The Piece of Myself that I let Go

The past few weeks, I've been struggling. I hate this time of the year. A few years ago, I started telling bits and pieces of my story, trying to find my voice as a sexual assault victim. My first post started as simple as #metoo, and slowly I have used my voice to take back the power that was taken from me. It's easy to share my story when I'm happy, when I'm striving, and when I'm making progress and working through my trauma, but if you're a survivor like me, you know, that isn't the whole story. The last thing I want to do as an advocate is preach toxic positivity, only showing my "strength" after putting myself together because that isn't an accurate representation of what it means to be a survivor. A few weeks ago I started writing whenever I had a panic attack. I sat on the floor and started typing whatever came to mind. What I'm sharing isn't meant to sound beautiful or read smoothly like a story. It's me opening my soul to myself as I try to process through my pain once again. It wasn't written to be read, but with the few weeks I've had, and the other survivors I've talked to, this part of myself needs to be shared. So please read at your discretion. My primary purpose of sharing is to help those who are like me. As always, even though I am not 100% okay right now, if you or a loved one is struggling from assault, do not hesitate to reach out. We are in this together, and I will listen and, if you're ready, help you find resources to help you heal.

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It's been months since I had a panic attack because of you. The past year I have healed a part of my soul that I never thought I would get back. I can finally sleep next to my husband, and last month, I slept in a hotel twice without even thinking about you. I didn't think about that night and how I had to force myself to breathe, telling myself I was scared to die. I didn't picture myself running down the hallway barefoot, trying to find someone to help me and what it felt like to hide in the cupboard of the breakfast bar until someone could come for me. I finally got the courage to block you on social media, and most days, I don't even acknowledge your existence. So why does it feel like it's happening all over again? I run through my day, and I can't recall any of my "normal" triggers. I'm happy; I'm not depressed at the moment. I am surrounded by people I love, and I'm pursuing my dreams. I have nothing to be sad about, but yet again, that is not how trauma works. Once again, I feel the tightness in my throat and feel myself fighting to breathe. Maybe the silent clock inside my body knows it's only a matter of time until my "memories" on Facebook shows me pictures of you and me.

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Stupid you and stupid me for not being strong enough to delete the only memories I have of you. Every year I'm haunted by how naive I was ever to think I was safe with you. The warning signs were there… my gut knew something was wrong, but back then, I couldn't trust myself. I'm forced to look at my pink strand of hair, smiling next to you…our facial features are so similar, especially our noses. I hated my nose growing up. I hated how big it was and the bump that made it look like I had broken it. When I met you, you made me feel proud of it. My nose was something beautiful that came from my Assyrian ancestors. My whole life, you made me feel unlovable and that somehow, I wasn't good enough for you to want to love me or even attempt to be in my life. How dare you make me feel that way, for you to come into my life long enough to destroy me. Before you, I was only afraid of the dark, but now I'm scared of everything. It's been six years, and I still feel your hands go between my legs. It hadn't even been 30 minutes after you assaulted me you told me I misunderstood what happened and that the lines got blurred between me being your daughter and being a young woman as if I had any say when you forced your hands through my underwear.

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Today Facebook asked me if I wanted to share the dreaded picture of the first photo we took together. It was the day I picked you up from the airport. I see the version of myself I miss. I knew pain before you. I had been groomed and forced to kiss and be fondled by an elder in the church for ten years, and yet I wasn't broken. I was so strong. I would go to the store by myself. I ran down the roads in my small town without a partner. I didn't break until you. I stared at that picture today for what seemed like forever. I knew I shouldn't have, but I read all the comments again. I read you writing that you loved me, the women commenting, "you're such a great guy to work with," another person telling me, He's a great friend to have, and that I have great genetics and how every patient falls in love with him. The worst ones were saying I have a great "dad" who's a wonderful best friend and how he has waited his whole life to be with me, and lucky me, because my "dad" is a great man. They had no right to call you a great dad…You gave me up, not once coming to see me. You weren't even the one to reach out to me when we started talking. That was all me. So why do they get to look at you like you're some great "dad" because you decided to meet me for the first time when I was 19? You were never my dad. A dad would never crawl into bed behind their sleeping daughter as you did. A dad would have never touched me in the places you touched me, letting me feel your boner go into me. A "great dad" wouldn't have treated me the way you treated me. The constant gaslighting and shifting the blame as if the excuse of the line getter blurred between me being your daughter and a beautiful woman would ever be valid. I remember crying and yelling at you on the phone a few weeks after you assaulted me, telling you that you ruined my life. I told you I woke up screaming because I could feel you touching me, all I did was cry. I told you I didn't want to live anymore, and I had almost committed suicide. Do you remember what you said to me after that? You got mad and asked me how much longer would I hold this over YOUR head...as if you were the victim and somehow a few weeks was supposed to be enough time for me to heal from what you did. You asked how you were ever supposed to make it up to me if I kept bringing up the past and rubbing it in your face. Then you dare tell me, "you don't think I'm suffering? Don't you think I want to kill myself after what happened? I'm not eating. I haven't gone out since it happened, and I'm struggling with suicidal thoughts too, but I'm not bringing that up to you because you shouldn't have to feel guilty about something that was my fault. I'm trying to fix what I did, but how can we move on and start working on building our relationship back up if you bring this up every few days? you said. "I'm hurting too". You knew how to control me with your words and empty promises, and even worse you made me doubt that the assult ever happened.

