*Warning: This article contains mention of sexual assault and suicide.*
This has been a trying week for me as a writer. To be rather honest, it has been weighing heavily on me. I’ve sat, with a million words flying around my head, trying to compose something. The ‘It’s On Us’ campaign inspires the nationwide student body to focus on sexual assault prevention and knowing the signs of sexual assault and what we can do to help. In that week I’ve been doing my best to think of something to write. I realized that if I am going to give something, it has to come from the heart.
I am realizing now that my detachment of writing this comes from my own trauma. Writing something for a topic like this has forced me to come face to face with the reality I hate to remember. I am a part of this statistic. I was sexually assaulted as a minor. As a child I didn’t know what I did for this to happen to me. I wondered if I had done something wrong, if maybe I had been a better daughter and sister that it wouldn’t have happened.
I know now that that is a horrible lie that I, and many other victims, tell themselves without even realizing. Blaming ourselves, for what we wear, for how we behave, for what we could have done to prevent it – it’s all questions that leave us up late at night, tearing us apart looking for answers that we don’t need.
Therapy was something my family could not afford, and my assault was not something that was discussed. It was seemingly brushed under the rug, but it continued to fester inside of me as I realized I couldn’t really talk to anyone about it. I grew up silent, hiding my own anger and self-loathing, wishing I could go back and change things. If someone cared enough, if someone would have stepped in, if ‘x’, if ‘y’…I grew tired of ifs.
I was angry at everything. Angry at the perpetrator, my family, and myself – even as a child. I felt that it was my fault, and no one truly cared or wanted to help me. My teen years were spent feeling utterly alone. For years I heard from family that I dressed ‘too sexy’ wearing shorts or a tank top in the summer. I would go outside and be ridiculed for asking for attention. Glares were thrown at me for dressing ‘asking for attention’ when I felt worse and worse as I got older. Rumors would be spread of me simply for how I looked, and it only made me feel worse. I truly felt that there was no escape, and that it would happen again because I looked like a ‘hoochie’ with my shorts too short. The thoughts in my head screamed to end everything, that among the chaos, I wouldn’t grow to be a good person, no one would believe me, I was fishing for attention, and there was no true reason for me to be alive. But recently, I started to take the steps to getting the help I need.
Taking advantage of my benefits as a college student has been an immense help in my recovery. I’ve begun to see a therapist, and speaking to a doctor regularly helps as well. I don’t want to live a life fighting a ghost. I can’t take back what has happened to me, no victim can. We can’t turn back the hands of time and someone can’t wave a magic wand and fix what we think has ruined us.
We are not ruined, we are far from ruined. We are beautiful creatures of all walks of life, who continue to live on with our scars. Our scars carry our fears. The fear that we are unlovable, that we’re too damaged to be in a relationship. We’ve been broken, taken, and we can never open ourselves up fully to share the skeletons in our closet.
But one day we will be able to share our stories. I can say for the first time that I don’t feel ashamed of who I am. Looking at my past as a victim of assault, I know that it does make me any less of a person. I am not a horrible person who deserved what happened to me. You did not deserve what happened to you, and you are not solely your assault. No matter your age, what you identify as, there is no rhyme or reason to giving your assault false validation. You are not your assault.
When you feel as if you have nothing to live for – cling to what keeps you going. Whether it’s something as small and silly to seeing your favorite band live for the first time, to seeing a young friend, family member, child, sibling or relative grow up and being there for them. Hold on to that which keeps you strong, and know that your time of healing will come. Healing isn’t linear. What works for one person may not work for another, but what keeps you going will continue to grow. It will blossom into something beautiful, and will help carry you on your weakest days.
I can say, sitting here now, writing an article reflecting on my assault, that I am so grateful for who I am today. It’s not to say I’m one hundred percent, and that I’m over what happened to me. I haven’t been back to the place we met the man who assaulted me, and I don’t believe I ever will. But if I can share my voice with others then I have accomplished something I never thought was possible. I was too ashamed to share what had happened, and that I would be ridiculed and attacked for even sharing what had happened to me.
We are not just a statistic, or a poster, or a hashtag. We are people who have been hurt and betrayed. But we are strong, and brave, and we continue to love and live our lives hoping for a day when we don’t feel the pain or fear anymore. To me, that is what creates a masterpiece. The beauty of our lives abstractly evolving from what we thought was all that defined us. Our eyes will adjust to see the greatness that we carry, and whether or not others can see that – is truly to the eyes of the beholder.
Please, I implore you, if you are a victim of sexual assault, no matter how long ago or by whom, reach out. You will find help in the most unlikely of places, even if you feel utterly alone with no way out.
Call 1-800-656-HOPE(4673) or go on to RAINN.org’s live chat if you don’t wish to speak on the phone. Find out about your campus’s medical programs, and find out what you have available to you.
*Images courtesy of RecoveryRanch and Pinterest