Thread by @cmclymer

After watching "Allen v. Farrow", I started writing a long essay on my childhood rape, the fallout, the lack of justice, the anger, the suicidality, all of it.

It's still not finished, and I'm not sure I'll ever publish it. I just find myself filled with rage. Never goes away.

My rapist is in a box in the ground. An adult I should have trusted above anyone else. And there's nothing left after that. You can't argue with the ground.

Rage is exhausting. It's draining. And I try my best to navigate it. I honestly still don't know how.

I've written about 4,000 words, so far. And every time I think I might get it ready to publish, I just can't really bring myself to do it. I think my main problem is reconciling a need to seek justice through truth, which somehow costs a measure of dignity. That's a high price.

I don't know how to explain it. A part of me really wants the world to know, but then, they would have to know you at your most vulnerable. At your most fragile. There's really not a clean approach here. It's always going to be messy. It's always going to hurt.

There's a common experience with survivors in talking about the gathering costs of that trauma over time. Things you'd never think you would lose. And then they're gone, and that's it. You can't get them back. I think a lot of people don't understand that aspect. All the costs.

I remember sitting in my therapist's office years ago, still in the closet, and working through how to come out as trans. And they told me that maybe I'm transgender because of the rape. They actually said that. That's an example of a cost you don't expect. Random cruelty.

And no, I don't see them anymore, but imagine hearing that. The two had nothing to do with each other. Imagine hearing from some cis person that your gender identity is somehow a consequence of rape. Just beyond fucked up.

Anyway, that's what powers rage. I'm not sure if I was going somewhere specific with all this. Just talking out loud. I'm gonna try to enjoy my Thurs. night now.