Trigger Warning: This article contains descriptions of sexual assault and may not be suitable for all readers.
Nearly a year ago, Christine Blasey Ford testified about her sexual assault in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee. Her alleged-assaulter? Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh. There is still a debate as to whether or not Ford was telling The Truth. Even in the “Me Too” Era, there are still doubts about the legitimacy of victims’ claims. As I watched Christine Blasey Ford speak Her Truth, I *somewhat* came to terms with my own sexual assault.
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As the master of sweeping things under the rug, minimizing, procrastinating, and basically every other bad habit you could have, avoidance was my choice of coping mechanism. A few years ago while on a weekend trip with my friend and her older sister, I was sexually assaulted. I was underaged and drinking. The night of the assault I was involved in a motor accident that left me with a concussion (and a cringe-y neck brace). My friends brushed it off and I did not go to a doctor until I got back home. We were all scared of getting in trouble because there was alcohol involved. Feeling sick, in pain, and tipsy, we went back to the hotel room. I laid on the pullout couch with towels wrapped around the back of my head. I attempted to prop my feet up because they hurt. Later, I found out that I had a fractured foot and a sprained ankle.
With my friend sleeping peacefully behind me, I stared at the ceiling and dozed. Sometime in the night, my friend’s older sister was walked home by her boyfriend. I can remember them coming through the door, very drunk, and her passing out on the bed. I don’t know how much time passed, but I felt pressure on top of me. I knew it was Him immediately from his hair and his voice. Even though it was dark, I could tell. It was very uncomfortable and hard to breathe, I struggled to open my eyes and/or move. If I hadn’t been as injured or intoxicated, I probably could’ve done something. Maybe I could have done something anyway, but I didn’t. I was scared and fighting to stay awake.
I remember saying “no” and thrashing my legs around.
I remember being held down.
I remember trying to push Him off of me.
I remember being in a lot of pain.
I woke up the next morning, confused and maybe in shock. I chalked the “assault” up to a dream caused by my concussion. It was really easy to discard what happened. I was a “normal” girl and things like this don’t happen to “people like me.”
It didn’t register that the hand-like bruise around my wrist or the fist-like one on my thigh could have been from an assault. It also didn’t register that a motor accident probably wasn’t the cause of vaginal pain or bleeding. My teenage mind also liked to rationalize spotting as an early period despite the fact I was always regular. So, just like that, I was “fine.” I had a bad weekend and a weird dream.
The next few years were extremely difficult. I struggled with severe anxiety and depression. I was often scared and hated being alone. I had panic attacks on a daily basis. I struggled with weight gain and weight loss. I was embarrassed, ashamed, and damaged. I never told anyone and tried not to think about it.
Then the Christine Blasey Ford “thing” happened. While my mother and I were watching Ford’s testimony, I said: “something like that happened to me.” I don’t really know why I said it. Maybe I got a surge of bravery from Ford. It was “out of the blue.” I felt really stupid and embarrassed, but I told her everything. I know some sexual assault survivors feel freedom or weight lifted off of their shoulders, but I felt none of that. I regretted it almost immediately. Saying “Me Too” made it real. It made me, the “normal girl,” join this legion of women who experienced sexual violence. I also felt guilty using the term “sexual assault” or “rape” because I know of others’ who “had it worse.”
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There is no cut-and-dried ending to this story. I still have mixed feelings about telling my mom. I still feel guilt and shame. Sometimes I minimize or ignore what happened. While I have told a few close friends, no one else really knows. Healing, or whatever comes next, is non-linear.
If you or someone you know has experienced sexual violence, you can find resources here.