dog… which is quite different than how you spoke to me when you were trying to get in my pants. You then proceeded to say that you would like to both “slap the shit out of” me and “knock the shit out of” me, and that someone should go ahead and “fuck [me] because that would do [me] some good.”
May I remind you that you are an idiot and a selfish asshole.
I feel sorry for any other woman who ever gets involved with you because you strip away every bit of a woman’s worth. You see her simply as a piece of meat… she’s just a body for you to have sex with. Then she is simply a ragdoll for you to threaten to physically abuse, and a dog for you to verbally abuse.
I hate that because of you, I have to go brush my teeth every time my breath smells like it did that night because otherwise I’ll throw up.
I hate that the thought of another male ever touching me again also makes me want to throw up.
I hate that I now have actual panic attacks when I think about being alone with other guys who are semi-strangers… one of these actually occurred before my first day at a new job.
I hate that I’ve essentially given up on being married because I fear ever feeling as disgusting as you’ve made me feel or having any sort of flashback of that night.
I hate that you got away with zero repercussions… that you couldn’t care any less about how this has affected me… that your life has gone on as normal, while mine has actually, unfortunately, been affected.
I don’t write this because I think you’ll ever read it… I actually highly doubt that you could pronounce half the words in this or have any sort of reading comprehension that is higher than a fourth grader… and with that in mind, I want to thank you.
You have helped me see that I am not, by any means, sexually attracted to men based on their looks… and I’m certainly not sexually attracted to a guy who only wants to talk about football and sex. You’ve helped me learn about myself that I actually need an emotional connection and intellectual conversation in order to even consider being sexually attracted to a guy.
You have also taught me that a guy can be quoting Scripture one moment and forcefully trying to get into my pants the next. You’ve removed a lot of my naivety regarding the world I live in. I now am more cautious about the situations I get myself into. I’ve learned how to be annoyingly stern with my “no.”
Because of you, I’ve changed the way I interact with others, and I make sure not to just blindly and limitlessly love others anymore. Kindness apparently is easily mistaken as a sexual advance. I lost a bit of the way I innocently love people that night. There are no words for me to adequately grieve that loss.
I haven’t found forgiveness for you yet.
And any fool who tells me that I need to just let go of all the hurt and shame that accompanied that night doesn’t understand that forgiveness is a process.
I’m choosing to begin that process. One day, I’ll update this post with a “I forgive you” epilogue.
But that isn’t today.
Today, I want to tell my dad and my closest guy friends what happened and give them your address, so they can fight my battles for me.
But this isn’t their battle. And kicking your ass won’t fix what is going on with me internally… that this broke me and I need only my Father to fight this battle for me. Because when He fights on my behalf, He fights for restoration and healing in my heart. He fights for me to know my true identity and original design.
He’s a really good Dad and the best friend I’ve ever had, and I’m going to let Him fight this battle. Because I am exhausted. I can’t fight anymore… against you, against my shame, against the pain, against the fears and hesitancy to love or trust anyone, or even for myself.
Forgiveness will come. The process has begun.
I may be a mess right now, but I’m grateful that Abba is making this mess beautiful.
He is making me new.
I’m not another victim of sexual abuse… I’m actually a child of a King.
My identity isn’t found in what happened to me; it isn’t found in what you have said to me or about me; it isn’t found in how you view me; it isn’t found in what I am to you.
My identity is found in that I have been chosen by a King who is kind enough to let me sit at His table and feast… a Father who runs to me with open arms and pursues me in my places of hiding… a Liberator who frees me from my own imprisonment of shame and condemnation.
A Man who daily reminds me:
“I’m not disappointed in you.
I’m not embarrassed by you.
I am proud of you.
I am fighting for you.
I am keeping you alive.”
That is the kind of love that I will wait for.
I won’t settle for cheap affirmation and compliments. I won’t settle for trading in my identity of Daughterhood to find the approval of any guy. I won’t be easily pursued by any man who isn’t willing to love me for who I am and not what I can give them, do for them, or how I could potentially be a sexual accomplishment.
Thanks for showing me everything I don’t want in a guy.