An open letter to my abuser
It's just a phase, I say, lying to myself, taking another drag of the cigarette I've been holding. The nicotine buzz hits me, and I realize I'm no longer the same person. Would Dipta, a few years ago, even think of this as the right thing to do? Perhaps time really changes people; it changed me for the good and the bad. As time faded, the obligations on my shoulders have gotten heavier, and so has this unfulfilling void that always makes me feel empty. I dumped the ashes in an ashtray and sipped on my coffee.
After all the guilt and bargaining, the depression finally hit me; even though I had accepted what had happened to me long ago, it went unnoticed how the anger inside me never seemed to stop. Being constantly triggered by a room full of men, dark alleys, or even cafes in Putalisadak, I've been avoiding everything. How does one even move on from something like this when the thought of just going to classes and doing mundane tasks feels heavy? The number of visits I've had with my psychiatrist just seems to prove that no amount of medication is going to help me through it but nonetheless, I keep on taking them with the hope of getting better. I constantly think of how I could have avoided the situation or how I could have fought back against him. Still, the conclusion always draws out that in front of a man, I'm nothing more than a pair of tits, and he'll do everything in his power to be the dominant one, even if it means he'll be assaulting the other person.
I'm not sure if he knows the impact he's had on me since he forcefully stripped me off of the clothes I loved. Is he even aware of how painful it was for me to accept what he had been doing to my body cause I wasn't strong enough to fight him? I have not been able to forgive myself for putting up in that situation; fully aware of the fact that none of it was my fault, I still cannot help but blame it all on myself.
He's destroyed me, and sometimes I think I'm beyond repair cause all that I've been doing is running away from it instead of facing it through, but how would I even run away when I'm stuck in the same coffee shop with the same cigarette in my hand?