A letter to…my rapists
I reframed the guilt I’d carried for 35 years – I finally let go
My childhood memories, growing up in South Africa, are split in two.
Before what you did to me – and after.
In 1983, then 15, I was a typical teenage girl.
No worries except schoolwork or planning fun with friends.
Then, one Friday evening, you arrived.
My mum left my younger sister and
I with our nanny, while she and my older brother were out.
We were watching telly when the doorbell rang.
I answered. Nanny was in the sitting room with my sister.
There three of you stood, still only 16 – mere boys, not men. I’d seen you around. Didn’t think anything of you asking for my brother.
You said you’d wait, so I let you all into the house.
Showed you the way to his bedroom.
That’s when you grabbed me. My screams were muffled by bedsheets as you held me down. In turn, you raped me. When it was over, you all left, as if nothing had happened.
I ran to the shower, scrubbed my skin raw under the scorching water.
Humiliated, I couldn’t tell anyone.
I tried putting on a brave face but my personality changed.
At parties, I refused any drink, terrified to lose control, always guarded.
I got a boyfriend at 16, we took things slowly. But, that summer, he went on holiday and my friend threw a party. There, only an hour in at 7pm, I felt woozy – but I’d only had water to drink.
I was confused, nothing made sense.
I’d been outside, but I felt myself being dragged into a room and put on the bed.
Then you – a stranger – loomed over me.
My drink had been spiked. Another man, who wanted to hurt me? Did you know it’d happened before?
Could you sense it on me..? Was that why you pounced?
I pleaded with my legs to work. But, frozen, I couldn’t move them.
You didn’t care, as you forced yourself on me.
Just as before, I was powerless to stop it.
Afterwards, shame burned inside me.Used for some stranger’s sick gratification. Twice. Broken inside, I pushed away friends. I tried to focus on my schoolwork, but I’d suffer awful flashbacks.
Just the whiff of the same aftershave you’d worn…
I relived the horror of both vile assaults, over and over.
I’d been a model student, a prefect, set for straight As. Soon, I dropped out of school. But I couldn’t let what you’d done ruin my life. So, six months on, I began studying Design at college.
In January 1987, then 20, I gave birth to a baby girl.
And I built a career as a graphic designer.
In 1995, I moved to London to experience a new city, and had two more daughters. Your actions haunted me still. Just brushing against a stranger’s arm could set me off.
In June 2017, I joined a course with a hypnotherapist called Marisa Peer.
There, a student shared a story almost identical to what you’d done to me.
My heart racing, I almost bolted out of the door. But Marisa stepped in.
She offered me a one-on-one session and, with her help, I faced what’d happened.
I reframed the guilt that I’d carried for 35 years, and everything shifted inside me. I finally let go.
These days, I’m stronger than ever, even helping others like me, using the same method that Marisa used.
Now I know – it is you who should be ashamed, not me.