Editor’s Note: This article contains mentions of sexual assault.
When I look in the mirror, I feel slightly more repulsed than I used to. When my friends ask me to go out, I get a pit in my chest. When I talk to a man, I am fearful.
I have been assaulted three times and harassed more than I could count. The first time happened when I was a freshman in college. I was also struggling with depression at the time. I was at a dorm party with my friends, when a man I thought was my friend violated me right there in front of everyone. One person saw it, and I saw it, but I didn’t believe myself. I replayed him shoving his hand down my leg and rubbing the inside of my thigh over and over again, farther and farther down each time, then leaving it there, like my body was nothing more than a piece of property he owned. I completely froze and looked across the dorm at my friend on the other side. We were both shocked and disgusted.
This was a man I thought was my friend. We had been getting to know each other better. We had genuine conversations and I thought he was sweet. There was nothing romantic between us whatsoever, nor did I ever want there to be. Nothing about this moment was sweet, cute, or consensual.
I walked back to my dorm afterwards, sobbing so loudly to the point that my RA stopped by. I told her what happened, and she brought another woman by to check on me. She told me I had been assaulted. I didn’t believe her. I kept thinking, what if I’m wrong? I didn’t try to stop it. So, when she gave me resources and people to talk to, I ignored it. I shoved it down. I was too scared to believe it was real.
Every time I remember this night, I wish I had reported him. Then again, what if I made it up? What if it wasn’t as bad as I remember? What if I’m just being dramatic?
I later found out that it was not the first time he did that to a girl. I should have reported it. Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve.
I listened to the saddest songs I knew for the next month or so. I thought about it all the time. I felt like I was going crazy, because in my mind it wasn’t “that bad.” That’s what I would have said then. Now, I know. It was bad. And it has permanently affected how I feel around men.
The second time was the summer after my sophomore year. I was at an 18+ club. I was dancing near a man who thought it would be a great idea to wrap his hands around me from behind, shove them down my legs, and try to finger me on the dance floor. This sounds as though it would be the most traumatizing. Somehow, it wasn’t.
I moved on oddly fast from this. Maybe it’s because I knew it was real, since my best friend had watched it as well. Maybe it could be because I ran away before anything worse happened.
None of this is a science equation. It’s not something to solve. It is a revolting experience that too many people, particularly women, share.
I had no idea what his name was, nor would I be able to find him in a crowd that big. It didn’t hit me until I left the club and was about to go home with my friends. I started sobbing again. What gives men like this the right to even be near a woman? To be near anyone? And then I turned inwards…why did it happen again?
The most recent time was almost a month ago. I feel like it just happened. I was, again, already enduring a time of emotional turmoil. This has affected me far more than any of the other assaults. This time, I had no witness. This time felt like a nightmare. I carry the pain every single day, and I can’t help but think he forgot it the second the night was over. Same as the others.
I went to a local 18+ bar at my college called Kathmandu. One of my friends left the bar to look for another friend. I went to find her. Alone.
I was outside of the bar, quite close, looking around, when a man came up to me. He told me I was his type and felt up my breasts. He looked at me in a way that made me feel so incredibly terrified. I told him to get off of me.
Later, he followed me into the bar. I told the bouncer that he was the guy who assaulted me. The bouncer let him in anyways.
His friend came up to me later, as I was watching the man who touched me without my consent dance so happily with his other friends. This friend was the only person who saw what happened. All he said to me, sitting down next to me on the chairs on the side of the dance floor, was “he’s my friend.”
“He’s my friend” is the single form of acknowledgement that I had of what happened to me that night.
Every single day it haunts me. I was so excited for Halloween. I’m still planning to go out or try to. I love dressing up. I love dancing. I love hanging out with my friends. Plus, I missed Halloween last year after being hospitalized for depression, so I was really, really looking forward to it.
Then again, I could be violated again. It is such a present thought in my mind now. I worry about it when I walk home from the library at night. When someone calls me pretty, there’s a part of me that is overwhelmed with anxiety. I want to be seen as more than my body. I want to be seen as my soul.
To any women who have been assaulted, I am so incredibly sorry you endured something so beyond violating and dehumanizing. It was never your fault. If you don’t remember it fully, it’s not your fault. If you didn’t say no, it’s not your fault. One time I froze. Another time I ran. The last time I finally said to get off. No matter your response, your experience and feelings are valid.
Your healing process may not be linear. Some days are harder than others for me, and it feels like the world moves on without you. You’re stuck on that day, that moment. You might just feel like you’re going crazy. I’ve struggled with focusing on schoolwork and coping in healthy ways. My ultimate form of advice is to never be ashamed. No matter what you think you did, you didn’t do, you wore, you said, you “could’ve seen coming,” you are not at fault. Give yourself grace to process at your own speed, and don’t beat yourself up if that is not a graceful process.
Another thing I want to mention…if you didn’t report it, do not blame yourself. The process of reporting sexual assault is very difficult, and that’s an understatement. I didn’t report my recent assault because I didn’t know the man’s name, despite trying my best to find it. I have no proof. No witness to agree with me. The first time, I was simply a scared 18-year-old who didn’t understand what happened to her.
You are so much more than your body. Your body is the vessel that gets you through life. Your personality and values are who you are. You are never to blame.
These are resources from the Office on Violence Against Women from the U.S. Department of Justice. I hope that they can be of use to anyone going through this, in whatever form your assault was. I personally texted HOPE to RAINN’s National Sexual Assault Hotline (646-73), and they were very kind and replied quickly.
National Domestic Violence Hotline
1-800-799-7233
TTY: 1-800-787-3224
National Sexual Assault Hotline
1-800-656-4673
1-844-762-8483
1-866-331-9474
TTY: 1-866-331-8453
Victim Connect Resource Center Helpline
1-855-484-2846