Survival

Brittle, hollow, not exactly broken, but very near it. That is how I felt after everything. Everything that I was, the strength that I had built over the last few years, and the courage that I had come to expect of myself, was carved away by this process. The process of naming my attacker, facing my attacker, and listening as his lawyer took apart my character piece by piece in open court. I feel brittle. Like pieces of me might break off at the slightest touch.

This is not the first time I have survived sexual violence. What happened, in the grand scheme of things, wasn't even my worst experience with violence. No, that wasn't what carved out my strength and left me hollow. It was the courts.

I thought I was doing the brave thing, the real thing, the thing I had always encouraged other women to do. I spoke up. I told the truth. I said what happened and where we stood in that public park in broad daylight and how the people in the park watched and heard my screams and did nothing. I said all that. I told the truth. And still, when it came time in court, my life choices were used against me.

I don't wear a bra. A fact that I'm amusedly proud of, usually. I loathe the damn things. I am not a large chested woman, and I have this theory that bras were designed by men out of fear that they would not be able to control themselves around women's bouncing bosoms. So I reject the notion that I'm obligated to harness my breasts. They brought that up in court, and said that I was using my "bralessness" to entice him, so clearly I have a point.

They brought up that I have always taken lovers. That over the course of my life I have only had a handful of significant relationships and that I moved into this building following a very brief marriage. I had told the man who assaulted me that I was divorced, but I never got into my theories on lovers. Though someone must have, because they knew everything. I don't know how.

That wasn't even the worst, though. That was hard, but that was understandable. They were fighting to make his sentence less confining. I could understand that even if I hated it.

No, what gutted me was listening to the judge read out what happened and then explain that to put further restrictions on him than what she was about to read out would be punitive. I had thought that punitive was sort of the point, but what do I know.

Through her assessment of what made sense, I learned what I am worth in the eyes of the court. I am worth alcohol counseling, boundary counseling, and his DNA being kept on file. He will be required to maintain a 500 meter distance from me at all times, except at his home, which is in the building my sister lives in, the same building I was living in when this happened. The fact that he was going to be allowed to return there, in spite of the risk he poses for my sister and myself, upset me.

However, the real hurt, stupidly, came when she read out my monetary value. The value of my body being violated. The value of my fear. The value of the damage I'm left to deal with psychologically. 100 Canadian dollars. He has thirty days to pay that. He said he doesn't need an extension, though her honor did offer.

I have spent the last two days now trying to piece together why that hurts so damn much. Why, above all else, it is that sentence, "You will pay $100 dollars to the Crown for this act of violence," that carved out the pieces of my spirit and left me so fragile. There are other things that I struggle with, and of course there are the issues created by the assault itself. However, to know that that is what I am worth, what my pain is worth, and to know that the judge felt that to ask for more would not be a proportional punishment for the crime committed, hurts.

He assaulted me, but the justice system victimized me.

Yet this is not a story that ends with a bad judgement call. While sexual abusers are making news headlines daily, this is not the moment for me to stand here and embrace my fragility. No. I took two days to think. I took two days to analyze and regroup. But I'm done now. I am done with silence and accepting that my body and soul are up for grabs. I deserve better, and I'm not alone in being willing to finally demand just that. So from here on out, I am not a victim. I am standing. I might look like I will break, but I am stronger than I look. Now is my time to change the conversation.