Letter 4
To the Rapist,
I need to first make something very clear; I am not afraid of you anymore. Fear is the last word that I would ever associate with any thoughts of you. Because of you, fear took a long walk off of a short pier a long time ago. No, you did more damage that just depositing fear; you may have birthed a gift, but the come that you left manifested into emptiness and darkness. I hate you.
For years I have had to deal with severe depression starting at about the end of February and ending somewhere in the middle of April. It has gotten worse every year and for the life of me I never even noticed the pattern. I mean, I should have realized it in 2006, but I gave the credit and placed the blame on God; chalking it to some divine plan that was placed on my life, but it was about you. Last year I was five minutes from ending it all, but sitting on that mountain I heard God telling me that it wasn’t over. May came around and the darkness around me fell to the ground and I began to resemble a little of myself, but another piece of me died. I thought I had purged you when I sat outside of you house all night. I was one minute away from exacting my revenge and reclaiming my sanity. Instead, I gave life that night, but I know that you got the note that I left on your door.
Over the past couple of years, the memories have comeback and it is right at this second that I understand it all. It was during spring break that you decided to violate a child and steal away any remnants of innocence. It was during spring break that you started the wheels turning on what would become a creative, but downward dark spiral that would become my life. Well, guess what? That fat lady is gearing up for her last song. I’m ready and prepared to die. Are you?
