Update. I’ve ended up at Penn Station around 10 times since I met with [rapist’s name] there just about a month ago. That’s more times than I probably came here in a full year up to last month. It gives me terrible anxiety. Meeting with him feels like a traumatic event in my life, and coming back here feels like a similar torture that flashbacks do. I’m trying to keep coming whenever I get the chance to have newer memories, but every time it’s just a huge trigger. That pretty much sucks. I never wanted to associate midtown Manhattan with [rapist’s name] and rape. There’s a lot I didn’t want to associate with that.