Journal

Tuesday, May 24, 1997: 
It's taken me two weeks to come to terms with it and finally write it on paper. But I think I'm ready to. 
On May 10, 1997, I went to the movies by myself. I went to get out of my house because my parents were fighting again. All I wanted to do was be alone, but when dad's friend Phil had come up to me I thought he'd be nice company. I've known Phil ever since I was little, he was there when I was born, so I felt like he was not only dad's friend, but my own. He said he was going to see the same movie I was, so I invited him to come with me which he proceeded to do. After the movie, we chit chatted outside of the theatre about the film, and then decided it was time to leave. He told me he'd see me probably tomorrow because he would be going golfing with my dad. I said goodbye and walked to my car. Once I got settled and was ready to drive away, I heard a knocking at my window. With a jump, I turned and saw it was Phil. I rolled down my window and he told me that his car had appeared to have broken down while we were in the movie, and he would appreciate a ride home. I offered happily with no problems doing so and he hopped in the passenger seat thanking me. We drove for about twenty minutes, chatting about the movie and my father and eventually reached his house. "Thanks," he said with a crooked smile. "You're welcome," I responded. As he went to get out of the car, I turned the key to start the car and he grabbed it out of my hand. He told me I needed to come inside for a drink, and I said I really should be getting home. Before I could finish my sentence, he told me with a stern voice to get inside his house. Panicking like never before, I got out of the car and walked toward his house. He walked behind me and I could feel him. I could just feel him behind me, watching me as I walked. I entered his house and he locked the door. He guided me to the bedroom and told me to remove my coat. I asked him why he wouldn't let me go home, and he said something that I will remember for the rest of my life. "I've waited a long time for this, and I'm going to get it now." Knowing what he meant I turned to run out of the house, but he beat me to the door and locked that one too. He then started touching me. Taking my clothes off. Taking his off. ...I'm sorry. I can't write anymore. I guess I'm really not ready.

Tuesday, May 24, 2000:
I finally told my therapist about that night. I've been seeing him for about two weeks now, but just wasn't ready to tell him about the incident. In fact, I haven't told anyone ever. Today, I brought my journal which I wrote in about that night. Well, the one I'm writing in right now. Even though I didn't list in full detail what he did to be because I just didn't have the courage, he understood. He knew what happened. He finished reading the entry from three-years-ago and looked at me with wide, sad eyes, finally understanding. He had been trying to figure out for the past two weeks why I was the way I was, and I guess this was the root of it all. After I let him read it, I felt a sense of relief. I felt like the weight was finally lifted from my shoulders. Even though it didn't erase what had happened to me, I felt better that someone else had known. I'm ready to press charges against Phil now, and my therapist is going to help me with the process. Telling my father what happened, telling my siblings. Even though none of it's started yet, I feel better already. I know justice will be served, and that is a great feeling of relief.