I saw my rapist the other day

and some thoughts on the discourse around Cassie Ventura

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TW: rape

I saw my rapist the other day. The one who, I only recently found out is a lecturer at the same university I work at. The one whose office is just up the street from mine. The one who I wrote about in chapter four of my book. I was, thankfully, driving and he was walking on the sidewalk. He looked as scary as I remember him being that night.

I sometimes play the game of “If I had to run into any of the four men who assaulted me, who would I prefer?” He is always last. The other three experiences are fragmented. Perhaps more memory will return at some point, but in the meantime, I remember too vividly this one. After I saw him, I immediately started crying. I had flashbacks for the rest of the day of what he did to me; intrusive, unwanted visualizations. Thankfully, I had an acupuncture appointment scheduled and I do believe that helped ease the flashbacks. I remember I was presently safe.

Rape is inherently violent, but this one was the most physically painful for me. Perhaps this is why it’s the experience I remember so well. This was the only one where I bled. As I write in my book:

He noticed I was bleeding, and then stopped. I felt lightheaded. He said we could keep going, but I lied and said I needed to get home. It was late after all. I just knew I needed to get out of there alive. He flung my bra at me. I must have scoffed at this, because he said: "What? You seem really uncomfortable." Scared and shaken, I said to him: "No, I'm just really tired. That's all. I should go." I put my clothes on, and he walked me downstairs to the front door. He leaned in to kiss me goodbye. As I left, I noticed he still hadn't washed my blood off of his fingers. And then he said to me, "You better believe I'm going to jerk off to you now." His orgasm was my pain.

He lived in the house a boyfriend of mine from two summers ago lived in. Madison is small, but not that small. He claimed to be a Dom. This was before I knew anything about fake Doms (they are, unfortunately, all over the place. Cishet men love to think they’re Doms). I was flirting with submissiveness and was intrigued. I had previously had great experiences letting go of control in the bedroom. I also had border-line scary ones.

I still often wish I never drove him home that night. I wish I never took his offer of going inside. I think about the pain I could have evaded.

But what happened, happened.

Seeing this man who assaulted me and witnessing trolls on social media victim-blame Cassie Ventura (Diddy’s ex girlfriend who he drugged, raped, trafficked) this week has felt heavy. It has been difficult to see others put Cassie’s now husband on a “Good Man™” pedestal. I wince at all of the “It takes a strong man to be with a woman who has gone through all of that.” Does it really?

Why does it take a “strong” man to be with a woman who has been raped and abused? This is a loud way to say that you’re disgusted by what survivors have endured. It’s a way to say survivors don’t deserve love and compassion. It’s a scalding knife reopening the wound that someone else created. I reject the idea that partners of survivors are glowing angelic saviors. It is not hard to love people who have been brutalized.

Cassie won’t see these people’s wretched comments, but myself and other survivors are reading them and feeling the weight of them. We’re seeing that you think we’re lucky to be in a relationship—to be loved. We’re witnessing your pity of our significant others. We’re seeing you say you could never love a woman “like that.”

I’m sending all of my love to survivors today (and every day). This week has been brutal. I’m sending all of my love to Cassie, who has had to testify at 8 months pregnant against the man who abused her.

I’m sending love to myself—past and present. The memories are painful, but I am safe and well. The tears still happen, but as Clarissa Pinkola Estés writes:

Tears are a river that take you somewhere. Weeping creates a river around the boat that carries your soul-life. Tears lift your boat off the rocks, off dry ground, carrying it downriver to someplace new, someplace better.

May we all continue to follow our tears to someplace better.

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