Dear Rapist,

Thank you. Because of you, I broke up with my boyfriend.

My boyfriend who takes me out on dates every month. My boyfriend who brings me flowers and showers me with attention. My boyfriend who refuses to leave no matter how many times I break down crying because of you and throw vases at his head for not doing anything wrong but just being a man. My dedicate, sweet, loving boyfriend, who I cannot contain in this dark pit of agony and terror with me any longer. I let the one man who, God knows why, loved me no matter how much I hurt him in misdirected rage go because of you.

So for that, thank you. Thank you for preventing me from being able to love him.

Thank you for making me want to cut the thighs he caresses in a loving way because it reminds me of when you touched wherever you pleased. Thank you for making me want to vomit endlessly when he kisses me so gently because it reminds me of when you used that disgusting mouth of yours to shush mine. Thank you for making me afraid of his hand, which held me so close in acts of comfort because it reminds me of when you… wouldn't let go no matter how many times I begged. Thank you for giving me flashes of terror and guilt every time he tried to love me because you made me so scared of such a loving and dedicated man.

Thank you. Because of you, I cannot stand when a man stands behind me.

I am scared to use the bathroom alone. I am scared to walk in the bright sunshine because I get flashes of when your body pinned mine down during the night when everyone else was fast asleep. I am scared, but I don't want to be. I don't want to reach for my pocket knife every time a man walks behind me. I don't want to strategically plan how I'm going to defend myself if he just whimsically decides to grab my hair and bruise my skin anyway he desires, just as you did.

I don't want to think of all the ways I could kill myself to release the agonizing thought of the way he could've touched me, violated me, destroyed me down the hollow pit of where my heart use to be. The hallow pit you created when you decided I didn't need my innocence any longer. Thank you for making me afraid like how a woman should be when in presence of a man.

I forgot one more thing: thank you for letting me realize this body of mine didn't belong to me.

Before, I thought I had a say in who I wanted to spend my first time with. I thought sexual acts could only be done with someone I loved, but I was wrong. Thank you for teaching me that because now, I don't care what happens to rotting body of mine. I don't care for the razor scars, rope marks, or the throbbing red streaks caused by desperate nails trying to dig out your mark from underneath my skin. Thank you. Honestly, thank you so much for making me feel like less of human being and more like corpse that's just dragging by life, hoping that one day, fate will do what I cannot.

Fate will pull me out from this purgatory lifestyle, and I could live peacefully in Hell, where I belong with all the other promiscuous women of history. Thank you, for reading this because I know it must be so hard for you to relive the day you killed me.

Sincerely,