content warning: rape, assault, mental illness.
due to the nature of this article, it is being published anonymously.
when my knees buckle as I sing in God’s home, asking for forgiveness, and letting soft sobs escape in place of praises.
when I sat in my car by the dirty skate park, cigarette hanging in my mouth, warm tears on my cold cheeks.
when I was crouched in the corner of a kind strangers room, breath catching in my bare chest, feeling like I’m drowning in regret and fear, when I was really there to take back what should be mine.
I asked myself whether it could be, that what happens to a third of women had happened to me, in those moments.
I never wanted to be one of those girls, I never wrote a statement or was examined, I was just too easy, too forward, too flirty.
Or too drunk.
Or too high.
Or too scantily clad.
Or too lonely.
but the girl you said you loved crying in your bed. Or the one running down the road half naked, or even the drunk woman hopping out of your house in a plaster cast,
is not another one night stand.
she is a girl who jokes about what you did to her,
all of you.
she says ‘third times a charm’ to the therapist sat before her, as you enjoy your hefty pay check, and lovely girlfriend, nice flat and good job.
she makes a joke of the hands you placed on her shaking, scarred skin. she holds her breath as she walks through waterloo station and she shuts her eyes as the tube pulls through ‘our’ stop.
And for now,
that is enough.