In my sophomore year of high school, I joined the theater club. I wasn’t a huge fan, but I wanted to add something more to my resume and college applications that involved art, something that would make me a more well-rounded individual.
One day after school, the theater club stayed late to get ready for the upcoming winter show. All of a sudden, I received a text from a longtime friend asking to meet him in one of the locker bays across from the cafeteria. I walked out of the auditorium with haste as I thought a friend was in need. I see him in the locker bay, and before I can get any words out of my mouth, I am shoved into the lockers. My words were shoved back into my mouth by his lips over mine. Before I could wrap my mind around what was happening, his hands weaseled their way into my pants, grabbing at my skin. When he pulled away, and I was able to catch my breath, I looked around and saw a camera across the walkway of the hall. I made up an excuse about needing to get back and walked away in shock.
I stayed silent for over a year.
After months and months of reliving and rehashing the memory of that afternoon, I decided to email my principal and assigned guidance counselor that I wanted to have a meeting. We met one day during school, and I shared my story. I told them every detail, exactly which locker bay it was. I’ll never forget what I was wearing that day. I had these olive green jeans on with little zipper details and a chunky cream white sweater. They thanked me for my bravery and willingness to share. They told me they would speak to the resource officer at my school, and we would check in after.
A few days later, I was called back into the office, where I spoke with my counselor, principal, and now resource officer. The officer told me that since it was so long ago, they no longer had security footage from that day. I asked why it was never reviewed and how anyone could delete that information, a little louder than I should have. He told me there was nothing he could do besides talk to him unless a bunch of other victims spoke up. On top of that, the officer told me it didn’t count as sexual assault because his hand was above my underwear, not below it. This was hard for me to cope with. I wore a seamless thong that day so you couldn’t see my underwear lines through my pants, so did it really matter where he put his hands?
I felt hopeless. I had finally found the courage, and it meant nothing.
At the time, in my sophomore year, I had recently broken up with my first boyfriend, a sad but necessary moment in a young girl’s life. I confided in this friend about how heartbroken I was and how one day I wanted my relationship back, and the next, I wanted to move on. The same friend who knew the pain I was going through chose to abuse that and treat me as an object for his personal pleasure.
Realizing I had no legal option, I chose the next best course of action: I told every single person I knew. I warned them what I went through, I warned them how first impressions are fake and unreliable. Worst of all, he was the captain of my younger brother’s high school sports team. Who better for a leadership role than a true monster?
After all these years, it still angers me. I’m angry that someone felt they could manipulate me like that. I’m angry that nothing could be done about it. But most of all, I’m angry I stayed quiet for so long.
I felt that, in a way, it was my fault for listening to his urgent text message. I shouldn’t have been so stupid. Why didn’t I fight back? Did that make it okay? All these questions and thoughts rattled in my head.
It’s okay to be confused about a traumatic situation. It’s not an everyday occurrence for most people. Don’t ever doubt your gut feelings and speak up. If you never speak up, you might not get the justice you deserve.
At HerCampus Manhattan, we truly want everyone to feel welcome to express themselves and their stories.