Deciding to Report

Sometime near mid 2020, I called my local clinic to have my birth control implant replaced. It had been a while since I'd had any sexual wellness appointment, and of course they needed to ask me the usual questions,

"Are you pregnant or planning on becoming pregnant?"
"No."
"Do you feel safe with your current partner?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever experienced any physical or sexual abuse?"

I was surprised when I began to cry. I couldn't stop for the rest of the call.

The woman on the line expressed that she was so sorry I was ever treated that way and assured me that I didn't deserve it. It was the first ounce of real compassion I had gotten for admitting my experience. She asked me if I wanted to report the abuse and I declined. A business card for a therapist was arranged to be delivered to me at my appointment.

That card must have sat in my wallet for at least a month, as I wasn't sure I could bear facing my truth.

I knew I needed to get help when I couldn't even manage to select a skein of yarn at the craft store without becoming weepy. I felt ridiculous. I thought if I kept ignoring the problem and dismissing it as my failure, it would eventually just fade away. But nearly three years, one job, two moves and a relationship later, the problem was still there, haunting me.

I started calling and writing people. I accidentally called a defense attorney who sympathetically redirected me. It all seems like a blur now, and I don't remember what kind woman forwarded me to the DA's office. I was advised that nothing could be done unless I made a police report.

Some people told me it was assault. Some websites suggested it was rape. I didn't know the difference, but I knew something had happened that was very wrong.