A Letter to My Rapist

You may not remember me but I honestly don’t give a damn, ‘cause either way what you do or don’t remember won’t ever change what happened and unlike you I can never forget.

• What is PTSD?

You raped me.

You stole what was supposed to be a happy, consensual moment in my life. You know for the longest time I couldn’t even think about that night or what happened. Actually, for three days, I was in denial about the whole thing. But as I went over the events of that night with a friend, I finally broke down sobbing as he gently told me, “Jazz, you were raped.” Then, I spent the rest of that January and 2016 spiraling and becoming increasingly self-destructive because I couldn’t help but feel that it was all my fault.

After all, I never yelled no. I never ran away. I never physically fought you. And hell — it was my fault for being so foolishly vulnerable, for telling you about the attempts that nearly killed me the previous summer. I guess that was my naïve, 21-year-old way of testing to see your empathy level for that kind of thing. Little did I know that was the exact kind of shit you prey on. I was trembling and shaking as I climbed down from your bed with that fucking red light glaring in the background. I was trying so hard to stand up and not pass out right then and there when you told me I should head on home. As if I wasn’t already trying to as I stood there trembling. And god, your fucking question of asking me if Koreans really don’t sweat cause you were sweating your ass off when I wasn’t.

Did it ever occur to you that might be because I wasn’t moving? That my eyes glazed the fuck over and I was barely speaking? That my movements were rigid and I was just following your commands? You could’ve been fucking a sex doll and it would’ve been the same. That’s how out of it I was. Anyone concerned over getting actual consent from their sexual partner would’ve been cognizant of that. No shit, I wasn’t sweating. How could I? I wasn’t doing anything. It was all being done to me.

Childhood sexual trauma had me running away from any and everyone who even showed remote sexual interest in me. I couldn’t even kiss my ex-girlfriend, my first love, because of the anxiety caused by aforementioned trauma. But I guess constantly being harassed by pieces of shit like you wore me down cause after you kept holding on after what was supposed to be a goodbye hug after our date, I just mentally started checking out. I even started tearing up and you noticed too. Haha, what an irony it is that I managed to dodge all kinds of creepers and evade lovers only to have my virginity and first kiss robbed by someone like you. You and your fake deep Murakami-wannabe fuckboy koreaboo ass. Yeah, I found your so-called writing afterwards.

It sucks.

And it’s very telling that the only ones who like the crap you write are very vulnerable young girls who go for your kind of loner boy aesthetic.

I’m not saying any of this to get a response from you. I’m simply saying this because I needed to say it. This is for my benefit and well-being. It wasn’t until recently that I publicly outcried about the rape and that night. And only a little bit before that did I tell someone else the full story. I was filled with so much shame, disgust, anger and sadness. I couldn’t even direct any of it to you because my mind would be clouded by my own invalidating thoughts gaslighting me. And to be perfectly honest, I’m still fighting them right now. But you see the thing is, I know your kind. Rapists who prey on vulnerable women don’t just stop at one and the way you finessed your way into violating me says that I wasn’t the first victim. That’s why I decided to speak out. Publicly.

Of course, it’s no surprise that other victims of yours responded to my outcry with similar rape stories. Nor is it a surprise that you decided to sic a defamation lawyer on me for my outcry.

I will always remember you and what you did. What should have been a very wonderful, consensual, and intimate hallmark moment in my life had been hijacked by you.

But guess what?

Now, you will also have that night looming over you with your name permanently attached to the word “rapist.” Mark my words, I will one day make my outcry fully public again and make sure you never harm a single person ever again.

Oh, and to return your 2016 V-day text. It may have taken me four years to reply to you but:

Happy V-day, Rapist. Fuck you.