Hi, I don’t know if you remember me? You probably do because you went through hell, you were put there because of me. For four years now I have wanted to write to you, to tell you I am sorry for putting you there, but at that time I was weak, I was vulnerable, I still didn’t understand what you did to me. I know that you know what you did, the physical things anyway, but I want to tell you what you’ve done to me mentally.
For the first year, I blamed myself. I sat crying every night because I didn’t want you to get into trouble. Little fourteen year old me, still wanted to protect you. I convinced myself that you didn’t mean to do what you did, I then convinced myself that I over reacted, that I shouldn’t have said anything because that would have made you happy.
The second year, after your sentence, it hit me the hardest. I was now fifteen, getting called a slut at school because according to them, I asked for it to happen. I didn’t though did I? Can you remember how I tried to push you off, how I said no? My sleep got worse, everytime I closed my eyes, I would see your face, I would feel what you did to me. Over and over again, like it was stuck on replay. I wanted it to stop.
Did you know that I tried to kill myself? More then once actually. That’s when the self harm started. I wanted to feel numb and the only way to do that was to hurt myself. I would use a blade, how stupid is that? I would cut over and over again, deep enough to make myself bleed, but not deep enough to cause real damage. I look at the scars now and all I feel is hatred. I don’t feel hatred towards you, I know I should, you took the best part of my teenage year away from me, but I feel hatred towards myself. I hate that I let you inside my head, I hate that I now have a reminder of the weak pathetic mess I was. I hate that these scars will always be a reminder of what you did.
Did you know that my granddad died within that year, that’s when things got worse. I lost one of the greatest men and all I could do was think of you. How is that fair? Why do you deserve so much attention? That’s when I started with the pills, at first it was just paracetamol, nothing too harmful right? I would take eight at a time, then cut myself, lie in bed and watch the blood run. I was so numb that I couldn’t even cry. When the paracetamol stopped having an affect on me, I would go through my mums pills, taking anything and everything. I took so many pills that I actually threw up.
Three years later, I still think of you. I got really scared when I was told that you are now out, that you’re free to roam around as if you didn’t do anything wrong. I refused to go to school for a week, I had it in my head that you would be outside waiting for me, to punish me for what you went through. I had stopped self harming, I didn’t feel the need to put any more scars on myself. I had made some new friends, ones who didn’t know about you and what you did. They found out eventually. They used it against me in arguments. I couldn’t escape you.
Four years, that’s this year. I am doing okay. I still have those moments when I think of you, I still feel bad for the things you went through but you know what, I am not sorry. I spent these years waiting, waiting for you to apologise for what you did. To tell me that it wasn’t my fault, that you didn’t want to hurt me. Instead, I had four years of torturing myself, wondering if I did in fact lead you on. Say something that made you think it was okay.
Truth is, I didn’t did I? There was no real reason why it was me. I am happy that it was me and not someone else, because no-one deserves to go through the amount of pain and suffering I went through. I know it was a mistake, I understand that, but at the age of fourteen, a girl who literally had her first kiss a week before it happened, it felt like my whole life was ruined.
Did you know that at the age of eighteen, I now pretty much am a slut. I refuse to have a boyfriend because I don’t want to let the down when I tell them no. Boys don’t like being told no, I learnt that from you. So now, I meet with boys an do things that I shouldn’t do. I am too scared to lose my virginity. What a joke that is. An eighteen year old, still a virgin, god, there must be something wrong with her. And there is, there is something wrong with me. I can’t trust another person not to hurt me, not to put me through four years of hell. If I tell them no, how will I know that they actually wont? If I push them away, how will I know that they wont carry on anyway? You have crushed all of my trust, gone, just like that. Gone, just like you did, when you ran away and left me there, on my own.
Do you ever feel the way I did? Did you ever get flashbacks? When you closed your eyes did you see the look on my face?
I’m not writing this so you feel sorry for me, so you feel regret and remorse, because if you didn’t feel it then, you sure as hell aren’t going to care now. I am writing this as clarity, for my piece of mind, so I can now close this dreaded book up and start a new one. If I could, I would burn this along with everything else, but I have tried that, it only makes you stronger. In some twisted way, I wanted to thank you, for making me stronger, but you don’t deserve any thanks. You deserve to sit there and let the ground swallow you up.
I hope that you will forever remember my name, forever picture my face when you close your eyes. I want you to know that I don’t forgive you, that for me, I can’t forget. I will spend the rest of my life, having to explain what you did, justify my actions because of the way you made me feel. I will forever have to speak your name. My story will never be over, and I just hope that you suffer just as much as I am. I hope you hate every inch of me, because then and only then, will you begin to realise what a cruel, heartless person you are.
This is your life sentence,