Shared Stories

A letter to my ex boyfriend, who said he couldn’t live with the image of my rape.

By an Anonymous Contributor

My immediate reaction upon waking up in a co-worker’s bed, naked, sore, and confused, was that I had drunkenly cheated on you. I searched for my glasses, unable to make out where I was, got dressed, and left. 

It was the morning after a Christmas party and, once away from my co-worker, I tried to remember what had happened. 

The only memories I had was of being choked and moved about by him. I thought “why was the sex so rough?” 

I’d never had sex like that.

Still, blaming myself for being drunk, and not knowing if I had tried to fight him off or if I had verbally expressed that I did not consent, I saw it as something I had sole responsibility for. I shouldn’t have been so drunk that I didn’t know what was happening.

I called you that day to tell you what had happened, leaving out the details of the choking, and not telling you that I knew I had been sodomised. I wasn’t ready to face what had happened to me, and I wasn’t ready to be labelled a victim. 

I told you that I had gotten drunk to the point of being unable to walk, and that I had woken up naked in bed with a co-worker I hadn’t even spoken to during the Christmas party. I told you that I couldn’t remember putting up a fight. 

You broke up with me, saying that this was something I had to live with. I accepted that. It was my fault for getting drunk, I thought. 

After talking about it to a friend, I realised that I should not be ashamed to label myself a victim. What happened to me was not my fault, I was in no position to consent. 

I called you again, to tell you what had really happened that night. You knew that anal sex was something I never would have consented to. You said that you believed me and that you were sorry. 

You said that you wanted to get back together, but that you couldn’t look at me without the image of me being raped plaguing you. You said the image of me being raped had changed how you saw me.

You told me: “It makes me feel sick to know that some other guy has fucked you”. I protested, it wasn’t my fault that I had been taken advantage of. I hadn’t consented. 

“I know, but you’ve got to understand that this is hard for me.”

I couldn’t believe what you were saying. Hard for you? I lost everything that night because I had drank too much and took a taxi back with a co-worker. 

Hard for you? Imagine having to face your rapist every day because you can’t afford to quit your job. 

Imagine how you would feel if I had told you that I couldn’t love you now that someone else had “fucked” you. 

I hate you for using that word. I was raped, not fucked

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