When Rape Survivors Don't Go to the Police

Not prosecuting your rape leaves your world eerily off kilter; as though the universe’s natural balance has been kicked out of position. You hold information that’s precious to every person your rapist comes into contact with, and you’re pissing it away as though it’s so much uselessness. Is the next assault your fault? It’s difficult to see it any other way, even though your rational mind screams otherwise.

Inaction haunts many of us for the rest of our lives, so I assure you we don’t do it out of convenience.

In the beginning, I was what society sees as a good victim—I called the police when there was still blood on my lips and bite marks on my face. Like a good victim, I gave a statement. Then my file was “lost”. Like a good victim, I wrote out a new statement. It was lost. Like a good victim, I wrote another. It was lost, too. Repeat to the point of absurdity and then accept that the law is not on your side. It has more important things to do than worry about assaults—play rummy, for instance, and maybe take a trip past MacDonald’s.

Years later, I reconsidered and spoke with a psychiatrist who worked with survivors during their assault cases. She told me I would not survive a lawsuit, and that my case was unwinnable anyway.

It’s been nine years since then, and it hurts me as much today as it did then. My world has not yet returned to the correct position on its axis because in many ways, I feel like a criminal for my inaction. It probably became the horror of several other women.

I am no different from any other survivor, but there is a multitude of reasons we don’t prosecute our assaults. I know the rational truth about this, even if my feelings of guilt do not. His actions are not my fault. The world is not entitled to the life I’d destroy by pursuing a case today—my own. If there was the slightest chance I could win the case, I would take it. I’ve sought advice and it has not been in my or anyone else’s favour. I feel as though I hold the key to others’ wellbeing, but the truth of it is I don’t. My key doesn’t fit the lock that is the legal system, and that isn’t my fault.

The first question I’m asked when I tell people of my assault is, “Did you lay a charge?” I did. It didn’t stick. I still carry the guilt, and your questions only make that worse.

I am not a criminal. I was the victim of one. I have as much of a right to live without shame as you do. I do the very best I can to keep my principles intact just like every survivor. The legal system’s failings are not my failings. I am entitled to let it go, to live as though I am not responsible for rape because I am not a rapist.