I know I’ve been down and I know you’re worried about me. I know you blame yourself for this. You think your panic attacks are a burden. You think that when you cry during sex it ruins everything. You try so hard to be normal for me. You try so hard to push down all the fear. This is all futile. Nothing you do hurts me. You aren’t the problem.

The problem is this: the person I cherish most in this small ugly world — this horrible place I so often despise — was brutalized by a fucking animal.

No, he was worse than an animal. He was psychological fungus. He was an infection. He raped you, and it’s too late for me to stop it. It already happened, and I couldn’t be there to protect you.

Logically I know that I can’t change the past. He raped you when I was still an unknown stranger. I get it, but emotionally I scream: he raped you and I have to stop him. I love you but I can’t stop him. I can’t stop him from hurting you. He raped you, and I love you, so I feel like he raped us. I can”t permit that. So I try harder. I protect more. I love you, closer, inch by inch.

So my only recourse is to stand by you. The aftermath is all I can see you through. It is my only way of releasing the rage I feel towards this thing that hurt you. I’ll stand by you. I will protect you from a distance. I will ease you back to the closeness of love.

Logically I know that I can’t change the past. He raped you. I was still an unknown stranger. I get it. But emotionally I cry. He raped you and I’ll never stop him. I love you but I can’t stop him. I can’t stop him from hurting you. He raped you and I love you so I feel him rape us. I can”t endure that. So I try harder. I protect more. I love closer and closer, inch by inch frightened inch.

I scare you. You were raped. You are scared already. I scare you more.

When you pull away, I am cut off from my outlet. My rage turns inward. I get depressed. So I cry.

I’m sorry that I upset you. It’s difficult for me sometimes. I’ll try harder. I promise. I hope you understand. I love you.