My Decision to Report My Rapist

The other day, after my therapist session, I asked my husband if he would go with me to report my rape. With very little interest, he shrugged it off. It was like I was going to have to beg him. The only response I got was, I can stay out in the car. He would rather wait outside for me while I report the rape, than be by my side helping and supporting me through the toughest thing I will probably ever do.

It took me so long to tell him my plans to report the rape. I literally waited like 3 days because we were so busy with work and school. And then the day I knew I was gonna tell him, I stared at him, walked through the store with him, and laid with him with my stomach in knots over the whole conversation. When I blurted it out, he asked me if I was going to go down to the town it happened in, if I would be ready to go to court if it went that far, and what brought me to this decision.

I am ready to confront my rapist. I am ready to talk to the police. Not that I am not scared out of my mind, but I am now at the point where I have to finally stand up for the 15 year old girl inside me, who was too weak to stand up to her boyfriend. And I am ready to go to court if it goes that far. I highly doubt it will go farther than just a police report and statement, but if it does, I will prepare myself when the time comes. I have beat myself up time and time again because I didn’t go to the police, tell my mom, go to the hospital, or any of that. I cannot change what he did, and I cannot change what I didn’t do. All I can do is stand up and say that what happened was not right and that he cannot get away with hurting me. Granted, he did. But if he tries something again, hopefully my report will help another victim.

What brought me to my final decision was the nightmare I had two weeks ago. It played with my mind so much that I wasn’t sure what I was doing anymore. That seems to be a common phrase of mine, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Along with that, I read or watched something where the victim reported the rape or went to court (can’t really remember at the moment). It got so hard driving past the hospital or police station or schools or anything that reminded me of what I didn’t do. So then and there, I had a plan. Tell the husband, call the nearest rape crisis center, make a special appointment with my therapist, and finally go to the police station after contacting a rape victim advocate.

As of now, my therapist knows my plans, the two rape crisis centers I’ve talked to made me feel like an idiot, and I haven’t heard back from either one of them. Guess they are sending me the message that since it happened years ago, it doesn’t matter anymore. I guess to them, I don’t matter. (Sorry.) So since they were no help, I am trying to find out what police department covers where it happened, since the town doesn’t have a police department. Now that my husband seems to care less what my plans are, I find myself procrastinating my next step… calling the sheriffs office and finding out who to get in contact with. It sure does feel like rape victims have to jump through hoops to get anything done. I wish I had an advocate to tell me how this process works. I am so clueless.

Hoping tomorrow I am stronger… strong enough to call the sheriffs department. I find myself having to remind myself why I am doing this. I see why victims change their mind about reporting it. It isn’t an easy thing to do. One thing that keeps crossing my mind is whether or not they will believe me. Of course there are pieces to my story I don’t remember. I suppressed them for over seven years. BUT, what I am certain is that I said “no, please don’t, I’m not ready yet, please stop J.” I know what I said and how he made me feel. I know the date it happened, where it happened, and who was NOT home when it happened.

Maybe I should share my story of what happened that night, maybe in my next post. I have found that sharing my story helps me relieve some of the burden that I have allowed him to place on me.


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