Content warning: This story mentions rape and sexual assault.
October first, around midnight, in a new white dress with a letterman jacket that I love. The moment the person forced a kiss on me, I knew something was off. I knew I wasn’t safe. With my pepper spray less than a meter away. My phone is less than a foot away. And my voice was in perfect condition to cry for help. I lay there and tried to think of excuses.
Maybe it’s supposed to feel this way. Maybe it’s because I’m inexperienced. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be. As he penetrated me, I finally found my voice but was scared of the consequences. Instead of crying out for help, I told them to stop, that it hurt, and that I didn’t want to be there anymore. Instead of stopping entirely like sane people, they adjusted themselves and kept going. My voice kept getting quieter and quieter until it was silent from the pain. At some point, I started crying and I didn’t realize it until they had gotten off of me and left me on the bed naked and vulnerable. With my head hanging to avoid contact and hoping my hair would hide my crying face, I told them I had to leave, got dressed, and left.
The moment I got on the elevator I collapsed to the floor crying. With no connection until I stepped outside I called my sister. “I think I was just raped.” I sobbed and I’ll never forget the facial expression my sister had as soon as those words stumbled out of my mouth. To be frank, I felt like shit.
The next 24 hours were a blur, from staying with three random girls’ apartments, going to a SAFE clinic, revisiting the trauma, undergoing the DNA collection, and finally arriving back to my dorm while being on FaceTime with my sister all the time. I don’t what I would have done if it weren’t for all the women that helped me that day.
Even today I struggle with what I had to experience that night. And even today the person who did it has yet to be punished. Even though I have the evidence, the texts, and the trauma, it is so difficult to start the police investigation. I remember thinking that if I were ever sexually assaulted I would fight the person off and make sure they go to jail. Fifteen-year-old me would be disappointed, but today I’m just glad I’m healing, even just a little.
People continue to ask me if I’m alright. They ask if I have reported it to the police yet. They tell me they’re there for me, but at 3 a.m. at night when everyone is asleep and you are alone with the memories of what happened, you realize you’re alone.
Now, you may be thinking this is the hard truth, but it isn’t. The hard truth is realizing that you’re not alone. The hard truth is deciding to get up the next day and promising yourself that you will heal. The hard truth is the decision to reach out for help. Even now I struggle to ask and reach out for help. Regardless I’m thankful I did because I wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t.
And yes, it’s a struggle. Every day is a struggle, but when you realize the hard truth and accept it, it gets a little better every day.
So I implore you, my Kings and Queens,
Believe
It will get better.
If you or someone you know has been raped or sexually assaulted, call the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 800-656-4673 or visit hotline.rainn.org/online.