Turquoise Boot Straps

The Hardest Part

The hardest part of recovery from sexual assault, at least for me, has been defining my feelings towards my attackers. The first attack happened, and shortly after my assailant disappeared from my life. He never stuck around after the fact, which I think is what's helped me "get over it" so quickly. Well that, and the fact that I haven't been able to recall the full memory of what happened. I only have bits and pieces here and there, but beyond that, the rest of it is lost. I focus mostly on the second time I was raped for my various awareness endeavors because that's the one that I have been able to remember clearly. Having clear memories of it has made an impact on my life much more profound than the first event. Forming a relationship with my rapist, and battling feelings of genuine love versus anger made things extremely complicated. On some level, I knew that I was an object to him. Instead of trusting my feelings, I chose to believe his lies. Those things consistently rattle around in my head when my PTSD takes over, and my thoughts become disordered and overwhelming. Thank God, it doesn't occur daily anymore after completing my trauma therapy, but every once and a while, the intrusive thoughts will still sneak up on me.

Do you know the things that hurt the most? It's not memories of the trauma. I can sit here and talk about that all day long without shedding a tear now that I've accepted it and moved forward. It's the memories of the good times when my rapist treated me well and did everything right. The days when he did everything that you would expect from a genuine and loving partner who truly cared about your well being. Those times are the very reasons I fell in love with him; despite the rape, the violence, cheating, and every other abusive trait he displayed. Those days when the abuse seemed to disappear, and he took care of me. Those days were the days that kept me from completely losing my shit and going insane during our tumultuous relationship. Those days are the very same days that he now uses against me, trying to disprove my claims of abuse and rape. The memories of those moments hurt more than any trauma he ever put me through.

I thought I was prepared to deal with that facet of my recovery journey as I gathered my writing for my first book, but I wasn't. I spent a lot of time stuck in one chapter, and it took me several years to finally put things in perspective to move forward. There were no written words to convey my feelings or to describe his deception accurately without tearing open the wounds all over again. Reliving those good memories still boils my blood. I know it's pretty much the opposite of how most people react. The fact that he raped me doesn't inspire the same level of anger as the fact that he aided in the repression of my memories. He was quite often the perfect example of a gentleman during the remainder of our relationship. The fact that many people look at our relationship and can only see either black or white doesn't bother me. What bothers me is those same people forgetting that the reality I live with mires in grey. I didn't only experience horrors unspeakable with this man. I didn't choose to stay with him only due to codependency. Good days were abundant too as is so often the case in abusive relationships.

On his good days, he lived up to every expectation that I had for a potential partner. He took care of me when I was sick. He helped around the house. He called me throughout the day. He paid for most dates unless I insisted otherwise. He interacted well with most of my family, and he even dropped my little sister off at prom. She didn't have a date and didn't want to show up alone, so my abuser went out of his way to escort her.

He provided emotional support for me when I needed it, and he raped me. He cheated on me consistently. He lied about our relationship. He used me, took full advantage of my innocence, and robbed me of what could have been some of the best years in my life. All of those opposing things are true. I know now the likelihood of his good days being genuine is a stretch at best. They were probably the typical cat, and mouse scenario abusers often employ to keep their victims close. My intelligence knowing that, and my emotions feeling that forever provides a constant internal battle inside my head. It makes things very difficult moving forward, more so, as time marches on putting more distance between me and the events of my past.