Why I was sobbing on my bedroom floor last night
Last night, as I was walking through the streets of Copenhagen with my brother, I saw the guy who sexually assaulted me. It was the first time since that night in October.
We were walking on different sides of the road. I think he saw me, as I was speaking loudly and cheerily with my brother, but I don’t think he knows I saw him. My brother didn’t see him. If he had, he would have said: “Hey, isn’t that your friend Villads?” because I never told my brother about the assault. So he’d probably think we’re still friends. That Villads is still one of my best friends, like he used to be.
I have had so many dreams in which I’ve met Villads. They’ve mostly been about how I’ve reacted poorly to seeing him again. How I’ve just pretended to be friends again, pretended that nothing ever happened and that he never hurt or damaged me deeply. But as time has gone by, the dreams have progressed from being about me suddenly passively hanging out with Villads, being frustrated I let myself submit in that way, to me aggressively flipping and telling him off, not giving a care. In my dreams I have reacted to seeing him in ways I’ve wished to do in real life.
So when it finally happened last night, when I finally saw him, there was a lack of redemption, as we did not interact, and I did not get to express my anger and disgust with him. How we are never going to be friends, how I cannot believe the way he treated me - along with other of my female friends (something I have since found out about.)
After I’d split up with my brother, I had a fairly long walk home in which I wanted to dive into whatever emotions I had about seeing this person. This person I used to see many times a week. For the first time, I really felt the rage of him ruining such a great friendship. Of him, supposedly my friend, still just seeing me as just a body, turning me into a sexual object when that is NOT what friends are supposed to fucking do.
I was so angry with him, I was crying, and I was almost home, when a car full of drunk guys pulled up. One of them yelled “hey sexy!”
It is zero degrees in Copenhagen at the moment. It was 11 p.m. I had been out all day, I was wearing my warm blue onesie from the 80′s. I was just minding my own fucking business, crying about seeing my abuser out in the city, and some guy has the fucking audacity to come up to me, on my own street, and sexualise me, when I’m at my fucking lowest? I’ve been so fucking pleased that Covid has robbed me of the opportunity of going out into the nightlife, because this is where I have to deal with drunk idiots, who think they have entitlement to my body and my sexuality, when I’m just trying to have a good time with my friends. But in this moment I still had to deal with that shit?
I had yelled back at him, screaming from the top of my lungs, that he needed to shut the fuck up and who do you think you are etc. Which never fucking triggers the reaction you want, it’s not like he’s going to yell back.”oh, I’m sorry! I genuinely thought you liked being yelled at by a car of strangers, feeling unsafe on your own street. Please forgive me!” - Nah, he just yelled back something about having sex with him, and they drove off.
But I just couldn’t believe the fucking timing. When I got back I was just sobbing on the floor, I was sweating so much, I wanted to take off my shirt, but I didn’t want to be undressed for some reason. I felt such a discomfort with my own body, I have such a hard time owning it, I don’t feel it’s mine. This guy thought he could claim it as “sexy” without my consent, even when I was in a fucking onesie. One of my best friends thought he had the right to invade it, when I was pretending to be asleep.
I love my body, and I love being a woman, but I fucking hate how hard the world makes it being one. So I’m really having a hard time loving my body, loving being a woman.
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janainaart
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