I Knew, But I Didn’t Realize

The perfect storm was created on July 2, 2024. That date is the key to how we ended up here and how I ended up in this fight. It is the why behind every question about the rape. The perfect storm I wish had never happened. That was the day at work when I talked to the girl who had been assaulted. That tipped off the first domino toward reporting the rape.

I knew, but I didn’t realize what had happened. I felt it. I was there for it. I remember it being excruciatingly painful and feeling unheard. I had always been bitching mostly about the transaction between the two men—if you can even call them men—exchanging me. {D} always told me I wanted to go home with him. I wanted to get him the fuck out of there. It was a subject we spoke about many times.

I knew, but I didn’t realize he had raped me. I didn’t think I was capable of being raped. I didn’t think, due to the lack of reaction by everyone in the room, that it could have been rape.

I knew, but I didn’t realize until July 2nd happened.

I knew, but I didn’t realize how fucking horrific it was. It took me a while to process it. I had to watch it a lot before I could comprehend what had actually taken place. I had to take myself out of the equation completely to appreciate the full nature of the event. I had to watch it as if it were my daughter or my sister or someone else. What would I think? What would I call it? What would I do if that video was of someone I loved—mainly because I’m not someone I love.

I knew, but I didn’t realize it could actually be a crime. That thought never crossed my mind. That’s why I didn’t go to the police. I knew what it was, but I assumed that was just me being hyperbolic. There was no way it was a crime to rape me.

I knew, but I didn’t realize until the police confirmed it. I asked them several times. I asked if they were sure it was sexual assault, and they looked at me like I was crazy. The actual police, who actually became involved, told me it was actually rape. I needed to hear that before I believed it. I knew, but I still didn’t believe it—and I still to this day have a little doubt in the back of my mind.

I knew, but I didn’t realize the severity until I was in treatment. I didn’t realize, as sad as this is, until reading other survivor narratives, that it really was rape. Full-blown, black-and-white, no-mistaking-it rape.

I knew, but I finally realized how savage it was. I finally saw it for the truth of what it was. That broke me again.

I knew, but the realization took months. The realization is what broke me. The culmination of the mercilessness of the acts by {D} and {M}, and the self-realization that it could actually happen to me, broke my very soul.

I know now, and I realize what happened. This is why I keep fighting. If I had known from the beginning, so many things would have been done differently—starting with going home with him, continuing with how and when I reported it, and ending with me getting help much sooner than I did. I kept in contact with {D} for four months after I reported it. That caused so much more harm. And I knew, but I didn’t realize how badly it had hurt me.

I’ll know and I’ll realize that when justice comes—late, messy, and overdue—it will show me what I refused to believe: that this war was for me, and that I am worth every weapon I picked up to survive it