Dating as a Survivor: an Open Letter to my Perpetrator

To my perpetrator:

I won’t flatter you, but I will admit that I’m not the same as I was. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but I’ve lost a lot of friends. When I go out, I stare at the door with my back to the wall. If you’re there, I watch you and wonder if you’ll do the same thing to whoever you meet that night. I avoid academic spaces I used to feel safe in. And you and I aren’t in the same classes anymore, because I failed after I was told that the only option was for me to continue going to lectures with you. You’ll also notice that I’m not embarrassed about what happened like you wanted, no, expected, me to be. I don’t avoid your gaze anymore; I stare back. 

I’ve noticed you’ve changed as well. You seem bolder now, entitled to spaces you know you don’t deserve to be in. I’m sure now that you feel you’ve been forgiven, that I’ve finally given into your pressure and recanted. To be clear, your actions were in violation of Title IX guidelines, and there is not a day that goes by I don’t wonder if I could’ve prevented you from hurting others if I had just followed through with the report. 

I know that it’s not my fault, but even after months of therapy, advocacy projects, and support from other survivors, I lay awake some nights asking myself how I could’ve let this happen. I wish that I had just stood up for myself, but instead, you’re allowed to continue your life as if nothing has changed… because nothing has. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at you without replaying that night. I still feel nauseous when you walk into the room, though I know you wouldn’t dare address me. Despite all of my strength, you and your actions still occupy so much space in my mind. 

Make no mistake: I’m not ashamed of how often I think about what you did to me or how the trauma has since manifested in my daily life. That shame should be yours. And truthfully, if the only thing that keeps you up at night is not the guilt for what you’ve done, but the fear that I’ll tell others what you did to me, that’s fine by me. Know that I won’t forget. 

You know who you are. Sit with that fear, feel our eyes on you, and let your anxiety make you question why you are where you are. I’ll do the same, but you know it’ll be for a different reason.

Fuck you,

A Relentless, Enraged, and Empowered Survivor