My name isn’t important. Please don’t judge me. Please listen to my story. I’m a normal student. I’m involved with clubs. I go to the library. I get stressed over exams and want to cry in my most boring class. I scroll on Instagram, and spend my days trying to be Twitter famous while hoping my mom isn’t posting my baby pictures on her Facebook page. But I have a secret; one that many people on this campus share.
I was sexually assaulted.
After some conversation about potential articles, I had a talked with Claire, our Editor-in-Chief and we agreed it was time for Her Campus to publish an article from the eyes of a survivor. Emma Thomas recently wrote a compelling article about rape culture that had me nodding my head in the utmost sadness. So this article happened. Why? Because the way for all women who are keeping the same secret as me to move on with their lives and prevent sexual assault is to share the secret. If I share my secret, other people can hopefully share their secret too.
It is very hard for me to write this article, for the same reason that it is for anyone to share something extremely personal like this. I can tell you why it’s hard. Because even though it happened to me 9 years ago, I am still ashamed today, and still embarrassed. I’m afraid that even though I wrote this anonymously, someone will know that it is me, and that they will judge me. However, in order for other people to stand up and say something, I have to stand up and say something. I have to reveal my secret to everyone, so that you, and many others can reveal their secret to people who will support them. I have to take every ounce of courage to say something that needs to be said.
As a survivor (we are no longer called victims, of which I am thankful), we learn to not be ashamed of what happened to us, because it wasn’t our fault. But that’s so very hard for anyone in the position that me and many others like me are in. We get scared. We are afraid to tell people what happened to us because we don’t want to see their faces. We think we know what they will respond, “I’m sorry that happened to you” or “What were you wearing” or “Were you drunk” or just “…”. We don’t want to sit there in an uncomfortable judgmental silence where we assume the person is thinking the absolute worst about us. And then you hear ridiculous things said by the media, by idiot senators that tell people it has been proven that a woman can’t get pregnant from rape, and the ignoramuses like Rush Limbaugh who throw consent right out the window. How can we be anything but silent in a world like that? Where people blame us?
After sexual assault you go through life knowing that people feel like they need to walk on eggshells when they talk to you, like they think of you as the person who “got sexually assaulted”. Got sexually assaulted? Is this shopping? Did I go to CVS and pick up ‘got sexually assaulted’ in aisle 6 and then go to the register? Why do people use this phrase? Got sexually assaulted? As if myself and any other person walked out one night and said, “Hey! I’m going to ‘get sexually assaulted’ tonight!” This phrase makes me feel like my sexual assault was a choice. And it wasn’t. None of this as my choice. There’s so much grief after an unwanted sexual encounter, even years or decades later. As a survivor, I felt and still feel fear every day. I am afraid to be in a serious relationship, because even though I know that sex should be a consensual act, I get nervous. What if they judge me? Will I have to tell them what happened to me? Will they still want to be with me after they learn my secret? I lost trust in others. Anyone could hurt me, if that person hurt me. Everyone will hurt me, is what I thought.
When I was 10, someone who I knew sexually assaulted me in my own home. But like many other men and women, I was too afraid to say anything. That person told me that I was dirty, that it was my fault, and that I was asking for it. How is a 10 year old asking for it? I never told anyone, until when I was 14 I saw that person again and was so afraid that I had to tell my mother because I thought I would die if I saw them again. That’s four years. Four years I never told anyone, four years I kept to myself, four years I suffered silently on my own. Four years of allowing that person to walk free. When I told my mother, she broke down. She cried for hours. She couldn’t say anything. She just kept apologizing to me over and over again, ashamed and upset that she never noticed that anything happened. She told me that we should go to the police, that we should start legal action, but I told her I was too afraid. That person lived close to me. My dad would kill him if he found out. The police could do nothing, I thought, it happened four years ago, I told her, I can move past it, I said.
I regret those words every day. My life would have been different if I had said something. My life would have been different if that person had not sexually violated me. But he took away my control, and the only control I had over anything was to tell someone, and I gave away that control when I stayed silent. If someone hurt you, if someone forced you into a sexual act that you did not consent to, it is sexual assault. It is illegal. Let me say this again. It is SEXUAL ASSAULT. IT IS ILLEGAL. It does not matter if it happened an hour ago, or a year ago. You must contact authorities.You must stand up and share your secret, for the people like me who foolishly waited. You must tell someone, someone you trust, someone who can support you and help you on your road to recovery, one that is uphill and has so many cracks and potholes on the way. You cannot do it alone. You should not have to do it alone. You should have support, and love, and friendship. I don’t know who you are, but I am with you, every step of the way. Each step that you take, me and many others like me are walking with you. And for each time that you falter, that you cannot take another step, I will pick you up and carry you. I will lift you up when you cannot stand. Can stand up; will stand up.
I tried for four years to stand up and open my mouth and I failed. Don’t make my mistake. Don’t make the mistake that so many other men and women make. You do not need to suffer alone. Tell someone. And if you know someone that was hurt, someone that is keeping the same secret as me, who never told the authorities, support them. Tell them what I’ve told you. You are not alone. You can do this. You are stronger than you will ever know. You are stronger than this. Make that person pay for what they have done. Stop them from hurting you or someone you love again. Sexual Assault is wrong. You are not at fault. Say something.
I still carry my safety whistle as a precaution, especially in Washington DC. Especially at American University. Our school has an astronomically high rate of sexual assault. Why? I’m not sure if I can answer that question. I don’t really know why. But I can say that I feel like the school doesn’t do enough about it for it to be prevented. I can say that I was horrified that my first morning back on campus there was a sexual assault alert on campus. I can say that no one should ever go through having to see the person that hurt them every single day. Many new freshman don’t even know about American’s ‘Sexual Assault Problem.’ That’s why I wrote this article. Because someone needs to say something. So I’m saying something. And I hope after reading this article, so will you.
If you or someone you know has been affected by sexual violence, it’s not your fault. You are not alone. Help is available 24/7 through the National Sexual Assault Hotline: 800-656-HOPE and online.rainn.org.
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