Trigger warning: This article mentions sexual assault, domestic abuse, and symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Every experience with sexual assault is different for each individual.
I was only 16. Young and naive, I fell in love with a boy in my sophomore math class. As our friendship began to grow, it slowly turned into a situationship (we didn’t have labels but were basically boyfriend and girlfriend). I thought this was the love of my life because that is what he told me. I was the only one he wanted, and I was his future wife and the mother of his children. Swooned, I walked into this situationship where I had rose-colored glasses, and all the red flags just looked like flags.
The abuse started small. It started with teasing about my body or about how intelligent I was. Then, his insults were disguised as humorous, but in reality, it was just verbal abuse. You look fat with those bangs; you should cut them. You’re shaped like a pear. How are you going to get into college if you can’t even pass this biology exam? But then that verbal abuse became threats that he tried to gaslight me into believing it was just a dark-humored joke like, “I’m going to Ted Bundy you.” We constantly fought, to the point where he would call me at work just to start an argument with me. I was constantly riding a roller coaster of emotions. He took me to the highest and then, one night, made me feel like nothing. All this abuse didn’t make what happened next surprising.
It was an October afternoon, a couple of days before my 17th birthday. We were sitting on the couch side by side. I felt his warm hands slip under my pants to the top of my underwear and make their way back towards my butt. In my head, I knew something wasn’t right; this wasn’t just a playful way to turn me on, but to take control of my body. I asked him to stop, and he just looked at me with a cold blank stare and said, “no.” A couple of days later, I broke up with him, and he blackmailed me with some innocent pictures of me in a bra.
It took me till January of 2020 to realize that what he did was sexual assault. I convinced myself I was only dramatic because there was no penetration, there was no force, or sexual acts involved. No matter what he did, he touched areas of my body that I did not consent to him touching. From there I began a long process of reflecting on my experience. I wanted to use this experience to build a better future for myself rather than letting it hinder it. In August, I decided to write my college application essay about it. The same day I typed into that infamous Google document, I got a call from my school counselor. She had seen my essay, and as a mandated reporter, she had to report it to the police. The police showed up at my door a couple of hours later. Notepads in hand, they sat on my couch, having me vividly describe the atrocity that happened to me in front of my parents. I later had to give that same speech to an investigator. I gave them every detail I could remember, like what he and I were wearing. Along with those excruciating details, I gave the list of ten people who could attribute to my abuse. In that list were two teachers from my high school who I told about my assault, and they failed to report it, even though they were mandated, reporters. Two months after my statement, two months of silence, leaving constant voicemails because she wouldn’t respond to my calls, she closed my case due to “lack of evidence.”
Sexual assault affects every person differently depending on the severity, external circumstances, and their relationship with their abuser. In my experience, I felt empty. My body felt as if it didn’t belong to me; it would have his name tainted all over it. Constantly, I discredited my own experience and gaslighted myself. Anger filled my heart, and I saw people continue their friendship with him even though they knew what he had done to me, my body, my family. I regretted not screaming loud enough, for not realizing sooner all the abuse I had endured, and for letting my guard down. But most of all, I regret not being kinder to my younger self. I did nothing wrong except give him my heart that was full of kindness, and he chose to take advantage of that. If I screamed, he could’ve hurt me more. I was just another woman who was failed by the justice system, and I did the best with what I had.
April is National Sexual Assault Awareness Month. I am not one of few, but one of many. 1 out of 6 American women is a victim of attempted or completed rape. Constantly, survivors are discredited in the media as lying, or they are blamed for their experience because of alcohol or what they were wearing. Cases like Chanel Miller, Christine Balsey Ford, and the victims of Harvey Weinstein, tell the story of what can happen to women who speak out about their assault. An accused abuser has a more protected future than a survivor, even though only 2 to 10% of accusations are false. It is time that we as a society and even as a campus, start supporting our survivors and holding others accountable. Even if it is your fraternity brother, your best friend, or classmate, the survivor’s life is just as precious and worth protecting. It is time we stop normalizing sexual assault on campus as well. We need to hold fraternities accused of rape accountable and demand action from our administration. Women deserve to feel safe while having fun at a party and be able to set their drink down without the fear of being roofied. Every woman deserves to be safe on campus.
To all my fellow survivors this month, I hear you and I believe you. Whether you reported or not, said no, screamed, or came to terms with it, your story is valid. No person has ownership of your body except you, you are valued, and you are loved regardless of your past. You are believed.
Resources for survivors:
Information about hotlines to call if needed.
How to report a sexual assault on campus.
Here is a national resource center for survivors.
Here is how to become more educated:
Statistics about rape on college campuses.
Places to help and donate to non-profit organizations that support survivors.