i’ve seen more battles lost than i have battles won

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in the week before easter last year, i found out that the cps weren’t going to prosecute my rapist.

there were a multitude of reasons for this, many of which i fundamentally disagree with but there was nothing more i could do to change their minds. after two years of fighting the police (thankfully not very often), the cps (most of the time) and, ultimately, the man who raped me, i lost. sure, i didn’t go through the hell of a trial (at which, i’m fairly confident, he would have been found not guilty) and didn’t end up with hundreds of commenters on the daily mail accusing me of making the whole thing up but still, i lost.

and he won.

he raped me and he got away with it.

and when i realised that i had to stop fighting him, i started fighting myself. i’ve been consumed by that fight ever since; i have the literal and metaphorical scars to prove it. although he knows nothing about it, he’s still winning. and that really has to stop.

{title quotation from the queen and the soldier by suzanne vega}

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