I've been thinking about this letter alot lately. Maybe it's the fall, the work I do, the brisk smell of change in the air, or the anniversary that just rolled by. It's hard to say, but the story this morning of a 15 year old girl being assaulted by multiple people as others stood by and did nothing was too close to home. Because I can still feel that quiet terror in me, the ache in my body. I can still remember how everything around me swirled, tore and distorted. So this is for hir, and for me. It's not perfect, but it was a step towards something that felt like justice.
In 2001 one of my closest friends raped me. In 2003 I began to call it that. And in 2006 I sent a letter to his mother and sister, our friends and to him.
Tristan,
I’ve been putting off writing this letter for about 5 years now. I can never seem to come up with the right thing to say. I can’t help but remember all the good times we had together and what good friends we once were. I can’t help but remember all the times that you’d helped me pick myself up and put myself back together and how many times I tried to do the same for you. I’ve tried to remember the funny, loving, gracious, kind, Tristan I once knew. I’ve tried to hold onto my memory of him so I wouldn’t have to face the damage that you’ve done to me.
It’s been years since we’ve talked and we both know why. We both know why there were no more phone calls or casual hellos or laughs. Maybe you’ve chalked it up to bad sex, I know I tried to, but it wasn’t bad sex Tristan….it was rape. Maybe you tried to convince yourself otherwise but that’s the point of this letter, to rid you of all possible doubt. To make absolutely sure that you know what you’re responsible for. You raped me. Maybe while it was happening you tried to convince yourself that I wasn’t crying or that I was screaming out of pleasure and not pain. Maybe you assumed it was my inexperience that made me so stiff and withdrawn. Well let me clear it all up for you. I wasn’t wet because I didn’t want to have sex with you. I pulled away because I was scared. I screamed because you were hurting me. After you went to sleep, I sat in my bathtub for nearly two hours trying to rinse off the blood and get the swelling down. You did this Tristan. You are responsible for raping one of your closest friends. Maybe you tried to forget all this. Maybe you tried to forget the part where I said maybe we should take things in steps. Maybe you tried to forget all the horrible things you said while it was happening. Maybe you tried to forget it ever even happened. But I haven’t. I’ve lived with it every day and I remained silent because I didn’t want to believe that my friend that I loved so dearly was capable of such violence.
You have ruined every good memory that we ever had. It took me a long time to come to terms with what you did and it took me even longer before I could speak it. But I’m done with that. My silence does nothing but hurt me and leaves others at risk. I’m not protecting you anymore. From now on I’m using your name when I talk about this and I will be sending a letter to you mother, sister and all our mutual friends telling them what you’ve done. I can’t even begin to tell you the pain you have caused me. I can’t begin to tell you how much it hurts me to accept that a persin that I once loved and cared for, a persin that was once such an important part of my life has so negatively affected how I view myself, my body and the world around me.
You are responsible for your actions Tristan, and your actions have permanently scarred somebody that you once called a friend. I would hope that you might sit down and spend a lot of time thinking about what that means and one day have the courage to take responsibility for that action.
Blyth
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