Journal Entry 8: 19.12.2018 – 2018 is almost over, thank God
106,098.
That’s the number of people who were sexually attacked in 2016 and reported it.
106,098.
I Googled it. I just wanted to find out how many others felt like me. Even though I’ve felt alone, I knew I wouldn’t be. But wow, I wasn’t expecting that number. I can’t believe that many people went through what I did, and that they went to the police about it. Now I feel like I’ve let 106,098 people down. Because I’m not brave like them. Maybe Lucy’s right.
I thought a lot about what she said after she left my house last week. In fact, it was all I thought about for days after. ‘You’re the one who’s too scared to tell anyone about what happened at the party.’ That’s what she said to me on my own doorstep before she left – without saying ‘Thanks for saving my life, Trina’ or ‘I’m sorry for being a complete and total bitch to you this year.’
So what if I’m scared? She has no idea what I went through, what I’m still going through every single day. Every single moment, I’m transported back to that night. I still can’t sleep, I’m still barely eating. I’ve lost weight and now my mum is noticing. I will tell her one day. I want to. She’s the only person I can tell about it.
But not yet. Soon.
Mum’s calling me right now for dinner, but I’m not hungry. I can’t eat, not today. Because I saw Him today. HIM.
I was walking down the high street, counting the contents of my wallet, deciding whether I could afford a new pack of cigarettes – I smoke a lot more now – and when I looked up, there he was. He was on the same side of the street as me, walking fast as if he was late to meet someone. I stopped dead. I dropped a couple of coins that I think landed by my feet. I forgot to pick them up after. Kicking myself about that too. I don’t know if he saw me, but he walked right past me as if I was invisible. Right past me! While I stood there, frozen in complete fear, terrified he’d notice me, try to talk to me, try to reach out and touch me, he just strolled by looking so relaxed, so free, so unimpacted. He probably didn’t even recognise me. I don’t even recognise myself these days. I hardly ever wear make-up, and I try hard to cover up every inch of my body in clothes a size too big. I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself anymore. I don’t want guys to look at me, to – to – want me. It was my fault last time. It won’t be my fault next time.
By the time I got home, I had a gash on my right palm. I must have been clenching my fist so hard that my nails dug into my skin and drew blood. I hadn’t even felt it. My hands are still trembling, even now.
I heard a rumour at school earlier this week – for once not about me. It was about a girl in the year below me, Sara something. Pretty girl, reddish hair, huge green eyes. Outside by the chem labs while I was lighting up, I heard a few people from that year talking about a party they went to last Friday – I wasn’t there. I never go to parties anymore. I don’t like to be around large crowds of people anymore, especially those who are drinking. I don’t trust anyone anymore. Not even myself. I’ll never ever put myself in that kind of situation again, the kind where I let go, where I trust, where I make stupid naive assumptions about people. No, never again. No one will catch me out again. I’ll never be used like that again. So I avoid the parties at weekends. I avoid the crowds, and the risk. Because there’s always risk.
It’s safer for me here at home. So that’s where I stay most evenings and weekends now. These four walls that cocoon me right now are the only thing protecting me. Outside these walls, it’s too unpredictable. It’s too… dangerous.
Anyway, after this party last Friday, I heard talk about Sara and – and – Him, about how they’d had sex in the barn outside the house. When I heard people talking about it outside chem, I threw my cigarette down and walked right over to them. I was so angry, I could feel searing heat racing through my entire body and shooting out my arms. I thought for a split second that I’d burned myself with my lighter, but I hadn’t. I was just that furious, I was boiling over. I screamed at them, told them to stop talking about people behind their back. Then I threatened to hit one of them. I would have too, had the bell not rang. I could feel it in my hand, the quiver, the tremble. I wanted to strike one of them, both of them, anyone really. And when the bell went off, I suddenly couldn’t remember how I’d got myself into that state. It was like I was in a trance or something. That’s exactly how I felt when He passed me on the street.
All I kept thinking was what if the same thing happened to Sara that happened to me? What if this was all my fault? Because of my silence, I’d let this happen to someone else?
I threw up shortly after that confrontation at school. Couldn’t keep my cold lunch down. Everything came up. Tuna sandwich and all. Yuck.
I threw up today too. After I saw Him. This time I hadn’t eaten much, so nothing really came up. My chest and throat still hurt from all the dry heaving.
Maybe Lucy’s right. I am a coward. I probably won’t do anything about it and it’ll just happen to someone else again, and then they’ll be too scared to do anything, and people like Him will get away with it again and again. Is that what I really want? Is this who I am? Am I the kind of person who’d let this happen to someone else when I could have stopped it, stopped Him? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what kind of person I am.
I can’t even bring myself to write his name. I don’t want him to taint my journal, spoil my thoughts – poison my words. When I can write his name, when I can say it, then I’ll know I’m ready. I’ll do it. I will. Soon.
Just give me more time, please. Just a few more days, maybe a week, or a…
What if I never do it?