Most of the time she feels like she's overreacting. Like it's no big deal and she should just let it go. She starts overthinking in her head and convinces herself that it was her fault, that she's to blame. She led him on and this is what she gets. She should suck it up.

Her older brother says that outlook is complete bulls***. She remembers the look on his face when she first told him that his best friend had his way with her -- he was glazed over in disbelief. Then again, she was in denial too. She still is, exactly one year later.

Deep down she knows she shouldn't feel guilty, but she does. Sexual assault victims are always told that it isn't their fault and that they didn't deserve it. But what if she did? She didn't scream, didn't kick, didn't fight. She used her words, but that wasn't enough. Does that make it her fault? Does it make it her fault that she was OK with everything else but sex?

Everyone says no, none of that makes it my fault. But she still blames herself.

The worst part is that in her mind, she destroyed a friendship. Their family friend of nearly ten years is no longer welcome in their home and his name is a dirty word in their mouths. Her brother assures her that a friendship with him clearly wasn't worth it and that she simply exposed the monster beneath the skin.

Even as she writes this, a year after it happened, she feels a pit in her stomach. It's not like a greasy ex-con cornered her in the alley and trapped her against a wall. It was a boy, a crazy cute boy, who she had always secretly had a crush on. He had a wild personality that drew her in with a wink or a smile in her direction, and anytime he paid her any attention she felt seen, like she was more than his friend's little sister.

But when he kissed her for the first time that night in a swirl of 2 AM drunkenness and laughs, it didn't feel how she thought it would. She was in a haze but decided to go along because she wanted to feel valued. That's her problem. She turns to other people to determine her own self-worth – she can't give it to herself. She needs other people's approval.

So she went with it.

There came a point, though, when she told him she wasn't ready to go all the way. She made it clear, or at least she thought she did. He didn't seem to understand.

He didn't understand when she brushed him off of her. He didn't understand when she said she didn't think it was a good idea, so please stop. He didn't understand when she said she's not comfortable with that. His only response was to get closer and tell her that it would be only two seconds, that it wouldn't count. She said no, no thank you, not right now. Was it her fault because she said it with a smile on her face, trying to act like she wasn't panicking inside? Was it her fault because she had been kissing him back?

When she told him no thanks, she didn't want to have sex tonight, he looked at her like she was asking for it. He laughed and said, "you're the one who's lying next to me right now." Her stomach was sick.

So she tried to get up and leave but he didn't let her get far. Grabbing her wrists, he said, "wait, wait, stop. It's okay." But it wasn't okay. She was raw and exposed, desperate for cover, and he didn't give a damn. He shoved her pants down and cracked his smile, yet this time it made her cringe.

He is the kind of boy who is used to getting what he wants. He probably still thinks she wanted it. But in what world does no not mean no? In what world is it OK to take advantage of a drunk girl who is three years younger than you in her own home? In what world is sex meaningless?

The fact is, though, he was bigger than her, more sober than her, and much stronger than her, so eventually she gave up. He did what he wanted to do with her and dismissed her after it was over. She was numb. Her expression was glazed over and she felt as if her soul was gone like she was watching herself lying on her stomach with tears in her eyes.

The next morning he looked at her like a piece of trash. He told her that if I told anyone what had happened that no one would ever forgive us. He kept saying, "this is on you, this is on you." Those words haunt her.

She only remembers bits and pieces of the night because she's chosen to block it out. Maybe if she ignores it, it will go away. Maybe if she ignores it, she'll wake up from this nightmare where she goes back and forth in her circle of self-blame and guilt.

At the end of it all, she's afraid. She's afraid of what people will think if they find out. She's afraid of being labeled as a whore or a slut. She's afraid of getting blamed for something that she didn't even want to happen. She's afraid of ruining this boy's life forever.

She wishes she could publish this article for everyone to see and maybe, just maybe, someone is feeling the exact same way as her. But she's too afraid.

So here it will stay, tucked away in her computer for good.