The Way I Used to Be

In The Way I Used to Be, the author builds empathy for victims of sexual assault by putting the reader squarely in the shoes of Eden, a rape survivor. This tactic is most evident in Chapter 1, when the point-of-view switches from first-person to second-person: “Ignore the taste in your mouth, the sticky dampness of the sheets, the fire radiating through your thighs, the nauseating pain—this bulletlike thing that ripped through you and got lodged in your gut somehow” (1). However, the bulk of the novel is written in a first-person perspective, which gives the reader an intimate awareness of Eden’s internal pain, chaos, and confusion, all of which stems from her sexual assault.

The novel is structured to show exactly how Eden’s rape affects the course of her life. From the moment the incident happens, Eden feels as though she cannot be freed from its devastating effect on her: “His [Kevin’s] fingerprints not only all over every inch of me, but all over everything: this house, my life, the world—infected with him” (6). Through Eden’s inner monologue, the author also shows Eden’s rationale for choosing to remain silent about the rape. There are many moments when Eden comes close to telling her secret. One such moment occurs the day after the incident, when Caelin asks Eden why she is acting weird: “Maybe this is my change. Would Kevin really kill me if I told—could he really kill me? He could. He made sure I knew he could if he wanted to. But he’s not here right now. Caelin is here. To protect me, to be on my side” (13).

Being a sexual assault/rape survivor can cause intense social isolation, as we see with Eden as she separates herself from close friends and family over the course of the book. By her senior year of high school, Eden is almost in total isolation: She has blow-out fights with every member of her family, as well as her friends.

In a form of twisted logic, Eden feels that the only person who can understand her—and really knows her—is Kevin:

Why do I feel like—God, it makes me sick to admit—that sometimes I feel like the only person in the world who knows me—really, really knows me—is Kevin? That’s sick. Demented sick […] but he’s the only one who knows the truth. Not only the truth about what happened, but the truth about me, about who I really am, what I’m really made of. And that gives him tyranny over everything in this world (58).

As an adolescent, trauma gets baked into Eden’s burgeoning sexuality. Since being raped, anything related to sexuality—from girlish crushes to Eden’s own body—reminds her of her assault. In early chapters, for example, Eden’s decision to go on a date with Josh in Chapter 16 is driven by the simple fact that she wants to replace Kevin as her only sexual partner:

And suddenly the thought of having someone else there in place of him is something I required-wanted-needed, in the most severe of ways. And I don’t really care who, anyone else at all will do. This guy, Josh, he’s good enough. He did, after all, pick me a weed (92).

Because Eden had her first sexual experience at 14 and in a non-consensual manner, she did not have the chance to develop her sexuality organically. In her first consensual experience, she compares Josh to Kevin, her rapist:

He has this gravelly, running-words-together way of speaking, like he’s not thinking much about how he sounds. Not like Kevin. Kevin always enunciates his words so that they come out smooth and hard and precise and borderline loud. His voice is different. But everything about him is different. This is going to be okay. I’m going to be okay (97).

Eden’s sexuality is tied to trauma, so even her consensual sexual experience with Josh—who has always been respectful and kind—brings up feelings of terror: “My instincts tell me that I should start screaming, start hitting him. That I should saw-cut-gnaw the arm he’s holding off my own body if it means getting away (99). Although Eden attempts to maintain a healthy interaction, her fear comes to a head and her trauma resurfaces. The entire encounter just makes her think of Kevin and the night of her rape: “I’m back there. With Kevin. Kevin holding my arms down against the bed. And his hands, his fingers like dull knives slowly carving their way down to the bone” (99).

Eden hates herself because of her assault, as well. She blames herself for “allowing” herself to be victimized by Kevin. She also views herself and her body as damaged. For example, when Josh goes to compliment Eden on her body, she stops him: “My body is a torture chamber. It’s a fucking crime scene. Hideous things have happened here, it’s nothing to talk about, nothing to comment on, out loud. Not ever. I won’t hear it. I can’t” (110). This negative self-image escalates into self-hate, and Eden’s sexual assault makes her chronically depressed: “He has no way of knowing how sometimes it physically hurts to smile. How a smile can sometimes feel like the biggest lie in the world” (143). As a stranger in her body, Eden feigns her interactions and struggles to grasp a sense of self-worth and identity.

The Way I Used to Be also shows how sexual violence survivors may use promiscuity as a means of assuaging their pain. Eden recognizes that casual sex and alcohol are both fast-acting ways to escape her problems: “Something switches inside of me, in my head and my heart and my stomach—a lightness, a weightlessness takes over me—and I feel the corners of my mouth turn up” (189). A driving force in Eden’s life is her desire to escape. In turn, engaging in casual encounters allows Eden to feel like she is in control—just as she does when she manipulates others with her fake smiles.