I Was Assaulted, and All I Could Think About Was How I Would Do My Laundry
CW for SA.
This story was originally published on my Substack.
Hello!
It’s Abby.
I write, read, and build miniatures.
To be honest with you, I started this newsletter because I’m moving in exactly three days.
My previous home was lovely. Pink walls, built-in bookshelves, funky tiling on the ceiling (and to think I rented it that way!), and the loveliest neighborhood on the planet.
I lived there for almost two years until I was sexually assaulted in my backyard, right beside my garage.
The house had everything I wanted. I spent most of my days writing and creating in what I had dubbed “The Writing Room,” otherwise known as my enclosed porch. It had a beautiful view of the backyard and was always warm.
After the assault at the end of April, I no longer liked the writing room, and it quickly became filled with dust and untouched projects.
I then stopped liking my kitchen and my bathroom. Dishes piled up in my sink, and I couldn’t get myself to brush my teeth or shower.
I thought I could keep the enthusiasm I’d held for so long when it came to my bedroom, and I spent two…
