Not literally. I’ve never attended Stanford, and I’m not a 20-something woman anymore. I’ve never met Rapist Brock Turner.
But I know some of what she’s been through.
I haven’t said much here about all the news stories, letters, and commentary I’ve shared on my own social media about this woman’s harrowing journey, but I felt the need tonight.
Because the old anxiety, the depression, the anger & hurt from all those years ago is back once again, in force. (Click on the link if you feel like reading my original post on this)
Because his parents are coming to visit mine, once again, this summer, and that always rakes the coals in my head.
30 years ago, I was molested by my best friend’s brother. His parents & mine were the best of friends as well.
I was never really believed by anyone.
He has never, in all these years, apologized. Even if he did, I wouldn’t have accepted it, nor can I forgive him.
What is even worse? I’ve never had the support of my parents when it came to his guilt & my suffering.
For 30 years I’ve had this canker in my head, that flares every time I have to think about it.
It has changed how I interact with the opposite sex.
It has changed how I trust, and how I don’t.
It still causes me panic attacks and nightmares when I have to interact with his family, because they always have to bring him into the conversation, somehow.
Maybe they think this year is the year I’ll forgive and let go.
Emily Doe, wherever you are – I am with you.