At around 1:30am on Saturday, a man broke into my apartment and tried to rape me. He did not succeed; the police caught him almost immediately (literally within minutes); and I am, for the most part, fine. But this did not happen in a vacuum. There is a context. And there are some things I just can’t let go.
- I have written a brief account of what, exactly, happened to me that night; if you would like, you are welcome to read it. I did not want to include it in the body of this post, because I wanted to keep triggers to a minimum – but I wanted an account to exist, because what happened to me was not ambiguous, and I do not want anyone to treat it as if it was. I don’t want to receive any dumb asks about what ‘really’ went down. Here’s what went down: a man broke into my house, and he tried to rape me. The end.
- I live with four men in their late twenties/early thirties. We have lived together for a year and a half, and I have never had any issues with any of them. They are smart, respectful, together dudes. But when I woke up that night, my first thought was that one of my roommates had gotten drunk and climbed into my bed. Many women experience this, I think: developing close, even intimate relationships with men – but knowing that, at any moment, the patriarchy could rear it’s ugly head. Your smart, respectful, together male friend will say or do something, and you’ll have no idea why you ever thought you could trust them.
- The only reason my assailant stopped was because one of my roommates started screaming and trying to kick in my door. Men listen to other men. Men are scared of other men. For this reason, in this instance, I am grateful that these are the people I live with.
- This is not the first time I have been sexually assaulted. When I woke up, when I realized what was happening, I was terrified. But right below the surface of my abject terror was a voice that said: Well, here it is. 1 in 4. Higher instances among the already victimized. You must have known this was coming. & here’s the fucked up thing: I found that very calming. Because I knew: this was always going to happen.
- The first time I was sexually assaulted, I didn’t put up much of a fight. I didn’t scream, and I sure as shit didn’t call the cops – because I was really, desperately in love with the man who attacked me, and willing to prioritize him over my physical and/or mental well-being. This was a very different circumstance, and I am a very different person now. I screamed, and I fought back. Because, while I knew that this was (statistically, at any rate) supposed to happen to me – I also knew I didn’t have to let him get away with it.
- When I got out of the shower yesterday, I noticed the petechiae around my eyes and the aching in my jaw. I read a lot of murder mysteries & watch a lot of cop shows; I know this is what happens when someone cuts off your air. I have a bruise on my knee. My nose may have bled a little bit. He didn’t ‘really’ hurt me, though. I am fine. And that makes me colossally lucky.
- This is the first time I have directly interacted with the NYPD. In general, cops make me very uncomfortable. From 2am til 2pm, our apartment was swarming with police. Every single person I interacted with was respectful, competent, and genuinely seemed to want to do right by me. This was very difficult to deal with. How do you respond to someone who cares about your well being, but also regularly supports a system of abhorrent violence & oppression How do you accept kindness that is conditional on the privilege you possess?
- Let me talk about my massive privilege. From a police perspective, I am, in many ways, a perfect victim. I am white. I am pretty, & very small (maybe a buck-ten when wet); I look defenseless. I am well educated. I do not engage in ‘risk-taking behaviors.’ And while there is an overwhelming amount of evidence to suggest that I am the victim of a sexually-motivated, violent crime, I was not ‘actually’ hurt.
- When it was revealed that nothing in our apartment had gone missing, an officer said to me, “I don’t think he wanted things – I think he wanted you!” One of the CSU techs later commented, “These types of incidents, they’re usually pre-meditated.” I can’t imagine that these things are true (that he came into the apartment looking for me, specifically me) – but the possibility is terrifying. Is there something about me? Is it because I’m so small? That I don’t look like I’d put up much of a fight? Do I exude something that says, ‘I’ve let men do this to me before – and they got away with it’? Even in this instance – when my attacker was a stranger, when I did everything right – I am still finding ways to blame myself.
- My assailant is not white. I live in a neighborhood that is becoming increasingly gentrified. From what my roommates & the cops have told me, this man was fucked up on something by the time he got into our home. I haven’t formally met him yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he is someone the system has desperately failed. I also trust that the system will continue to fail him as this case goes forward. (Let’s review: a break in; a 6’0” brown man vs. a tiny white girl.) I do not know how to feel about that. Is that justice, when it works in my favor?
- One of my friends, a future SuperLawyer, works for a public defender. She called me and asked me for my case number; she wants to petition her boss, to make sure no one in her office takes my assailant on as a client. Her office is very good at their collective job; they would serve him well, maybe even help get him a sentence that is rehabilitative rather than punitive. But I’m involved, so this case is now a conflict of interest. I don’t know how to feel about this either. What do I want to happen to this man?
- Another friend, a future SuperSoldier, said to me, “Some people are failed by the system, and some are just predatory motherfuckers – and regardless of whether this guy was born one, he is one now. It is too late to worry about him.” Is that true? Is there a point at which we cannot unfuck whatever damage has been done to a person that causes them to do damage to others? Again – is it different because it happened to me?
- Today, my subpoena to testify before the grand jury arrived. This was when I learned my assailant’s name. I didn’t feel anger towards him until he had a name. I felt scared, because someone had violated my home and tried to hurt me. But I didn’t know who, or why (I still don’t know why) – and I couldn’t get mad about it. But now he’s a person, a real goddamn person, and I am so angry and I am so scared. I have felt this way before & it consumed me. I don’t want to feel that way again.
- I hate feeling this fear more than anything in the entire world.
- I have a very strong support network. In the past few days, I have been flooded with emails, messages, offers of couches & food & more support than I know what to do with. This is not true for everyone who has these experiences; again, I am very, very lucky. I am trying to accept this love graciously – but it’s hard. I don’t want things. I want to do something. I want to so whatever it takes to make sure all my friends have deadbolts on their doors, that they know who they are letting into their lives, that they are actively talking to everyone they know about rape-culture. I want to guarantee that they never have to go through this.
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