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An open letter from a boy to his rapist

open-letter-daryl-back

OpinionsUser Contributed

I will never forget nor forgive what you did to me.

My name is Daryl and I am 18.

I have wanted to write about this for a long time. What finally made me do this was realising that more boys are being molested.

I was reminded of what you did to me.

I never thought I would be a victim of sexual assault in the hands of someone close to me. I don't think I have fully healed, and perhaps I never will.

The first incident happened last year when I was 17. We had met four years ago in school and you were only two years older than me.

I texted you that night in June, unaware of the traumatising events that would soon follow. A simple drinking session was all I asked for. I was going through a rough patch and wanted a friend I could trust to be there for me while I drank. You were someone I thought would have my back and care for my well-being.

Little did I know it'd go so, so wrong.

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I stayed up many nights just thinking about what you did to me.

You drove me to a dark empty car park facing the reservoir and we talked. I drank, you didn't. I got intoxicated, you didn't.

You told me being "just friends" wasn't good enough and professed your feelings for me.

I remember saying "No" so many times, and that I wanted nothing sexual or emotional with you.

You said you understood, but you didn't. Because you forced yourself onto me.

Mouth to mouth, body to body. You were huge and easily dominated me. I tried pushing you away yet, there was nothing I could do. In the middle of the night, I felt so helpless.

When I sobered up the next day and replayed the events that occurred the night before in my head, I cried. I never expected you would do such a thing.

Perhaps it was silly, but I forgave you, even though you did not apologise or acknowledge that what you did was wrong.

We made so many memories together and you were there for me whenever I needed someone. So I gave you the benefit of the doubt, and thought about it a lot before I started talking to you again. I did not want to lose a close friend.

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I regret getting close to you.

A month later in July, I was having problems with my phone and knew that you had experience in fixing phones. You told me to go over because your equipment was at home.

We had been talking for a few weeks since the first incident happened and you seemed to have dropped thoughts of getting together with me. We were cool and I was starting to trust you again. You even assured me that you would not do anything. I trusted you. Who would refuse a free phone fix, anyway?

You picked me up about 30 minutes later. I had little sleep the night prior and fixing the phone took a long time. I asked if I could get a mattress to lay on, nothing else. You told me to use your bed instead.

I remember saying yes but I also remember clearly telling you that I would be uncomfortable with any physical touch.

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You reassured me that you wouldn't do anything to me, but I should have known better.

I laid in your bed and was close to dozing off when you climbed in next to me. You wrapped your huge and strong arms around me, and forced me into cuddling with you.

I told you I did not want this. You said you knew, but you did it anyway. I felt hurt and betrayed. I tried moving away but I wasn't strong enough. As you forced your lips upon mine, I just laid there with tears streaming down my eyes.

Minutes passed. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, you took it further. Body to body, hands all over me. I had never felt so disgusted. In shock, "No" and "Stop" were the only words that could escape my mouth.

You did not stop. The only thing I could do was lay there in defeat, helpless.

When you were finally done, you got up like nothing had happened. I was so angry and disappointed with you, and much more with myself.

You simply told me my phone was fixed. Still in shock, I got up, took my phone and went straight home.

I cried at home that day. I kept blaming myself for letting this happen to myself. I will never forget that day.

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Sometimes I smoke more to distract myself from thinking too much.

Days passed before I finally decided to confide in a teacher in school. I told her what had happened to me and till today, I cannot believe what she said.

"Why did you lay on his bed? You were probably being suggestive."

Instead of the advice and comfort I was hoping for, I was blamed for letting such things happen to me. I spent days convincing myself that it was all my fault for being too suggestive. Unhealthy thoughts flooded my head.

I was in this toxic cycle till weeks later when I decided to ask my best friend for help. She assured me that it was not my fault and I should never be ashamed of what had happened. I had not given my consent and that was that.

I sought help online and thought of making a police report. But I wasn't prepared to go through the process of reporting the matter nor was I comfortable enough to let a complete stranger question me. I did not want to replay those memories and hurt myself further.

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I cut you off, ignored your texts and calls.
PHOTO CREDITS: YOUTH.SG/WINSTON TAY

A year has passed and I have not spoken to you since. I still feel uncomfortable when people get too close to me. Whenever a stranger accidentally touches me in the train or bus, I would freak out. Sometimes, I even get a minor anxiety attack. I fear seeing people older and bigger than me because they remind me of you and what you did.

If only I didn't let you back into my life after the first time. If only I have fought harder.

To everyone out there, I am telling my story now because it's part of my healing process, and I know other victims need to hear it.

Such attacks can happen to anyone, including guys. If you are a victim of any form of sexual assault or rape, please seek help – at least emotionally. Speak up and confide in someone you can trust, someone who wants the best for you and looks out for you.

There is nothing to be ashamed of. You deserve the chance to heal with the support of loved ones.

We have changed the name of the writer to protect his identity.