The scars of intimate partner rape last a lifetime.

This is her brave story:

Today, it has been several months since my sexual assault. Someday, it will have been several years. In time, several decades will have passed, filling up the space between me and the rape.

I want as much time between us as possible - even if it is so distant in the past that I'm dead. I want as much of the fabric of the space-time continuum between me and his sweaty hand shoved repeatedly down my pants as is possible in this universe.

I want other memories and new, better boyfriends to push me farther and farther from the memory that still makes my stomach turn in agony. I want to be pushed as far away as is possible in this universe. I want to scream his name from the rooftops of his college buildings yelling:

"Girls - do not date this man! He is a predator. He is a danger. He is someone you will soon regret!"

His silent misogyny and subtle guilt-tripping. His projection pf his own feelings of inadequacy onto me are things I want in the back of my mind; the furthest memories from my consciousness. As far as is possible in this universe. The memory of trying to wriggle away, the frustration and indignation at not having my wishes respected, are memories I would rather not have.

But if I can't get rid of them, I want them as far as is possible in this universe.

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