(cw rape, homelessness, sex work, drug use, trans erasure/transphobia)
Today is the one year anniversary of my rape, and so, on this momentous occasion, I would like to thank my rapist.
Thank you, rapist, for kicking off 12 months of unabated horror. You set in motion events that would continue to unfold and dismantle my life, brick by brick, as the days and weeks strung together into months. But you also prepared me for a world in which my life doesn’t matter. You prepared me to meet my death.
After you raped me, I asked my doctor for a short term prescription of Xanax. Instead he doubled my Effexor, a drug which is known to cause episodes of mania in bipolar patients. I am bipolar. I did, indeed, have a manic episode. The worst of my life.
Hypersexual, too high on my own brain chemicals for sleep, completely out of my mind for over a month. I got fired from a social work job and abandoned my spouse, family and friends, to be homeless with a charming con man I refer to as Barn Cat. Within 2 weeks I was selling access to my body to raise the funds for Barn Cat’s heroin addiction – anywhere from $100 to $300 a day.
But you, rapist, you prepared me for that too. I didn’t enjoy the work but I gritted my teeth and got through it. At least I was getting paid. At least these penises didn’t catch me by surprise, like yours did, when you grabbed me by the back of the neck and forced yourself into my mouth.
You prepared me for living with a violent misogynist, Barn Cat. Something I knew from previous sexual assaults was that I respond to a violation by becoming extremely feminine and seeking the comfort of extremely masculine men. To put it bluntly, I want to fuck the rape out. Before you raped me, I was outspoken about my identity as a transgender person, a non binary person. I wore a binder sometimes. I deliberately blurred the lines between “man” and “woman.” But Barn Cat wasn’t having any of that, and luckily for him, luckily for me, you came along and raped me. Between that and the manic episode, I was in full-blown sparkle princess turbo girl mode 24/7. My gender locked itself back into the assignation I was given at birth.
And when my case against you was dropped, because I hadn’t been able to identify a picture of you BECAUSE YOU RAPED ME IN A DIMLY LIT BAR BEHIND BLACK CURTAINS, I got used to the idea that justice will always be out of reach. I drank heavily that night, and got up the next day, ready to get back to the work of daily survival.
And now? 5 days post election, the lessons you taught me are more relevant than ever.
I will be violated again, and you prepared me to accept violence with stillness, focusing on living to fight another day.
I am prepared to live full time as a cisgender woman, which will come in handy in a country where conversion therapy by electroshock treatment is one heart attack away from becoming a national policy.
And I know there is no justice. There will be no jury of your peers, no one will condemn you or punish you, nor will the legions of rapists who will be emboldened by our Rapist In Chief.
So thank you, rapist. While many of my friends have been caught off guard by the assorted horrors of 2016, you gave me a 6 week head start, when you raped me one year ago today.
(PS you can read the original blog post from last year at this link https://docs.google.com/document/d/1YO1qwGVxZx6o0YYbm6AvMWTg5rVhFj_vxmD5cFidRa8/edit?usp=sharing )