Let's not do that again

Two weeks ago I received an email from the local law enforcement saying there was not enough physical evidence to prosecute a sexual assault I was subjected to in April. I've begun to think of that assault as more of a hostile takeover, especially as 

Please note that email is NOT how most people are informed. But after several days of trying to synch with my rape advocate and the investigating officer (who wanted to hold the meeting at my house - no thank you, I said had immediately. I don't feel I need to host that tea party. We can meet someplace neutral or they can just email their news.)

On a rainy Sunday in April, I met someone for a coffee and the afternoon ended in sexual assault. Time slowed in the moments of the assault and after. Was it worse being assaulted this time fully aware of what was happening and that if I tried fight back I would very quickly find myself with severe internal organ damage? Was it worse wondering in the five scalding showers and dissection conversations afterwards where I had misstepped? At least when I was sexually abused as a child, the predator had initiated his attack whilst I was asleep. At least at university, it was down to Rohypol that I found myself terrified, confused and shaking. 

That time, I did report the incident, only to have the head of campus police ask me if I was sure and could I blame the guy? 'After all,' he had said, leaning across his desk to pat my hand, 'You're so pretty.'

This time, I was older - 46. I'm more self-aware than that 19 year old, than the 8 year old. But was I? 

I had invited the rapist into my home. I had washed the items. I had scoured my body and tried to shake off the increasing roiling nausea and agitation. My children came home their co-parent's house. I made dinner. I read stories. I showered again and again after the children went to bed. When I came out I'd the third shower, my eldest was waiting in the hallway. 

'Something's happened,' she said her deep blue eyes narrowed. 'You're not right and I don't mean weird. You're always weird.'

I took a deep breath and tried to smile. 'Yes. Something happened today. I was hurt today.'

'Hmmm'. She folded her arms. 'It was bad. I heard you talking to Aunt C.'

'Yes.' I swallowed hard, closed my eyes. 'It was bad.'

'I don't know what has happened but she's right. You need to tell the police.'

'Oh, I don't know...'

'MOM! What did you do when someone hurt me?' I 

blinked, looked at my hands. 

'We went to the police and filed a report.'

'Excactly. Stop thinking that you are not worth the same care and fight. No one should ever hurt you.' My 13 year old grabbed my shoulders. 'Sort it. We need you.'

It took me another two days to file a report. Did you know you can do that online now? On the Thursday, a 'Thank you' card arrived from the rapist. Shaking, I put it in a plastic bag and set it high on a shelf, just in case the police did actually come round. They did, 10 days later. A dead friend sat with me during the interview. I gave them a bagged pillowcase that I hadn't washed and the card. I explained how the day had unfolded, about how I had been up late the night before, had thought about cancelling but didn't because I could hear my grandmother's voice in my head saying 'A lady doesn't cancel on the day,' forgetting that being lady-like has done me very little service in this lifetime.  

The decision to press charges was not one I came to easily. I was worried that my past issues with depression, the darker aspects of a my failed marriage and CPTSD around my mom catching on fire, the dead first kid would all be used to discredit me. It's what a good defense attorney would do, I knew, if the case ever made it to court. I also knew I hadn't done the police or potential prosecutor any favours washing everything and not getting myself examined at A&E. I had called the GP - the assault wasn't conventional, if rape can ever be called that - and I was worried about irreparable physical damage.

I already knew there would be psychological damage. 

Shoving myself into those containers of expectations has never worked out well. I don’t know that I am any better at it now, but I have actively tried to date more consciously, be honest about who I am and my desires, and to discover and own my sexuality. So, when my first serious foray into online dating was an unmitigated disaster, I decided to take a more strategic, old-school approach: I hired a matchmaker. Spoiler: the rapist did not find me via the matchmaker. I got tired of waiting and decided I should try vetting for myself again. 

After the assault, the matchmakers came through with a match and I met with him. Unsurprisingly, we were not a fit, not in the least because I was ‘guarded.’ My ethos in that moment was simply ‘I will not allow myself to be afraid of men simply because of this situation.’ But after that, I did put myself on pause with the matchmakers and I did perhaps the most ‘white chick with privilege’ thing I could do, I took myself off to an Ayurvedic yoga retreat in Madeira (https://www.google.com/travel/hotels/s/gXsBqXhR2Tty5bzZ9). By the time I left for the retreat, I was beyond frazzled to the point where even my co-parent was nervous. I came back, more or less in tact (although, I could have stayed for a year and probably am still there in a parallel timeline). 

I came back to several emails and phone calls from the police and decided that actually, I did need to make use of the rape advocacy services and THAT decision has been one of best decisions my support network cheered me on to action. What spurred me to seek the solace of advocacy was two-fold: a flagrant violation of data protection and the police calling me to ask my opinion on whether they could lift the bail restrictions on the person under investigation. They seemed taken aback at the vociferousness of which I said ‘Hell no.’

The point of this post isn't to garner pity or sympathy. The point is that I will not be silent, hide in shame, or fear because I was sexually assaulted. I know the justice system is beleaguered and flawed, I know that most of us are just trying to do our best day to day. I know that I am in an incredibly fortunate situation to have rape advocacy and support on my literal doorstep and I need for more survivors of assault to know those resources are available for them if and should they need them.  I know there are more resources available but here are few starting points, two in the UK and one in the US. 

https://247sexualabusesupport.org.uk/

https://www.nhs.uk/live-well/sexual-health/help-after-rape-and-sexual-assault/

https://www.nsvrc.org/find-help