I thought I was doing pretty well. I had shoved what happened to the back of my mind, padlocked it and thrown away the key. As if that actually works. Something brought it to mind last week, and I have been a wreck ever since. I did pretty good today, up until I put my hand in the pocket of the fleece I had grabbed this morning and found the policeman's business card. Officer Hoefler. He gave it to me the day he asked me to come in to tell him what happened. He told me that he'd tracked down the man, and he'd claimed it was entirely consensual. The fact that I totally froze may have saved me from more harm, but it meant that I couldn't say that I'd told him to stop, because I didn't. I froze, then I tried to get away, and I cried, but I never said no.

Officer Hoefler called on Thursday to tell me that I could come in and collect my computer and bedding that they had been holding as possible evidence. M. is home, and we'll be going to the station in the morning to get it. I'd burn the bedding if I could. I never want to see that comforter, pillows and sheets again. I can barely bring myself to sleep in my own bed.

The worst thing? I haven't stopped the behaviour that caused this in the first place. I feel like a whore anyway. I might as well act like one.