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An Open Letter

I don't even want you to read it.

By Dani WolkingPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
2
An Open Letter
Photo by Taras Abbat on Unsplash

I was a messed up kid with a messed up home life. I was rebelling as much as I could without getting hurt. Skipping school, smoking weed, stealing money and cigarettes from my mom, going on joy rides when she fell asleep drunk. I wore see-through shirts and too small jeans and listened to music I didn't even like. I just needed someone to give a shit. That's all. Just someone. Anyone. I chose you.

When you bragged to my friends and yours that you had taken my virginity, my 14 year old virginity to your 18 year old experience, somehow you missed the part where your dick wasn't even inside of me. But I let you be proud. I let you smile and laugh and get every high five you felt you deserved. I can still smell the musty basement and the old broken couch. I can still hear you breathing on me. I can feel your weight on my chest. I don't think I would remember those things if it weren't for what you did at the end.

You came outside one day, sat in your car with me. "Have a drink." I did. It burned. "What is it?" "Pepsi. Just drink it." And I just needed someone. So I drank it. All of it. And I blacked out. I don't know what all happened, but I remember waking up on my front porch, alone and confused. Not long after that, I decided what I was doing was a bit much for a 14 year old. I tried to break up with you. But you wouldn't let me. You wouldn't let me even when my mom got involved. So I ignored you. Avoided you. Hid from you.

And then you...

You destroyed me.

Phone calls and knocking on doors and windows. Having people follow me around town. Getting groups of other people together to wait for me to leave my house. Having people threaten to rape and kill me while I was at school. Shooting at my house and my friends with your co2 pistol. Swerving your car toward me while I walked down the street. Following me to community service hours. Harassing my mom and younger siblings.

I had to get a restraining order. It was temporary, and you violated it every day. But you did it in such a way that I could never "prove" that it was you. You got away with every single torment you wanted to put on me. And when I had to face you in court, you threw me one last curve ball. You represented yourself. You asked me the questions a lawyer would normally ask. You looked me in the eyes, you smiled, you snickered, you got off on every second of my terror.

And I still can't forget how I felt. That little girl that I still was lives inside my head and my heart and I can't get rid of her. I can't make her go away. Therapy and medication and years haven't helped. Sometimes I can't walk by a window at night. Sometimes I can't leave my house alone. Every time my phone rings, I panic. Someone with your name comes up on social media and I freeze. Moving back to where I grew up was hell for me emotionally because I knew you were there, too. I cry as I type this letter. And I know that, if you ever read this, it makes you smile.

All this to say that I hope you got help. I hope you fixed yourself. I know you hurt other women. I know you hurt other girls. And I don't know how you did it, but you got away with all of it. I hope you know that what you've done is wrong and you fixed it. And if not...

I hope you're dead.

D

healing
2

About the Creator

Dani Wolking

Stay at home parent, homeschooler, hobbyist who keeps trying too many things, zero qualifications to write. Please enjoy!

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