I was sexually assaulted a year and a half ago by my best friend of twenty years. Her husband hid in the bathroom with his hand sticking out from behind the door as he secretly filmed it. I screamed and yelled and said I saw him. He simply pulled his hand back into the bathroom without a word. My best friend simply said, “don’t worry, it’s just for personal use.”
After a month of utter heartbreak, gruesome nightmares, terror, and isolation, I finally reported him to our mutual church. Because, might I mention, he was a PASTOR. He didnt get fired—they allowed him to voluntarily step down so that he could continue working as a pastor later without it being officially on his record he was fired. (A wonderful policy, am I right?) I made it clear to the pastor that I didnt want them to unnecessarily suffer out of revenge, but that I wanted to make sure no one else would go through the horror that I did, which is why I reported it to the church.
I stayed silent for a year and a half. I isolated. I tried to kill myself. I lost my entire community of 20 years. I told a select few people—my family and three close friends who didn’t know them. I knew that sexual assault is a very serious thing and that if people knew, they’d forever think of them differently. So I went into hiding. For their sake. Because even though I have had nightmares every single week, sometimes every single night, I wanted the best for them. She was my best friend forever, after all.
After being in therapy for 10 months, I finally listened to my therapist. I realized that by protecting them, I wasn’t protecting myself. Why should I allow them to keep all of our mutual friends? Should I not be allowed to share what happened to me, simply because I’m a human who deserves to be able to say when someone completely violates them.
So I reached out to someone from my community. On my way to pick them up after my 11 hour work day, my hands sweat so terribly they were practically sliding off of the steering wheel. I listened to My Tears Ricochet on repeat, to remember that Taylor wrote about this same pain I felt. “You’re the hero flying around saving face.”
We had small talk, shallow conversation for about an hour. The entire time, telling them was all I could think about. Finally, I got up the nerve. I told them, “I have something I want to tell you, but it’s hard. And I’m not sure if you even want me to, because it will affect you too.” They were his friends too, after all. He told me, “you can say it or you don’t have to, it’s up to you.” I attempted to say it for a few minutes, but every time I opened my mouth to speak, I could only muster a sigh. It’s been a year and a half, and it just never gets easier. Before I could actually get myself to say it, he broke the silence and said, “I know about it.” I was shocked. “What?” “I know about it...” I asked how he knew. He said “[the husband] called me a while ago, and we had a very, very, VERY long talk about it. Now, I recognize I’ve only heard one side. You can tell me your side if you want...” I said, “I don’t think I want to hear what he said,” to which he quickly replied, “oh, I wouldn’t tell you what he said anyway.”
I sobbed. I sobbed uncontrollably. I said I was sorry multiple times because I was embarrassed, because he stayed stone silent the entire time. The only time he spoke was in response to my apology, to which he replied, “you don’t have to apologize. I will never turn away raw emotion.” It was so, so uncomfortable, being so completely vulnerable about this horrible situation and never once hearing an “I’m sorry,” “that’s so horrible,” “you didn’t deserve it.” Nothing. At all.
I cried harder than I have since the day it happened. I didn’t want to go to sleep, since I already have nightmares about the situation often, but I couldn’t keep myself awake. I finally drifted off to sleep, and sure enough, I had a horrible nightmare about it. About not being believed. I woke up at 5am and I went right back to sobbing so, so hard. It just hurt so terribly. How could someone see someone else hurting so terribly, breathing so quickly they can’t catch a breath, and say...nothing? Mind you, this person used to be so empathetic towards me when I was sad in the slightest. It’s not that he’s just awkward with emotions.
And I realize now. The couple must have called our mutual close friends right after it happened, and, most likely, given this reaction and the confusing actions of a few other close friends who have uncharacteristically avoided me, they must have said that I assaulted THEM. Or that I came onto them and they denied some, so I reported them as a lie of retribution. And said that no matter what story I tell, theirs is the real one. That must be it. Everything else that’s been so confusing makes sense in that context.
How could someone hurt me so terribly and not only have no remorse about it, but go a step even further and attempt to sabotage my reputation in order to save their own? I have tried with all my heart to protect them, to allow them to be remorseful and be able to start over without exile. And now, not only are they clearly unremorseful, they purposefully want to hurt me.
I’m falling apart. I feel transported right back to when it happened. I had to call in sick because I couldn’t stop spiraling and crying. I’m trying so hard to be okay, but I’m also finally allowing myself to be angry. I’ve made excuses for them, wanting desperately to give them the benefit of the doubt. But now I know. They don’t deserve it, and honestly, they never have all the way along this.
“You know I left a part of me back in New York. You knew the hero died, so what the movie for? You knew it still hurt underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart, but darling this was just as hard. This was just as dark...as when they pulled me apart.
