But some things in life you don't get to say the issue is all yours.  When someone does something concretely wrong to you, something that is so bad, that they need to be aware of it, then maybe it's worth confronting them.  I sent a letter to my old neighbor, informing her of what her uncle did to me at a Christmas dinner a few years ago.  I know that was necessary.  I ran into the man's sister at Costco a few months ago, and LUCKILY that bitch is completely blind and didn't see me.  She was horrid and I hated living next door to her every second of the day.  She's the one who took notes on when my lights were on at night and reported back to me each day.  I do not miss that one bit (though that was 1 of 100 things she did to my family).  

But this year is my 30 year high school graduation anniversary.  I am not sure if they're having a reunion, (they never have had any other than the first one at 5 years), but even if they do, I am not going.  I have no need to see those people again.  Not because I am angry, but because I am really trying hard not to travel backwards.  At least not right now.  Because that same year, right before graduation, a friend of mine raped me.  

It was my 18th birthday party, we all went camping.  There was me, Jen, Candace, Amy, Sheila, Crystal, Greg, Carrie, Becky, Todd, Jason, and BJ.  Sheila, Greg, BJ, and I all shared a tent.  We were having fun, giggling and playing word games and being silly.  But BJ kept flirting with me, something he'd never done before, and I was into it.  BJ was older than us by a couple years.  He was already graduated (I think).  He went to prom with Becky.  He was more of Becky and Carrie's friend than mine.  Greg was my ex-boyfriend (like really, really recently ex).  But BJ was being nice and I thought hmmm, well maybe we'd make a better fit than Greg and I did.  BJ's flirting got more and more sexual as the night went on.  Sheila and Greg left for awhile and BJ immediately started kissing me.  I did not expect we'd have sex, but quickly he was pulling my pants down.  I can't remember if I had actually wanted to or not.  But I remember being kind of okay with it.  Back then, I didn't know how to tell a man no.  I would leave my body and just endure sex, as I literally felt nothing.  And I didn't know I was allowed to tell a man I was attracted to "no", or even how to know if I wanted sex or not.  I was numb.  So I will say I did consent to having sex with him.  But I did not consent to him putting his semen into my body.  I did not consent to not being asked if that was okay or not.  I did not consent to man making a choice for me that could have horrible, horrible consequences.  I had just turned 18.  It was my birthday.  

He got up and immediately asked me when I had my last period and told me that I should be perfectly fine since it was impossible to get pregnant at that point in my cycle.  A man was sitting there tell ME how MY body worked.  As if he knew anything at all.   And then he pulled up his pants and acted like everything was normal.  I pulled up my pants and wondered what the fuck just happened.  I felt violated, but I didn't know why.  My friends came back and the silliness I felt before they left was gone.  I just wanted to sleep.  

I woke up the next day and avoided BJ at all costs.  He got offended and acted like I was being an asshole.  I didn't know why I was avoiding him, maybe I just regretted having sex with him?  But it felt deeper than that.  I didn't know why I couldn't stand to be near him.  I didn't want to talk to him.  I just wanted to go home.  He told everyone we slept together and that I was being an asshole ignoring him.  As though I was the one hurting him.  This was while we were still there.  All my friends were huddled around him, consoling him as though he was the victim.  To him, he was.  I don't even know if he knew what terrible thing he had just done to me.  Hell, I didn't even really understand it, either.  But I did feel ashamed.  I didn't want to have sex with him.  But I did it because I didn't know how to say no.  I would freeze and leave my body and let whatever was about to happen happen.  Granted, I can't say he knew any of that. But that's why we're taught about enthusiastic consent today.  Because even if a man has no idea you don't want to, and you don't know how to say no, you feel raped, but technically that part isn't rape.  The ejaculating inside of my body without my consent was.  

He could have had HIV or some other STI.  He could have gotten me pregnant and I would have had to have an abortion.  That would have fucked me up mentally, emotionally, and possibly physically for life.  I became obsessed after that that I could have contracted HIV from him.  I was getting tested every week for months.  I never let a guy do that.  Had he asked, I would have enthusiastically said NO.  But he didn't ask.  And I didn't even know it had happened until it was done.  He wrecked my mental health.  I was so obsessed with the idea that I could be dying that I even planned my funeral!  This was the middle 90's, this shit was drilled into your head back then.  And I have severe anxiety and OCD.  Had he just asked, the answer would have been NO!  But he didn't ask.  He didn't even think to.  What would he have done if I had gotten pregnant?  I wouldn't have told him.  I would have just gotten an abortion.  

And that's why I am writing him a letter.  This one I will send.  To to this day, 30 years later, I bet he still thinks I am an asshole for brushing him off.  But he needs to know why.  Not to punish him, but to make him aware that his actions had consequences for me (though not as bad as it could have been).  And maybe he could understand that part of himself that acted that way.  Or not.  It really doesn't matter.  My job is to put the information into the world and hopefully it lands upon ears who need to hear it.  If not, well, whatever.  Not my concern.  I did my job to heal myself a little bit and the rest I don't need to worry about.  Sounds assholey, but I mean....look at who I send letters to.  They are all people who deserve to be reminded of what they did.  

BJ is a military man now.  He has two boys I think.  He needs to teach those boys about consent.  And he needs to make amends to the other women in his life who he's done this to (if any).  

I have no idea how to find his address (my usual ways aren't working).  But I will.  Or I send it on Facebook.  The thing is, he's still friends with people I know.  So if I block him, I need to block them, too.  Or not.  One of the friends was there that day.  I hope he shows her my letter.  She was one of the people who took his side back then.  She didn't know the truth.  Hell, I couldn't even explain what was going on.  I would like her to know, but I don't want to spread rumors.  He will be the only one I tell.  Unless someone else asks about it.  Then all bets are off, because that means he's sharing it. 

Why would I send him a letter?  To heal myself.  To open his mind to what he did wrong.  Because what he did was seriously wrong.  And maybe he's learned his lesson.  Maybe not.  And maybe this letter will help him to.  Or maybe not.  It's not up to me what he does with the information.  It's only up to me provide the information.  

I already did this with my rapist from when I was 14 and he raped me out of my virginity.  But I posted that online on something he commented on (on a mutual friend's page) for everyone to see.  He deserved that.  I was 14 when it happened and he was a legal adult.  And it was textbook rape.   

Okay, I need to go search for his address some more.   If not, I will send it on Facebook.  Ugh.