A long time ago there was a thread asking what if felt like to be a survivor. A lot of people gave their answers, all of them heartfelt, all of them painful. But there was one answer that really struck me, as it struck others. It was a poem that expressed how I, and many others truly felt.
Trigger Warning
This post will talk about sexual abuse and rape.
Almost on instinct I saved the poem. I knew I would keep coming back to it, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t lose it. The true author is lost to time, as is the original reddit post, so we don’t even have a user name for attribution.
But I held onto it all this time. While it doesn’t specifically express my situation, it expresses how I feel. It expresses how many people feel, in a way that only poetry can. I’ve kept this poem to myself for over a decade, but today I’ve decided to share it again, to preserve it.
I Want Him
I want him to be walking around in a public place, like a supermarket, and suddenly recognise what he did and dissolve into panicked tears.
I want him to lie awake at night and spend hours replaying that scene, wishing through choking, pathetic sobs that he could change the ending.
I want him to be terrified of being around other men because it might happen again.
I want him to be so deeply ashamed of himself, that he truly believes his own parents would stop loving him if they knew the truth.
I want him to get the cold sweats and shakes whenever someone mentions the word “rape”.I want him to look at other people who are happy, who have happy, pleasurable sexual relationships, and feel broken.
I want him to feel enraged when someone spouts off “just world” philosophy bullshit.
I want him to avoid mirrors because he can’t stand to look at himself.
I want him to spend countless nights getting drunk so he’ll have courage to commit suicide, only to realize that’s he’s a coward. (Just like he already knew.)
I want him to spend 15 minutes of every hour in the handicap bathroom at work trying to calm himself down.
I want him to feel inescapable panic about half the time he has sex for years after the fact.
I want him to think about my face anytime they’re feeling sexual pleasure, getting naked, or masturbating, and I want that image to crush any hope of arousal.I want him to explain to a significant other, through hysterics, exactly what happened that day.
I want him to fear being out in public because it feels that the truth of that experience is written on his face.
I want him to spend years in therapy.
I want people to tell him that his pain is not a big deal and that he should just stop thinking about that day.
Because honestly, what is it really helping?I want him to feel like I know him better than anyone ever could because I was there.
I know what he looks like when he rapes someone.
I want him to feel like I’m inside him all the time, mocking him for every failure, panic attack, and sick day.
I want him to believe that it’s always going to feel like this.
I want him to feel like trash. Actual use-and-throw away- trash.
I want him to feel angry and have no outlet except his own body.
I want him to feel weak and useless.
I want him to feel DEFINED by this experience.
I want him to feel like a monster.I want him to feel like me…
Anon
This is a poem that has always been both cathartic and a source of great sadness. It’s a reminder that I am not alone and that there are others out there who understand some of the things I have been through. But it’s also a reminder that others have gone through similar things to what I have, that there will always be monsters that haunt us, and that these things will keep happening.
