Open Letter to the People Who Failed Me

Like so many other survivors, I was met with criticism, disbelief of my story, and ineffective safety plans that failed to make me feel comfortable or safe. So I took matters into my own hands: I transferred schools, but not before sending the following email to every student, staff, and faculty member at my first institution. This letter is a testament to taking healing into my own hands, and demanding my story be heard in my own words.

EXCERPTS FROM MY PUBLIC LETTER: 

The summer after the rape I went to therapy every week. I spent most of the time reminding myself to keep breathing and to put food into my body. I became proactive about not killing myself. Now, I am full of rage.

— 

Before I left, a professor told me that my experience deserved to be heard. That it was important. I couldn’t. I was too raw. Everything hurt. But now I discovered that another of my friends was recently raped on this campus. So it’s time.

I left this college because they failed me. They failed to support me and they failed at keeping me safe. They failed at providing me with any avenue for restoration or justice. I am fundamentally different because of what happened to me. Never really able to completely move on from this experience.

You have to understand that I am writing this letter out of rage. I am raging at the violence but mostly I am raging at the disgraceful failure that is this university.

—

Because of the trauma, I remember most of my time there in a haze. Until recently my brain blocked out all memory of my communications with the Title IX office. I had forgotten about countless meetings discussing options that weren’t really options. I had forgotten when they told me that it would take longer to file a report than it would to graduate. Or when they told me that my case would likely result in an informal resolution.

Or when they told me that my rapist might have to write an essay. That I would have to go through the entire reporting process, relive the whole experience, and probably face my rapist in some form… all so he might eventually have to write an essay.

What do I do with an essay?  Does an essay erase the way he used my body like a trash can? I don’t want an essay. I want restoration or justice.

Instead, I got something similar to a no-contact order. An unofficial eating schedule. I was assured it was my best option and I went along with it because I kept running into my rapist at meals. I had to compromise when I ate because on certain days he had classes that would only allow him to eat at specific times.

Let me be clear: during my last semester here, I had to arrange the times that I ate around what was convenient for my rapist. And I was grateful for it at the time. When I look back at this now, I find it insulting. 

Now, I want restoration or justice.

—

While considering if I should report the assault, I did a little bit of digging. I looked at all the annual safety reports that were available to me, back to 2016. I found numbers that were scary but not surprising. Of course, nothing surprises me anymore.

In 2017 alone, “there were 17 reports of sexual violence, dating violence, domestic violence, or stalking, collectively.” That same year, no respondent was expelled, suspended, or otherwise disciplined. My experience was not a lone incident. I don’t know these survivors’ individual stories, but the truth is that I don’t need to.

Because I know others. 

In only one year at this school, I personally met 5 survivors of sexual violence, all of whom had been assaulted during the first few weeks or months of having arrived. I sat in on some of their meetings with Title IX, and I waited 6 hours at the hospital with one of them as they got a rape kit.

One of them was asked to have a meeting with her rapist after numerous instances in which he disrupted their no contact order. He need a better look at her face because he claimed to not recognize her.

Another survivor was asked to present the shirt she was wearing when she was attacked, so that the people reviewing her case would have a “better understanding of the situation”. I could go on and on about how Title IX and this college fail and humiliate us. But I don’t want to do that.

All I want is restoration or justice.

—

I was never going to get restoration or justice at college. You see, my rapist was well-liked. He did well in school, was engaged in extracurriculars, and had great rapport with his professors. I saw him at the library. I avoided south campus, where he lived, like the plague. I saw his name on email chains.

I left because my rapist left no space for me –and the institution supported him in not leaving space for me. By not providing me with proper options, they failed me. When I looked into my future there, it was grim. Short.

—

Here at my new school I regularly get asked why I transferred. I always lie: often I’ll say that the academics weren’t challenging enough. But the truth is I was drowning, and no one came to save me. So I saved myself and I left.

—

I’m done admonishing myself for not having done more; for not having stuck with it and changed the system through a convoluted and useless system that does little more than further traumatize victims. It was never my responsibility to make this university a safe place to study.

I used to believe that what happened was solely my rapist’s fault. But these systems facilitated the violence. There were people that I spoke to who did nothing to change these systems. So this is on you. Do not claim ignorance any longer.