An open letter: To Alec, His Victims and Victims Alike

The second weekend in July was without question one of the best weekends of my life. It stands out even in a list among music festivals, traveling abroad and celebrating loved ones, and trust me, those are hard to top, but this one did… until about two weeks ago.

This weekend was my first time going to see Dead & Co./The Grateful Dead. I'd anticipated this weekend for months, and if you've been to a huge show like this or even a music festival, you know there's an indescribable energy in the air. Something is overwhelmingly exciting about these places. A nostalgia for a different time lingers as you dance with thousands of people who've also come simply to love and get lost in the music. The speakers are so loud you can feel the bass pulse through your chest. The lights move across seas of people like some kind of human kaleidoscope. The high you have from the music lasts for weeks afterwards. It's been three months since then, but it feels like ages, and honestly, I think I was still on that high until about two weeks ago. I mean, guys, this was my first DEAD show, and until about two weeks ago, it was a memory I was going to cherish forever.

This weekend was one for my personal history books. As soon as we got home I started counting down the months until we could be back camping at Uncle Jay's and dancing our feet off on the grassy slopes of AV. I put our art on the walls and our faces in a frame and proudly displayed them on a shelf for all to see. I wanted people to ask me about the trip and the eclectic group I was with.

But now, I want to take it all down. I want to erase those memories. I want to take back all those boasting conversations. Knowing who and what you are has forever tainted one of the best weekends of my life.

I feel dirty looking at the photo because your arm is wrapped around my shoulders and I remember the feeling of your skin on mine. I wonder how many times you contemplated letting your hand slip down past my waist, and what might have happened if I didn't let you.

The afternoon spent in the pool no longer seems like a flirty Saturday afternoon. The way you'd grabbed my legs and jumped up on my shoulders, pushing me down below the surface, no longer seem like cute ways to overtake my float or ruin my hair. Those were your moves, the ways you sucked people in. You had this look, and you knew it. The way your eyes captivated your onlooker, sparkling with hypnosis. They remind me of Kaa's, the snake from The Jungle Book. Disgusting.

Those nights camping on the farm were once a dreamy sleep, but now they seem like lucky hours. I realize I'd been in great danger. I think about my tent– it didn't have a lock (sorry, mom and dad)– and how with a swift motion, you could have entered… And who knows what would have happened.

Returning from our glorious weekend, we remained in contact. You'd come over to my apartment, we'd sip and chat, enjoying the evening. You were touchy, but I never thought too much about it. Some people are honestly like that, and it felt nice having a friend around who made me feel comforted, but now I can't help but think if you'd put your hand too far up my leg how easily that one touch could have led to me being one of the girls now turning in their name as 'victim'.

What's worse, I introduced you to a friend while we were out one night, and the two of you hit it off. You were going to go home together, but she had gotten her period, so she decided a rendezvous with you would have to wait. I'm not much of a praying woman, but in these last few weeks I've never said more prayers of thanks. Thanks for our womanhood, which changed our course of action forever, encouraging us to overlook desire. And Thank God.

I trusted you, Alec, and you could have hurt her, taken away something that could never be replaced. I am Thankful with a capital 'T' that I see my dear friend and her sweet smile every week without an ounce of you behind it.

However safe I feel knowing you've been suspended from my beloved campus and are in custody a little longer, I can't walk around campus without anxiously looking at the spots we'd pass each other between classes. I used to cross those areas excited and hopeful to see a friend, but now I hold my breath hoping I pass without a whisper of your presence.

Maybe now I don't see you, but I still hear you. That whisper has been written. Written into notebooks full of your twisted plans. I toss and turn at night wondering if my name is in one of those books, and if you had plans for me. Are my friends' names in those books? I think about all of those women who have been written about. I worry for them. I hope for them.

My name was shortened to victim, not by you, Alec, but by another as ailing as yourself. It's taken years to overcome the pain he inflicted. My life actually altered course because of his actions and misuse of my body. Come to think of it, I probably never would have transferred to UW where I had the dubious pleasure of meeting you, Alec. I think about that, the trauma, the nightmares, the insecurities, the loss of self-worth, the loss of friends and the loss of the ability to know who I was during the times preceding my own assault, and I worry for all those who have been under your thumb.

Alec, I hope in reading this, if you ever do, you understand just how much of an effect your actions have, even on those you did not physically harm. Your actions wildly change things you could never even imagine. My tainted weekend and extreme discomfort is just one of the minute ways your actions ripple. The after effects on these women, your loved ones and everything you touched, will never be the same. Alec, that ripple grows into a wave, and the tide always comes in. I hope one day you understand and apologize for your misconduct. I hope you develop an understanding of respect and consent for all bodies, women and men alike. I don't have to rant and tell you all the things you are because our society is growing and changing and together, learning what is acceptable and what is not. I will let society's unified voice be the wave crashing in with the tide that destroys you like you did so many others.

To those who are victims, I send my love and in turn hope to take away some of your hurt.

To those who have spoken out, boy, I am proud of you for taking a stand. For knowing you are not at fault. For knowing you have every right to speak out about the things that happened to you.

To those who are victims and have yet to talk about it, that's okay, take the time you need to heal and get comfortable discussing the topic, but don't you ever forget to stand up for yourself. This memory and pain, unfortunately, is forever, but the ability to do something about it is also forever.

For anyone who has also fallen victim to you or any other sick fuck (pardon my French), take this momentum and do something. Remember you are never ever alone or forgotten. Go to your friends, your family, your campus crisis center, the police, I don't care what you do, but do something. Maybe nothing will come from it in the court of law, but I promise you, you will feel better. My case alone didn't have enough evidence to go to court, but the officer reminded me that like Alec, most men are not one time offenders. If someone else has been effected and comes forward, together your cases may be enough to get you your day in court. You may not, but you will never know unless you speak up. In doing so you will turn a page in accepting what happened to you because you are not letting it rule you.

Tell your stories. If people wanted you to speak well of them, they should've behaved better. You never know the ripple effect your story could have. And please, please remember you are never ever alone in this fight.

With love,

AP