I know what you did to me, but it didn’t ruin me, I accept it without respecting it, and I have come to terms with it. And I don’t hate you or myself; I hate what you did to me and why you thought it was okay. – Meggie Royer

I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, I just wished it had arrived after I left the country. When you’ve fought hard in returning to normal and finding peace in the wake of the wreckage,  you wouldn’t want to go back. Call me selfish or weak but I was content in my make-pretend safe place. But apparently, my fight isn’t over. The very thing I was running away (and hiding) from, finally caught up with me.

Yesterday I was in the office, pretending to be busy, when my uncle visited.

“You got a subpoena,” he said, handing me the envelope.

And I swore it isn’t an exaggeration when I say my whole body felt like it was on fire. I was sitting down, but my knees felt like jelly. My ears were ringing, and my cheeks turned scarlet as the panic set it. I was shaking pretty bad. I suddenly had the urge to cry.

For 6 months, we’ve all been waiting (me, dreading) for this to arrive. And now that it has, all I wanted was to burn it. To throw it away and pretend that it never reached me. March 14th and 28th, it says. Will I survive 2 days in court? In seeing that person again?

Maybe running away from this is easier than dealing with it. What if I’m not strong enough to make what happened to me powerful? What if I’m asking for the impossible when I say I want to mould this into something that would give survivors like me inspiration to speak up about theirs?

I wish I could say something inspirational about this, that I’d win this fight and move on with my life. Or at least say that the above quote holds true for me. But truth is, none of this is easy. I’m back to trying to find my way to come in terms with what happened. Hoping this time I could do it right.

 

 

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