Living in an unconventional family arrangement, my partner and I share a home but are not married. Despite our romantic relationship having faded, we maintain a close bond, which has worked for us. Recently, he received temporary duty assignment orders that would relocate us from San Diego. Internally, I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me, but I tried to mask it.
There’s a reason for my apprehension: I was once date-raped by someone I considered a friend, and I was aware that he was residing in San Diego. The logical part of my mind understood that the city was vast, likely minimizing any chance of him being near my daughter. However, the fear of even a slight possibility was unbearable. Thus, I resorted to my usual coping mechanism—I began to research him online.
My heart dropped when I discovered that he hadn’t just moved to San Diego; he was now living a mere 30 minutes from me, attending a college I had considered for my PharmD, located close to my daughter’s Kindermusik class. Panic enveloped me, dragging me back to painful memories of my past.
I had met him while serving in the military (let’s call him Alex). At first, he seemed charming—over six feet tall and muscular, he exuded charisma and a love for life. However, as I got to know him better, I increasingly felt uneasy around him. His comments about my appearance were constant and often inappropriate. He would steer conversations towards sexual topics and make unsettling remarks about women and even children. I was young and naïve, believing I could navigate this behavior without repercussions, especially with his connections and status among our peers.
The tension escalated as his 25th birthday approached, when a mutual friend warned me that Alex had made disturbing comments about wanting to double-team me with him. Furious and feeling violated, I confronted him, but he denied it. Later, I found out that he had taken offense at me being told the truth. I reluctantly attended his birthday party, pressured by others who pointed out my commitment to be the designated driver.
The party culminated at a friend’s apartment, where I initially felt safe among the group. However, as the night grew quiet, I found myself cornered as he crept into my sleeping space. My protests were met with increasing aggression until I managed to escape to another room. That night, he backed off upon realizing another man was present.
The following morning, I dreaded leaving my hiding spot, but I felt obligated to fulfill my role as a driver. I attempted to wake him, naively hoping that alcohol was the culprit behind his prior behavior. Alone again, he assaulted me, and despite my small stature and exhaustion, I succumbed to his advances, thinking it might appease him. It didn’t last long.
Months later, after a fallout with my social circle, he reached out under the guise of wanting to reconnect. I made it clear that I sought no intimacy, but he lied about others joining us. When we arrived at a crowded club, it became evident we were alone. He manipulated me into drinking, using my stress as leverage. The night ended with us in my apartment, and I awoke the next morning to his demands for silence.
The aftermath led to feelings of shame and self-blame, compounded by a diagnosis of chlamydia. I spiraled into depression, haunted by his violation and the implications for my future relationships. Now, as a mother, I grapple with how to shield my young daughter from the horrors I faced.
As I scrolled through Alex’s social media, I hoped for signs of maturity. Instead, I found him reveling in drunken exploits with his friends. Ironically, he appeared to be a model citizen, organizing charity runs and pursuing a master’s degree. Faced with the question of whether to expose him, I hesitated, fearing disbelief or retaliation.
I began drafting an anonymous letter to the head of his program, inspired by the need to speak out against injustice. However, self-doubt crept in; my words seemed born from anger rather than a quest for justice. The reality of my situation loomed large—evidence of my trauma had faded, and I feared the repercussions of taking action.
Amid my confusion, I stumbled upon a Reddit thread discussing similar dilemmas, where a response resonated: “You are not looking for justice; you want revenge.” I realized that my anger had clouded my judgment. I still grapple with the question: what does one do when their rapist lives so close to home?
Ultimately, my motivations for sharing this story remain unclear. Is it for my peace of mind or for others’ safety? My primary concern is my daughter, and I can only warn her father to keep a distance from Alex, without revealing the full truth of my past.
What more can I do?
For more on navigating parenthood and family dynamics, check out our article on home insemination kits. For those looking for trusted resources, CDC’s pregnancy page is invaluable, and if you need more information about home insemination methods, Cryobaby’s intracervical insemination syringe kit is a great source.
Summary: This reflective narrative discusses the trauma of living near an attacker and the complexities of seeking justice versus protecting oneself and loved ones. The author shares personal experiences of discomfort and violation, grappling with memories while trying to safeguard her daughter from similar experiences.
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