My Boyfriend, my stalker

It was the wrong sort of rape: I was drunk, he was my boyfriend, and I didn’t fight back hard enough. I could have screamed louder, or hit back harder. I could have called the police the next day, but I didn’t.

I didn’t want my every action afterwards to be attributed to that night. If I act slutty, it’s because I want to act slutty. If I want to wait before sleeping with someone, I didn’t want it to become because of that.

I don’t hate M. I don’t even regret our relationship. Most of all I feel sorry for him. He has so many demons that he’ll never be happy.

But it has changed me. I don’t think I’ll ever have a proper relationship again, because, like the policewoman said, you can never really know someone. I’ll only start relationships that I know have a sell-by date, and end them before 9 months.

I can feel that a part of myself has shut down. And for me, that’s the worst thing about this story.