Surviving rape, the Aftermath. The call for help
Part I: The call for help

Author’s Note: The chronology of this article has been altered for consistency in the narration.

London, February 2020

Back from running some errands, I was now heading to my East Londonian cozy crib, removing myself in the meantime from this dreadful greyness that nothing seemed to be driving away.As I came back to my room I fell face to face to a surprisingly bright place as if every single light from the city had chosen to reunite there. Baffled, I got closer to the large window which was facing me, the eyes trained toward the horizon.

At the corner of the road, we could see some kids pranking each other. Even from this distance the group dynamic was still veryclear which enabled me to identify quickly the group leader. Taken away by this candid scenery , I stayed there quiet,in full contemplation before being immersed abruptly a flow of contradictory emotions all leading to the same conclusion. It was time. It was time and I was not ready. Yet, I really tried to reach this point but nothing and nobody could have really prepared me for this moment where I will have to reveal to a complete stranger that I have been raped, no matter the level of warmth between us. But I needed responses and most importantly to speak.

Slightly lost, I dialled the 11 figures of the East London rape crisis helpline but no one took my call.

I repeated the operation over and over, leaving a 5 minutes break between each attempt, with little success. The line was saturated. As time was passing by, my tenacity at the beginning started to decrease, compressed by fear and resignation.

Suddenly, a BBC alert appeared on my screen. The headline was concerning. I was on the verge of clicking when a distant voice came to my ear. I put the speaker on just on time to capture the end of her sentence, my efforts had finally paid off.

« How can I help you » asked the volunteer, her voice was soft and settled. Suddenly overwhelmed, I mumbled a confused « hello », an uncomfortable silence settled. After a few seconds, I finally started to give an element of context « something happened to me »

At first, she didn’t say anything , I knew she was waiting for more details to be able to react but facing this avenue of choice and possibility, I found myself silent. « When do the facts go back to? she finally asked, a question which was received with a lot of relief.

— At the end of 2018 » I responded. « I placed a complaint but my aggressor has not been brought to court, they finally convoked him last December but we are on the second adjournment, he says that he is busy and the police concedes as if it was an option… »

« I feel some anger in your voice » the volunteer noted, interrupting in the meantime my little monologue. The sole evocation of my anger woke up a good lot of repressed emotions. — I am mostly drained » I confided to her « I don’t sleep anymore, I have permanent headaches, my back aches. Sometimes when I take the subway, I feel like the ground falling “from under my feet, I feel so heavy, it’s unbelievable and then it’s a disaster, everything become so intense, the light …the voices… it’s almost unbearable, and quite often I feel like I am running out of air. »

« You have episodes of anxiety (…) » she responded before to observe a silence, — yes and there have been many of those lately » I answered « (…) I am calling because I don’t know anything anymore, I see that I am changing, that my state is worsening, I feel like I am surviving and I don’t know anymore what’s great to do or not, as I don’t know who I am anymore….

« These are very tough procedures, it’s never easy… » she finally said.

— I know or should I say I am getting to see it for myself (…) I thought that getting on the legal route would bring me closure but nothing is happening, I feel ignored. I have seen the data, it is not encouraging : only 11% of the victims actually file a claim against their aggressor , and only 1% of all these rape cases lead to charge »

« I don’t know for France, but we have the same figures here » the volunteer added.

As time was passing by, I started to relax with this weird sensation of speaking to a special friend who had the responses for anything. I asked her how things were doing for the other survivors she’s been dealing with, somehow I wanted to see where I stood exactly in this battlefield, whether or not my reactions and thoughts were the norms. The end of the call approaching, I confided in her my desire to surrender « — sometimes, I just dream about starting fresh, this legal process, those cancellations, these exchanges with my lawyer, it’s just a continuous reminder of what it has been (…) I feel like I have reached my breaking point…

Then stop it all ! » she replied. The tone of her voice had changed, it was more abrupt. Her response turned me upside down.

In a bid to clear up any more confusions, I asked her to repeat herself, my request leading to the same answer : I said that you can stop if you wish to » she repeated, this time with a softer voice « nobody would be mad at you, no one would thing that you are not strong, you can stop and focus on your healing, it’s just the next door… » Hearing these words, I stood there silent, speechless, taken away by antagonistic thoughts, a mixture of revolt, indignation and relief. After a few more exchanges, we finally parted . Although I was still shaken by her very disconcerting speech, my state of mind was unchanged. I will not surrender.

Remembering the BBC article, I opened again the App, this time with no interruption. A new disease called Covid-19 which could cause severe pneumonia was hitting the Diamond Princess, a cruiser circulating not too far from Japan. 3600 passengers have been forced to quarantine after a first case was detected. Sadly, this attempt to contain the contaminations ended up being unsuccessful as new cases were reported every other day, whilst the lack of diagnosis tools left many cases ignored. Reaching the end of the article, I sighed « if it reaches here, it will be chaos » I thought out loud.

A few weeks later, my fears came to life when the first covid cases were detected in Europe. The seeds of panic were now planted, ready to bloom at a speed never observed before.

Yet, though I was conscious of the severity of the situation, my daily life remained unchanged at first.

At night, when I couldn’t find sleep I explored the internet in a bid to find some responses there. Thought I was obviously not a law expert, I surprised myself more than once, trying to decrypt legal texts and press articles in the hope of having a better understanding of my case and its viability. But the lack of knowledge regarding my situation and the evidences made it difficult to achieve.

As the confrontation date approached, my research intensified, I spent hours flicking through pages, on every single platform you could think of, creating short-lived accounts to view access-limited contents. But the results revealed to be poor. Besides an ARTE documentary and a few videos from BRUT, nothing nor nobody could have truthfully prepared me for what was going to happen. Slightly disappointed but far from being defeatist, I continued the operation conscientiously.

One night, my efforts finally paid off when I came face to face with an article on Medium written by a woman called Sara Roebuck [1].

From what emerged at this point in time, Sara was a young Britton who came to Paris to study at Science Po. One night as she was heading to a night-club she was the victim of an attempted rape. Following this dark episode, she sued the man and won her case. She then wrote this eloquent essay which was then relayed by the press. Going on her social media, I saw very encouraging images of a young woman who seemed full of life. These images appeased me instantly. They gave hope, the Hope of an After…a softer place where I would be more at peace.

After a few seconds of hesitation, I wrote to this stranger to thank her for the hope she and her essay brought me, confiding her half-way about my confrontation to come. A few hours later, what was not my surprise to receive a long and warm message from her.

On that day, I went to bed appeased with the feeling of having been heard, the belief that I was not alone.

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[1] https://medium.com/human-development-project/a-letter-to-the-man-who-tried-to-rape-me-3a18c17d8eb9
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['Rape', 'Violence Against Women', 'Feminism', 'Storytelling', 'Advocacy']