*Content Warning: This piece contains a reference to sexual assault, which may be triggering to some.*
I think it is important to believe people and their stories, and to support them in any way that we can.
When I was in the sixth grade I had a “boyfriend.” I remember the one time I went to his house, it was a rainy Saturday night. His sister was supposed to be watching us, but pretty much left us to our own devices.
He was looking through a yearbook and found my picture, telling me that I had a pretty smile. I thought that was really sweet and I thanked him. But he later forced me to kiss him, despite my protests, not once but thrice. He then went on to try to force himself on me.
He was stronger than me, but I had an adrenaline rush that allowed me to push him away from me. I ended up running down the stairs away from him, and his sister told me that my mother was there. She must have assumed that I heard my mother’s car, but honestly I was just trying to put as much distance between me and her brother as I was able.
It took me a long time to heal from that trauma. For a while, I blamed myself. I preferred staying inside and not being too social because that meant less chances of running into him which was a worry that was very frequently on my mind. What if I ran into him at Walmart, the local grocery store, or someone’s wedding? Thankfully, that never happened.
Yet, just when I thought I was recovering myself in college and really starting to blossom and come into my own I saw a familiar face that stopped me dead in my tracks. It was my second year of college, and he walked past me. He had this wicked smirk on his face when he said, “I bet you don’t remember me.” Like somehow I could forget how he forced me to kiss him, and how he tried to force himself on me all those years ago. He knew that I couldn’t forget, he was just reminding me that he was still the predator that he always was.
Yet my childhood best friend still friended him on Facebook, I’ve had family members including my own mother telling me he’s a good man. I think if someone’s really a good person they wouldn’t have to have their presences announced as good people. Their actions would speak louder than anyone’s praise of them.
I feel wounded and betrayed by the way people only see the good in him.
Granted, I only told a small handful of people in my personal life about him but my childhood best friend was among them. It just makes me wonder what’s more important – a connection to someone you once knew or the mental health of someone you care about? If he did that to me when we were just kids, can you imagine what he’s capable of now? It just boggles my mind.
Maybe instead of wondering about the authenticity of a survivor’s story, ask yourself why you don’t believe them? People have many faces, do you really think a predator is going to make themselves look bad? Maybe consider that you could be wrong about someone. Because not everyone is who they seem.
