What facing my trauma really looks like
Trigger Warning: Mention of sexual assault/rape and suicidal ideation
Don’t let him rule your life. Everyone who offered those words meant it in support. I told myself I could do it. I tried. But when the man who sexually assaulted you moves into your apartment building, it’s going to have an impact. The trauma became inescapable.
It felt like an invasion of privacy.
I felt safe in our location. It was a fair distance from where I last knew of that he lived as well as being away from where he and I lived together. For me this was a new city, new space, new outlook on life. The building my boyfriend and I live in didn’t make sense for someone who didn’t have a driver’s license like the man at the source of my trauma. It’s not particularly walkable. I remember thinking, I am safe from him. I thought he wouldn’t find me here. To find out that he and his girlfriend had moved in felt like a breach of every boundary I had. And whether I am the reason he considered this place or not, there is no doubt that he found out once he was here through either sight or casual conversation.
I was not ready.
We had been working on my post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) for a couple of years, but I was still having memories, intrusive thoughts, and flashbacks. Now I could come face to face with him at any moment. My stress level climbed ever skyward as the trauma replayed over and over again in my head. But words said to me with the intent to show support and inspire courage became an icy dagger to the heart.
“Don’t you think he’s over you by now?” I don’t know. Does it matter? Does he need to be pursuing me in order for my fears to be permissible? I couldn’t explain to others why I felt like I was in danger when I wasn’t physically in danger. I questioned my thoughts, my feelings, and my motives. Invalidation multiplied inside my mind, twisting words and taunting me. I wanted to tear myself to pieces. On a hot summer night, I paced an empty parking lot, eyeliner washing away as I considered my psychiatrist’s offer of hospitalization to remove the rising risk I posed to myself.
Don’t let him rule your life.
The words echoed in my head as I braced myself before stepping into the lobby to get the mail. I criticized myself for my fear. Every time I avoided an area or panicked at the sight of someone I thought might be him, I beat myself up. I told myself I should feel safe. I told myself I should not be afraid of him. My psychiatrist encouraged me to do whatever I had to do to feel safe, no matter what those thoughts told me. I walked on eggshells in common areas and avoided them altogether when possible, sending my boyfriend on mail and package runs. But I struggled to be compassionate with myself.
I was convinced there was something wrong with me.
Why couldn’t I get over this? But that wasn’t the first time that thought surfaced in my mind. Early in my treatment, I wrestled with the distinction between victim and survivor. I wanted to feel like a survivor. I felt like I should. But the word victim rang truer on my tongue. I tried to spit it out, wipe the taste away. But it never listened to my haste and evicted itself at a leisurely pace.
When put on the spot, my true thoughts came out.
During a question and answer period for a crisis intervention training at which I spoke, one of the facilitators inquired about the effects of the pandemic on mental health. As I tumbled through an overview of what these months had brought me, I came to the story of finding myself abruptly faced with my trauma. The words fell from my lips, “I don’t think anyone ever gets used to living in the same building as their rapist.”
That was the permission I needed.
The feelings that I should just be over it by now are slipping away as I walk down the halls, ever vigilant, heart ready to race at a moment’s notice. I feel less hesitant to say that, if he does not move out, we might need to for my mental health. Because that’s what matters. It makes no sense to stay simply because I think I should be over it. I’m not, and there are too many other players in my mental wellbeing right now to focus on that.
This is me facing my trauma.
It’s okay for me to not be ready. It’s okay for me to be afraid. Trauma isn’t something to be conquered. I’ve faced it over and over again for nearly a year. Nothing will make me forget the things he said and did and living in the same building is a level of exposure that does not dull the fear or pain.
What I need to do is exactly what my psychiatrist said. I need to do whatever I need to do to feel safe. My boyfriend and I love our apartment, our building, and the friends we’ve made here. But I won’t feel bad driving away if I feel I need to. I used to tell myself that would be running away from him. That it was me letting him and the trauma win. But I’m not running away – I’m walking towards a life that doesn’t include him. I am facing my trauma and taking back control of my life. If we can stay, we stay. But if we have to go, I know that it’s my choice, not his. And I choose mental health.
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