TRIGGER WARNING – this isn’t pleasant.

I had my surgery. It went well. My arm is healing. I don’t have cancer.

I had my surgery. My shoulder was sore from the brace I wore to my post op appointment to have the surgical tube pulled. I decided to have a massage. The man who gave me my “massage” sexually assaulted me.

I had my surgery. I spent time in the back of a police car. I identified my assailant. I spent time in the 19th precinct. I was alone the entire time.

I had my surgery. Someone I trusted let me down when I needed her most. She was on a bender when I was in a cop car. I’m not talking to a person I love because I have nothing to say that will not cause us both more pain. The person who didn’t answer my call is now blocked on my phone.

I had my surgery. I came home to a voicemail from the district attorney in Manhattan. I e-signed an affidavit attesting to my assault. It was incomplete. I lacked the strength to complete it. I lack the strength to complete this story. I felt a need to explain my silence.

I had my surgery. It went well. My arm is healing. I don’t have cancer.

I had my surgery. My arm is healing. I don’t have cancer, but my heart is broken along with my trust.