An open letter to the man who raped me 30 years ago

Dear Ray,

I’m writing this here in hopes you see this, or your relatives or someone else on Guam who knows you sends this post to you. I know you live in Marikina in the Philippines and that you might not want to come to Guam because of the lawsuits (not just from me) that have yet to be served on you due to your leave from the island.

This is the first time I am attempting to speak to you since 1994, when I was almost 14 and you were in your late 30s.

I hope you’re okay, and I hope you no longer prey on boys.

I don’t know if there’s any way to help your appetite, but if there is help you can seek, please do seek it.

The past 30 years have been quite the roller coaster ride for me. About four years ago, I got off at the platform, walked out of the carnival of youth and misguidedness, and began to face my demons. Among them, of course, were the remnants and near-indelible marks on my psyche left by all those months of sexual abuse, when I was an early teen.

The thing is, I don’t think I ever hated you because of it. I was scared of you, yes. I was more so ashamed of myself. During those months, I thought it was my fault. I thought I was dirty. And as things went on, I became a prisoner of my own mind.

I dealt with it in ways most destructive to myself, including illegal drug abuse. That’s over now.

The haze has cleared in my mind, and I’m at a point when I’m wondering how you’ve been. In a way, I worry about the toll that running from and notoriety for your crimes has had on you.

I believed for a long time that there is a special place in hell for people who sexually abuse children. That belief was colored by my personal animus toward you, and I suppose, my inability all these years to truly forgive you. And maybe there is a special place in the netherworld for people who hurt kids, but I’ve come to realize that’s not for me or anyone else to decide.

In fact, I have no more right to judge you for what you’ve done in this world than others who would judge me for my former drug use. Nothing makes me a better guy than you or the next person.

When I wrote above that I began to face my demons, I want you to know I didn’t do that on my own. Stick with me on this point, because this has everything to do with you, and this is the real reason for this letter.

About four years ago, I started a Christian journey, a renewal of my Catholic roots. I began going to Sunday Mass every week. That turned into every day. Slowly, my cold exterior began to melt. Decades of anguish and emotional frustration gave way to the realization that these hard feelings were all within my control to eliminate.

Some time last year, my journey brought me to understand that each time I partake in the Eucharist, Christ is present and it is my chance to open my heart and listen to what it is He wants me to do. I consume Him, walk back to my pew, kneel, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and just wait for His word.

These moments with Him have led me to make scores of calls and messages seeking forgiveness from people I’ve hurt over the years.

Last Sunday, you entered my reflection. Christ has asked me to forgive you.

And, who am I to question the Lord?

I don’t do this out of protest or with any hesitation. This is Providence. Only by His Grace am I able to do this, because I never in my wildest imagination thought I would ever say this:

I forgive you. May His peace be with you.

Troy