My Rapist Is Watching My Instagram Stories (1)

My rapist apologized to me the day after. I don’t know what he was apologizing for.

Is he apologizing for touching my crotch? Is he apologizing for trying to come into my shower room? Is he apologizing for putting his finger inside of me? Is he apologizing for grabbing my arms and waist? Is he apologizing for grinding me with his hard dick in the swimming pool? Is he apologizing for chasing me down the stairs? Is he apologizing for lying in my bed refusing to leave and when I slapped him in the face, he said, “You’re rude”? Is he apologizing for raping a woman and facing no consequences?

Which one was it? But I don’t really fucking care because it’s the same as attempting to kill somebody and then you apologize for killing them afterward.

I have a lot of anger inside of me that I don’t know what to do.

If someone is trying to kill me and they get to do it a dozen times, I would simply walk into their knife and end everything.

And that’s what I did. I walked into their knife.

But the thing is I’m still alive.

Gisèle Pelicot said that shame must change sides.

Yet I’m wondering do they ever feel shame? Shame is not a snowball I can just toss around acting all jolly and fun. How could it be shame when boys are encouraged to “get as many women as you can”? How could it be shame when girls are being told “When he is teasing you that means he likes you”? How could it be shame when men see women’s bodies as something to count, conquer, and own? How could it be shame when a country allowed a rapist to be their leader and not just once but twice?

Gisèle, I would like to believe shame will change side too.

Once I wondered why me, although it’s not a good path to go down. Humans are meaning animals. We need to make sense of what’s happening around us so we invented all kinds of stories to explain the world. The earth shakes because there is an ox living underneath. The volcano erupts because the god is angry. The rain god is not blessing our crops this year so we need to sacrifice a virgin.

Was it the way I dance? Was it the way I dress? Was it because I talked to him and laughed? Was it because I sat next to him during dinner? Was it because I’m Asian? Was it because I’m a walking vagina?

I guess none of the above. Just a shitty person combined with an unfortunate situation. Pure chance. Pure bad luck.

Which one is less painful? That you being raped is a meaningless incident or trying to find a meaning out of it?

I have a lot of pain inside of me that I don’t know what to do.

They said traumatic events are stored in a fragmented way in your brain. Therefore, it’s difficult to say exactly what happened. Yet, the body keeps the score. The body knows.

If only there was a way I could tell you what happened through my body.

If only there was a way.

Can you just hold me and let me cry for a very long time?

I mean, for a really really long time.

On September 27th, 2024, a man named Blagoy Yordanov sexually assaulted and raped me.

And I refuse to be silent about it.