It’s been 2 and a half years since I was raped. 2 and a half years
since my life completely changed. 2 and a half years since I discovered
that justice was not easy. Justice is something you have to fight for,
even when you know deep down you shouldn’t have to. I met him at the
end of a night out. I had been fighting depression for quite some time
and needed that night out to remember I could enjoy myself again.

I met him at the kebab shop whilst enjoying my cheesy chips. I spoke to
his friend. He didn’t say a word. They offered to walk me home as they
said they were heading that way anyway. His friend disappeared after 30
seconds and I continued to walk with him just following me. He
wouldn’t leave me alone. I told him I was fine to walk on my own. I
didn’t feel safe. He pushed me to the ground and sexually assaulted
me. I dropped my things everywhere. I saw I had no key to my front door
and I panicked. I picked my things up and we walked, he continued to
simply follow me and as we turned down my alley to my front door, he
raped me on my front door step. He ripped my clothes off, pushed me over
and held me whilst I began to cry. I like to believe that I put up a
fight, but my head had already given up. The depression I had been going
through left me with the mentality that if a vicious dog were to chase
me, I would not run for long, I would simply give up. I know I said no,
numerous times. In fact, I think that’s all I said. I can’t. No. I
can’t. I have to go to bed. I can’t. No. And then he raped me. Right
there on my front door step. When he was done with me, he left me in a
ball on the floor, naked, crying, cold. He kicked me. He told me he
didn’t know why he had bothered with such a fat slut. That I was
disgusting. He left, after throwing my phone at me and I lay there.

I didn’t report for 3 weeks. I tried to convince myself that it was
all ok, that this kind of thing happened all the time and I would just
be wasting police time. But the New Year started, and I knew I
couldn’t face the year without doing the ‘right thing’ and
reporting. The first 3 weeks were so reassuring. I dialed 101. I was
silent for a while. But the officer told me to take my time and I slowly
began to tell him what happened. Within 45 minutes, there were 2 female
officers with me to take my statement. They were kind, they laughed with
me when I needed to laugh, they were exactly what I needed. The next day
I had a team assigned to me. A SAIT officer, a detective and several
other members of the police dedicated to tracking down the bastard that
had broken me. They found him within hours of putting it on the news.
And that is where it began. For the next 9 months, I was constantly
nauseous. The first couple of weeks, I was well informed. I was
supported. I was so pleased I had made the decision to report. I was
told my case would be put together and sent to the CPS by March 21st.
March 21st arrived and I was told it had been pushed back to May 21st.
May 21st came and it was pushed back to August 20th. August 20th came
and I was told it would be 24-48 hours before a decision was made.
September arrived and that was it. The decision came, and it was a no.

In February, they had taken my phone to collect evidence and DNA for 24
hours. This turned into 8 weeks, which turned into 8 and a half months.
I felt I had had everything taken away from me. My job, my dignity and
yes, my phone. What seems like such a small, insignificant detail, was
such a big deal to me. I found myself lying in bed all day, every day,
unable to move. I needed my phone to keep me in contact with my friends.
The ones who supported me through everything.

My SAIT officer who I developed such a good relationship with,
disappeared. She went on maternity leave and I didn’t have so much as
a goodbye. She was not replaced. I was left with my grumpy detective who
scared the life out of me. I always felt as though I was bothering him.

Worst of all, when waiting for the CPS decision in those last couple of
weeks, the sergeant who was left in charge of my case called me and said
that he could understand that I was upset, but that I had to understand,
he had me coming at him from one side, and the alleged assailant coming
at him from the other side who was obviously also very nervous and
upset. WHY oh WHY did he think I cared to hear what he was thinking?
This guy who had BROKEN me. I had not thought of him except in my
nightmares for 9 MONTHS, and then, he was all I could think about. What
an awful person I was. How could I ruin his life like this? Imagine what
his friends and family must think of him?

I complained about the Police after this. And unsurprisingly, I was let
down. My appeals were not upheld. I was obviously wrong. I am the
victim. I should learn to be quiet.