The day I was raped is the day I stopped loving myself, it's the day I stopped holding my body to a higher standard, it's the day that my idea of sex and intimacy went out the window. I gave up all hope that sex meant something; that one night changed my entire life and my viewpoint on what sex was supposed to mean between two people. Most people have a hard time being intimate after being violated in that way, I had a hard time coming to terms that sex meant anything other than a casual encounter between two people, I threw my body around like it was worthless and I did it because I was numb. I couldn't feel anything and I yearned to. I wanted to feel the touch of someone worthy; I wanted to find someone that created a spark in my body. It took 1101 days and nineteen boys later to feel again. Although the amount of days between my rape and my recovery seem to be short in comparison to others, the end date is not a recovery; it is love that healed me. That is the day I felt again, the day where a man touched my skin and sparks flew throughout my body, the day where a kiss lit up my entire world. Little did I know, one day that would be gone and I would be numb all over, but for an entirely different reason.
My rape story isn't gory, it isn't as aggressive as others and it isn't one that deserves the publicity or attention like some. Mine is simple, a boy took advantage of a college freshman, he took advantage of me being naïve, he took a kiss too far, he took my broken heart and laid me down. He peeled my leggings off one leg at a time, he pinned me down on his bed and wouldn't let me move. I laid there crying out loud with tears pouring down my face. He covered my face and his shame with a pillow as he forced himself into me, I pushed and shoved and tried everything to get him off of me, but my strength was unmatchable and unable to save myself from what I would carry with me everyday of the rest of my life.
This boy was a mutual friend of mine and decided after raping me, that it would be a good idea to tell all my friends that he "tapped" that and proceeded to tell stories of me and the experience that were far from true. I was kinky, I was an animal in bed that gave him scratch marks, but in reality, his scratch marks were an attempt to escape, I was clawing to break free of the grasp he had on my throat as he choked me and took away my sexual freedom. For two years, my friends joked me for sleeping with him, it took me two years to finally tell them the truth. Two years of jokes and comments constantly reminding me of the worst day of my life, two years to finally be okay with admitting what happened. I didn't run to the police, I didn't go to the hospital, I didn't tell anyone. I was afraid to ruin someone's life, I was afraid to take away his future. I was afraid because I thought that would make me become equal to him. I feared that me telling someone of the violation I had just experienced would cause me to become just like him, that's why I stayed silent.
Everyone has their own reason to being silent, mine was pure fear. I don't regret my decision in anyway. I am happy I stayed silent, I am happy because I was able to come to terms with my rape, I was able to accept my new normal. I wasn't forced to answer questions, I didn't have to go through telling my story over and over and reliving those moments day in and day out, I didn't fear that someone would think I was lying and I didn't have to worry about my word going against someone else's. I do not regret staying silent, because even though I didn't come forward I can and will always say #MeToo along with every single brother and sister I have that have been affected by Rape Culture in today's society.
