I saw this article today on facebook
An extract of the article;
“We imagine rapists as pigs, as misogynists, as men who degrade women on a daily basis—we never seem to imagine them as teachers, poets, professors, fathers, brothers, lovers, or friends. They are all of these things, whether we like to admit it or not. We imagine bros on a football team, not fiction writers at a MFA program; this is a disservice to humans everywhere, because it is implying only one type of human must commit assault.”
How refreshing to see this. How sad and poignant.
How I see my rapist has always been like a demon. With cold, dead eyes. Something unreal, unearthly. I got a glimpse of something angry, conniving, evil, angry but cold and sinister. So when I returned to the country where the assault occurred and hired a PI, I was shocked to discover he was married with a child. Living an apparently normal, civil life. Not only that but as I alluded to in a previous blog, his family had creeped over onto a family from my own childhood with good memories. By sheer coincidence. But a painful, inadvertent knife to the chest nonetheless.
Of course this family would be the none the wiser. And that’s just it. No one would.
I’m glad I reported what happened. I’m not glad of the pain I went through, the shame and humiliation of it. But I’m glad that what he’s capable of is known by someone other than me. Although I’m the only one that truly knows what lies beneath that surface.
I have very little trust in anyone. To me, anyone could be the next predator. And I tell my children to be cautious as well. Teachers, strangers, police, neighbours, religious figures, doctors, they can’t be alone with anyone.
I’m fearful for them and I’m fearful for me.
That’s how I’m used to living now.