An Open Letter to My Rapist

Posted on November 24, 2017

I praise God for his everlasting and abundant love. He’s blessed me with a boldness to face my brokenness and a beautiful community that’s supportive and encouraging of my healing.

I’ve spent several seasons filled with depression, embarrassment, pain, and mostly anger. At one point I was angry with all Black men not realizing that the person I was most upset with was me. I’ve decided to surrender the pain I’ve felt for so many years by embracing this experience as my lived truth. Thanks to my friends and family, I have learned how openness and honesty can be one of the most powerful tools for finding healing. It has been difficult a difficult journey and there’s still more healing ahead.

Sharing this letter with the universe is part one of my forgiveness process. I am choosing to move on and not subject myself to further confusion and pain by way of seeking closure from my rapist or justice from elsewhere. Despite my hope for this letter circulate back to him, I don’t need confirmation from him about what all occurred. With therapy, I found peace in my God and community, and for now, that’s all I really need. But I recognize that there are so many other people who’ve been violated and it’s important to know that they aren’t alone.

Ultimately, I hope that my story is helpful to others attempting to find their healing. If you’re struggling with forgiveness remember that it is a process and despite every tough step you take – you are loved and worthy of healing. Forgiveness might not come overnight – and that’s okay. Like I said, this is step one of my forgiveness process. Next I’ll have a ceremony to physically release the pained energy I’ve been consumed by.

Understand that even the darkest cloud is beautiful, regardless of the sunny or rainy weather that surrounds it. 

DISCLAIMER: The contents of this post are moderately graphic and may be triggering for survivors of sexual assault, abuse, or rape.

Dear Broken Spirit,

It took me several years to unblock my rape. I remember the end of the night quite well. I left the bathroom with you feeling deeply embarrassed, nearly incoherent and intoxicated, and guilty about what happened. If you forgot about that or don’t remember, let me recall it for you. Granted, this was my experience – so how you replay it in your own head might look different or might not be a memory at all.

Before this night, we spent months or maybe weeks not talking. Our relationship was hot and cold. I was foolish. Time after time, we’d hook up, you’d lie, I’d get upset, we wouldn’t speak, and then you’d work your charm and I’d fall for it all over again. However, the night of my rape was different. I don’t exactly recall what I was mad about this time, but I remember not being on speaking terms until this very night.

Liason Lounge was the move that night. My girls and I were solid friends with your frat, so we went to celebrate a birthday. I knew you’d be there and cautioned them beforehand to not let me talk to you. It didn’t work though, I am stubborn and you are charming and those characteristics were the perfect storm for what would ensue later in the evening.

I remember you approaching me at the bar and eventually, we talked through whatever issue I had with you at the time. While at the bar you enjoyed a “Beautiful”. I tasted it and did not like it at all. So you bought me a few drinks of my choice. The night continued. We flirted, kissed, and got seriously drunk. Once the bar closed, we met up at the after-party and upon arrival things intensified.

I remember people making jungle juice in the kitchen and once they finished it was just the two of us. You put me on the counter and started making out with me. It got hot and heavy very quickly but in the midst of it all, I warned you that sex was NOT an option that night. You said – OK. I’m not sure how much longer we made out but I do know that eventually you pulled me off the counter, took my hand, and began walking me to the back of the house. I followed with hesitation and said, “I don’t want to go to the bedroom”. You said, “We’re not going there”. Instead, you made a quick and sharp right turn into the bathroom.

As we continued to make out, I said once more – “Sex is not an option tonight”. You continued to put your hands down my bottoms and pulled them down. I was so confused and in that moment I froze. I recall thinking, “Well, he’s obviously not going to believe me”. I don’t remember being in my body. I was so drunk that I honestly don’t remember how I responded to you but I remember being silent. I remember placing my hands against the mirror to brace myself while in disbelief that you didn’t take no for an answer.

You weren’t violent. You didn’t drug me. This experience was not what they show in the movies or on TV. Nope – you knew me and my body. It was confusing because it felt like you cared about me in the moment. I confused lust with deep like. You so badly wanted me and my body and as a result, you didn’t hear me. It wasn’t until I came to consciousness and pushed you off of me. I told you, “NO – I don’t want to have sex”. You ushered me onto my knees and said, “Well, can you at least finish me”? I proceeded to do as you asked because *again* you didn’t take no for an answer. I was so drunk that in the middle of doing what you’d asked of me I gagged and then threw up all that I had in my system, alcohol and vile; thankfully, I made it to the toilet. You held my hair, helped me up and caringly watched me get myself together. I exited the bathroom first, eager to leave the party.

It was finally over. I was mortified, a little soberer after vomiting, and in shock. I drunkenly laughed it off with my friends not thinking anyone would believe me; shock from trauma will cause you to react in odd ways. I thought I was being dramatic and overactive, especially because of how drunk I was. So, I suppressed the memory but the experience haunted me for many years. For five years, I blamed myself and put no responsibility on you because you were drunk too.

Five years later, I began dating a really wonderful human being. Something happened between us that prompted him to ask if I’d ever been assaulted and my response was, “No, not really. I mean I’ve been violated but I don’t think assault”. I told him the story about our night together in that bathroom and after sharing with him, he gave my experience a name – Rape. I was in disbelief and it took many more conversations with other human beings to come to terms with the truth. You raped me.

This is my side of the story. To be clear I don’t think you’re a horrible human being. I do think you were (and hopefully are not still) a broken human being. To be honest, I was broken too. In fact, my culminating was more traumatic than this one night. From our relationship, I grew untrusting, resentful, and insecure. You were the first man I casually dated after my first and last loving relationship. You set the bar for what sort of treatment I’d accept from all of the men who would come after you. Mistreatment became a norm and it wasn’t until God saved me that I realized how broken I’d become. Understand, my condition is not entirely your fault. We were just two broken beings trying to figure out love and life. It just sucks that this is how I will forever remember you because I know at one point you truly cared for me. I remember the mix CD of love songs you made me, my favorite song you chose was Lotus Flower Bomb. Still, despite the fond memories I recall of you – it doesn’t disprove my truth.

Learning to see you as a flawed but lovable human being has been difficult to do. But recently, I was “seeing/casually dating” one of your good friends and fraternity brothers from a neighboring chapter. I confided in him about this experience, not knowing you were close, and he chose not to pursue me as result of my truth. He loves you like a brother, so he would OR could not believe my truth. Out of hurt, I blamed you and defamed him amongst my friends. The situation retriggered this suppressed anger that I’d been carrying all along. His rejection of the relationship was actually a blessing in disguise because now I’m on a journey toward actual healing. He helped me to see that people actually love you, despite your brokenness. After understanding that I realized that I deserve the same sort of grace from myself. If he could love and possibly even show mercy to a rapist, I should be able to do the same towards myself.

I decided to write this letter because it’s time for me to move on, let go, and forgive you. I will do my best to not waste more of my energy feeling angry, resentful, hurt, or violated. In lieu of those feelings, I choose to send you mercy, love, and light. I choose to let that memory go and move forward with the blessings God has in store for my life.

Forgiveness is the antidote to anger; and if that’s the most painfully liberating lesson I’ll learn in this life, I’ll take it.

Here’s to love, light, and the joy that follows forgiveness,

Allie B.