So the attack happened two years ago today.
I’m not sure what to say about it. There are a lot of things I’d like to say, but I don’t think it’s a good idea, both because I want to protect the privacy of others and because I don’t want to open myself to more of the kind of abuse I experienced from certain people two summers ago. I’m still not sure whether or not it was a mistake to go public with the story or not. I had to deal with a lot of nastiness, but there was a great deal of support too. And my real friends stood by me. No one who knows and loves me ever believed I made the story up.
I still think about Rollo every day — often several times a day, and more so lately. What I feel about the whole thing is not so much fear as shame. Shame about all the stuff I said and did while I was with him, making him think I liked it, reinforcing every twisted belief he had that made him rape women in the first place, just because I so frightened of him. I know for a fact that he walked away blissfully unaware that I would go straight to the police. I’m very sure that, to this day, he believes he did nothing wrong. And I know in my head that I shouldn’t blame myself for any of that, but the shame feeling is there anyway.
But it’s been two years, and I’m alive and doing all right for myself, and he’s in prison and facing deportation to Sudan when he gets out. He’ll never bother me again, except in my own head, and I’m trying very hard to kick him out of there.
I guess that’s the best I can hope for.