Read Online My Dear Stranger by Sarah Ann Walker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sarah Ann Walker
Tags: Romance, Literature & Fiction
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think that’s what I struggled with the most. The act was brutal, yes. Within any reality being forced is brutal, I know that. But it was the brutality in which he took me and the instruments he used, the scars he left, the injuries he caused unnecessarily, all while telling me he loved me.
And that was my struggle. He was my friend who I trusted and I have been encased in my confused shame ever since.
I could never understand what I did to provoke it. I was a good girl, and I treated everyone well. I was fun and young, yes. But other than hugs hello or goodbye, I never touched anyone or allowed anyone to touch me. I never dick teased or flaunted any sexuality at all. I hung out with friends. I drank and danced and laughed and had fun. But I was a good girl. I was always a good girl.
He was my friend. And he was deadly.
He was a friend I trusted, and he did the unthinkable. He confused our friendship with love. He confused my simple hugs with a want for more. He equated unrequited want with the need to force my love. He was confused, and I became lost.
And so I pulled away.
I didn’t discuss what happened with anyone after the first day I lived with it. I told the Police about the factual events. I told the doctors and the nurses about the factual physicality’s of the events. I told my family the basics. And then I never discussed it again.
I lied to the Police and said I didn’t know who he was. I told the Police he was waiting in my apartment. I told the Police he was an unknown intruder because I didn’t know how to discuss what really happened. I didn’t know what to say, and I was afraid of telling the Police the truth- I had opened the door to my FRIEND. I had allowed my friend into my apartment because he was my friend. But I didn’t want what he did to me.
I didn’t discuss my friend, and I didn’t tell the whole truth. I didn’t know how to tell. Everyone I knew knew him. Every single friend I had knew him well. And I was afraid. I thought others might blame me for letting him into my apartment as a FRIEND, not knowing what was about to occur to me. I was afraid people might think I wanted his love originally but that it got out of hand. I was afraid no one would believe me. I was afraid people would think each scream, and each hit, and each kiss, and each moment of force was what I wanted. But it wasn’t. So I told no one who he was.
I told NO ONE the truth of who hurt me because I was afraid, and I trusted no one anymore.
And it was okay because my family had a very successful outlook on life- Don’t talk about it and eventually it goes away until it never really happened in the first place. And I was glad for that outlook. That ‘don’t acknowledge it so it never really happened’ outlook save d me from discussing the un-discussable.
But to be fair, my parents did try to help. They offered counselling, and they offered to have me move back into their home. And when I refused to mov e back home they helped with the security issues in my apartment.
They are good people, just not the best parents, but they have never really been neglectful. They aren’t wealthy, but they are certainly comfortable. So I never went without, nor did we ever really struggle. We three were just comfortable, and this comfort was what I had known my whole life.
So I stayed comfortable. I told what happened because the Police already knew what happened based on my neighbor’s account and based on the physical evidence left all over my apartment. The Police knew, so I closed off my emotions and I told them accurately what had happened. I told them everything I could, except his name.
And then I stopped speaking. I didn’t speak of it, and I tried to make like it never happened.
I think my denial of events ironically helped me move past them
And that was my struggle. He was my friend who I trusted and I have been encased in my confused shame ever since.
I could never understand what I did to provoke it. I was a good girl, and I treated everyone well. I was fun and young, yes. But other than hugs hello or goodbye, I never touched anyone or allowed anyone to touch me. I never dick teased or flaunted any sexuality at all. I hung out with friends. I drank and danced and laughed and had fun. But I was a good girl. I was always a good girl.
He was my friend. And he was deadly.
He was a friend I trusted, and he did the unthinkable. He confused our friendship with love. He confused my simple hugs with a want for more. He equated unrequited want with the need to force my love. He was confused, and I became lost.
And so I pulled away.
I didn’t discuss what happened with anyone after the first day I lived with it. I told the Police about the factual events. I told the doctors and the nurses about the factual physicality’s of the events. I told my family the basics. And then I never discussed it again.
I lied to the Police and said I didn’t know who he was. I told the Police he was waiting in my apartment. I told the Police he was an unknown intruder because I didn’t know how to discuss what really happened. I didn’t know what to say, and I was afraid of telling the Police the truth- I had opened the door to my FRIEND. I had allowed my friend into my apartment because he was my friend. But I didn’t want what he did to me.
I didn’t discuss my friend, and I didn’t tell the whole truth. I didn’t know how to tell. Everyone I knew knew him. Every single friend I had knew him well. And I was afraid. I thought others might blame me for letting him into my apartment as a FRIEND, not knowing what was about to occur to me. I was afraid people might think I wanted his love originally but that it got out of hand. I was afraid no one would believe me. I was afraid people would think each scream, and each hit, and each kiss, and each moment of force was what I wanted. But it wasn’t. So I told no one who he was.
I told NO ONE the truth of who hurt me because I was afraid, and I trusted no one anymore.
And it was okay because my family had a very successful outlook on life- Don’t talk about it and eventually it goes away until it never really happened in the first place. And I was glad for that outlook. That ‘don’t acknowledge it so it never really happened’ outlook save d me from discussing the un-discussable.
But to be fair, my parents did try to help. They offered counselling, and they offered to have me move back into their home. And when I refused to mov e back home they helped with the security issues in my apartment.
They are good people, just not the best parents, but they have never really been neglectful. They aren’t wealthy, but they are certainly comfortable. So I never went without, nor did we ever really struggle. We three were just comfortable, and this comfort was what I had known my whole life.
So I stayed comfortable. I told what happened because the Police already knew what happened based on my neighbor’s account and based on the physical evidence left all over my apartment. The Police knew, so I closed off my emotions and I told them accurately what had happened. I told them everything I could, except his name.
And then I stopped speaking. I didn’t speak of it, and I tried to make like it never happened.
I think my denial of events ironically helped me move past them
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