VICTORY DAY

*Trigger Warning

This morning was chaotic. Life is chaotic. It’s messy and unpredictable, serendipitous and surprising. This morning was no exception. At 8:22 I was halfway down the stairs, tripping over the dog and dashing to my car.  I had 8 minutes to get to my Monday morning staff meeting. I live 12 minutes away. I flung open the door to our garage and did that awkward side maneuver you have to do when you need to be the barrier between your dog and freedom-- while simultaneously not dropping your yogurt, spoon and LaCroix all over the floor. I pulled the door behind me with my foot, breakfast in hand, dog in house. Success. I pressed the garage door opener with my elbow and made my way to the car. As the garage door lifted I saw a van pulling down the driveway. The gutter guys were coming to the tune of a $350 roof repair. Crap. I forgot that was today. Drake and Eugene introduced themselves as I fumbled through the car for my checkbook. I pulled two lip liners and an unsharpened pencil out of my purse before a pen surfaced from the bottom. “What’s the date” I asked, halfway listening, distractedly wondering if I’d be able to get over the Veterans’ Bridge without hitting traffic. Six minutes to get to work.  “It’s the 7^th,” Eugene said. “March 7^th.”

If you had told me nine years ago there would come a day I didn’t wake up and dread March 7^th, I’d have looked you in the eyes and called you a liar. If you had told me nine years ago that on this day in 2016 I’d be happily married to the love of my life, caring for two adorable and unruly dogs, enjoying a rewarding career, and worrying about gutter guys on a hectic Monday morning, I’d have looked you in the eyes and called you a liar. If you had told me nine years ago I’d live to see March 7^th, 2016, I would have hoped you were a liar.

Nine years ago, on this very day my soul was trampled, my sanity wrecked and my virginity stolen. The room was spinning. It smelled like stale beer and my mouth tasted like cheap whiskey. It happened so fast. It lasted forever. I fought. He fought harder. I covered myself. He pried my hands apart. I crossed my legs. He flipped me over. I asked him to stop. He laughed in my face. I watched from the ceiling as my cold, naked body struggled to fend off a beast. On March 7, 2007 in a dimly lit cinder block room in the basement of a fraternity house, I lost the battle.

On every single March 7^th since, I’ve won the war.

The control you stole from me that night was fleeting. I took it back, and then some. Out from under your wrath, I took you to court. For one year I fought tooth and nail to get you behind bars. You deserve to be there today. But you, like 97% of all rapists, are going on about your life, free of every felony you committed against me. But you will never be free of what you did. You belong to a small group of people who commit heinous acts. For years I feared I’d forever belong to a large group of helpless victims. I was wrong. I belong to an empowered group of determined survivors. You on the other hand, will always be a rapist. You are a lifetime, card carrying member of humanity’s most despicable association.  

But today, it’s March 7, 2016 and I’m busy. I have a meeting in 30 minutes, the launch of a major marketing campaign to oversee and what seems like a 1000 emails to sift through before my Junior League meeting after work. My phone is buzzing and beeping with texts from friends and loved ones. “I love you and I am so proud of you.” Thinking of you on your Victory Day.” I’ll cap the day off at a dinner date with my husband.  We’ll flirt like the newlyweds we are. We’ll laugh because we do- a lot! I’ll tell him about my busy day and hear all about his. We’ll have a perfectly wonderful evening because today belongs to me.

You see, this is my Victory Day. I’ve spent enough time surviving and overcoming. I’ve slayed that dragon. I don’t have time to dwell on monsters. I’m too busy trying to stop them.