In the first few months after I was raped, my brain went numb. I wish I knew a less cliched way to say it, but that’s the truth of how it felt. I didn’t decide then not to report my rape, I just wasn’t high-functioning enough to have the thought.
I don’t have a lot of clear memories from that period. I spent a lot of time in bed, skipped most of my classes, and spent less time with my friends. When I did go out, my mood ranged from gloom to a kind of manic giddiness.
I don’t think I knew why I was so miserable. Friends asked what was going on, and I remember answering that I was still pining over an old breakup, or had an argument with a family member, or was stressed about school and the cold winter weather. I don’t remember telling any of them the truth, possibly because I hadn’t acknowledged it to myself.
At one point, my rapist wrote me an apology email and I replied, “Just want you to know I got this. It can’t have been easy to write. We will talk but now is hard.”