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I couldn't stand having to message you all the time, but a part of me didn't want to let go. That tiny little piece inside me kept saying, what if it hadn't happened? What if it was a small mistake and you didn't know how to be "a dad." I hate you for making me ever question if what you did was wrong. You will never understad how many times I prayed to God, that you would stop messaging me because I was too weak to push you out of my life. Then one day, the messages stopped. Even though a part of me thanked God, you no longer messaged me; I couldn't help but be furious that you were the one that left once again. You shouldn't have had the right to be the one that left. It should have been me. I should have been strong enough.

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Dammit Bonipaul, I was only 19 years old. You only gave me a month to be happily married to my highschool sweetheart. We didn't have time to build a routine and to transition to being married. You took that from me. I wasn't able to sleep in the same bed as my husbnad for six long years, because as soon as I closed my eyes and he shifted behind me all I could think about was you. Two years ago I tried to be brave. I tried telling a few people the truth about what you took from me, and do you know what they said? They accused me of cheating on my husband with a random man and then cried wolf because I had gotten caught. I sat there pleading with them to listen, as I tried to find the words that were so lost in my soul and they looked at me while having a panic attack and told me I was crazy. They threatened me by saying if I didn't get my life together I would be locked up and everything I loved would be taken away. I didn't get the chance to even say your name. I became so broken I couldn't even stand. I struggled to live each and every day while you get to live you happy life surrounded by young women, getting invited to baby showers, weddings, birthday parties...if only the knew the monster you so cleverly hide.

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A few weeks later I started seeing a new therapist I was determined to heal from you, my therapist had me write down everything in detail that you did to me for something called exposure therapy. I was forced to sit down and live through every second that you were here, and then he told me to read my story to someone I trusted. I didn't know who to trust. I didn't know if I could ever be brave enough to try and tell another soul; you were a secret that I learned to keep silent. I decided I couldn't let you win so I walked to the nursing building, sat down with my trusted instructor, and asked her if I could read my story. I shook as I read through my journal. Page after page, I cried as I pushed myself through it, and when It was done, and I was able to shut my book, I was scared to look her in the eyes. I was so scared she would see me the way I saw myself. Then I looked up into her eyes, and saw she had been crying with me. She wrapped me in her arms and told me I was strong and that what I did to get away took courage. She didn't tell me any of the terrible things you told me; she didn't tell me I was crazy or should be locked away like the others, she just held on to me tight as we cried together. She told me I was worthy. She said I was worthy of happiness and love, and if she had to call me every day to tell me I was worthy, she would. At that moment in that brightly colored office, I let you go. I realized I didn't need to mourn over you because I found a new family that saw me for me. I had people who believed in me, saw worth in me, and that made letting the idea of you go so much easier.

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Right now, at this moment, everything that you did feels like it's downing me. Every day feels impossible to walk through, but I will survive this. I will cry, and I will have some bad days, but one thing I know now is..that I am very strong, and this does not define me. Once my soul feels stronger, I will get up, and I'll forget all about you until the next time which sadly will happen. These small valleys do not define me and do not take away the progress I have made. I am successful, I am smart, I am happy, and I am loved. I have boundaries, stand up for myself now, and have created a family that loves me. No part of you has played a role in my success. You didn't make me stronger; I did that. I'm not ashamed about what happened anymore because I'm not the one that did anything wrong. I am better off without you. I am not crazy, I did not ask for it. You helped bring me into this world, and sadly I will always apart of you. You were supposed to protect me and sheild me from the evil this world has to offer, but you did the opposite. I refuse to be broken any longer. I am strong and my voice will heard and you will never get to take that away from me again.