On the afternoon of 20 May 2015 I was drugged and raped repeatedly by a stranger.

At that moment, normal truly became an option as opposed to a requirement. I was lucky that I made it out with minimal physical injury, however the psychological toll it has taken on my day to day life has been annoyingly typical at best, self loathing and destructive in its darkest. I blamed myself, I blamed my actions, I even blamed my inability to exercise basic safety precautions that I have time after time drilled into the heads of my sisters and brothers who must spend their lives protecting themselves from the bogeymen created by a culture that glorifies sexual violence and inequitable sexual power.

My shame spiral was only compounded by a situational inability to report the assault to the police. My life was credibly threatened and as such I feared the possible fall out from this crime could not only harm my husband and I in the literal sense, but my what was then a perceived mistake in judgement had the possibility to harm what we have been building over the last decade. As a rational human being my failings all played right into the power dynamic that not only feeds the horrific rape culture that exists today, but also made me question my role as a feminist, a queer activist, a citizen, but above all else a husband.

When my rapist gave me that poison laced cranberry juice, he wanted to take away my power. He wanted to remove my ability as a six foot sixteen stone powerhouse to fight off his smaller, weaker, more feeble frame. When he told me his associates “kill for business, not pleasure”, he wanted to paralyse my future by silencing any report to the authorities. This man used tools both physical and mental to ensure he was able to take what he wanted. And for a while, he did just that. But not for long.

I have had an amazing initial support network embrace me in the velvet lined kid gloves only utilised to break the fall of someone loved and protected as I am considered. Individual small steps away from The Wednesday have been lightened by those who gave up their time, their secrets, and performed multiple generous acts of love to support me as a victim of the most heinous crimes committed.

Some of those initial heroes were people deeply rooted deep in my personality’s DNA, some were complete strangers at a wedding in Tuscany. And these giants amongst humankind watched me disintegrate and descend into parts of myself that no one should ever see. They flew across an ocean to wait for me to receive messages universal in size and import. They held my hand when I went back to the doctor to restart HIV treatment. They watched me question my version of self and patiently let me heal the best way I could. They watched as I did things frightening and dangerous in order to make sense of the nonsensical. And for this, I will be forever grateful. For this, I owe them my life.

I write today to put rest to the victim I once was by inviting the readers of these words to join me on my new journey as a survivor of rape. As difficult as it is to write and then read back the words that meander through the pits of personal hell that has been the past year of my life, I find it vitally important for me to write about what has happened to me. As someone who felt alone and too embarrassed to ask for help when I needed it, I know that it might save a life by offering my story to show those who have or will have to endure this hell that they are not alone. These painful, difficult words have been created and etched into digital history in hopes of healing others should they ever find themselves where I was on The Wednesday.

I want people to know that they are not at fault and they have an army of their own waiting to spring into action if and when they need it. Through standing up and taking back our power we need not be victims ever. Standing shoulder to shoulder fighting rape culture’s vice like grip of silence and shame we can be survivors.
By re-living this hell by writing and reading these words I know we ARE survivors.

I implore you: Speak up, talk to those who you love, and do not let rape culture take our power away anymore. Call out misogyny where it occurs, fight inequality where it permeates, and ensure that NO MEANS NO in every aspect and guise of that word. Teach consent rather than prevention. And never be embarrassed to say:

I AM A SURVIVOR OF RAPE.

When people ask me how I am, I still can’t say I’m ok. I always say I am getting better and I know one day I will be ok. And I will be ok. I don’t know the when or where that will be and as the archetypal Type A control freak I am not knowing represents one of the biggest challenges I have ever faced. I know what ok looks like and I know what it feels like, so I guess that is a start. These words are part of the process to get me there and I hope that if anything they convey a sense of healing and acceptance of the new normative I choose to maintain. And if I can help just one other person going through or that one day has the misfortune to go through this, then I will know that this event wasn’t as horrible as it still seems.

Together we will ensure that even the most destructive events can be used to build and strengthen those affected by them. So I want to thank you for now being on this journey. Together we can stand up to rape culture, together we can unsilence the unmentionable. Together, we will take back our power.

Together, we survive.