There happen to be a couple "r words". The one I’m referring to is r*pe, though it depends on the state whether or not I can call an incident that. It’s happened three(ish) times. The first time I was 17. It was by an ex who had just graduated high school but we were still kind of friends so I went to his graduation party. At one point we were playing video games in his room with another friend and I had a blanket over me because I’m constantly cold and in the middle of summer he kept his room like an ice box. He had undone the belt I was wearing and had slipped his hand inn my pants, finger inside me. The friend was in the room. He didn’t notice with the giant blanket around me. I was too scared / embarrassed to say no. I left soon after and stopped playing video games seriously (used to stream and game pretty much every day). My current boyfriend at that time blamed me for even going to the party

Second time I was 18 and trying to get over an ex-boyfriend. Went on basically a double date but was mostly hanging out playing video games. Friends on double date wanted some “alone time” so I went off with the guy I was supposed to be with. He kept trying to pressure me but I kept refusing until I eventually said okay. At this point he had my elbows under his knees and himself inside my mouth. Thankfully at this time I had a pocketknife from the ex I was trying to get over and when I clicked it open when I finally realized how wrong it all was. He got off. He flipped out on me for having a knife in my jeans. I went to go thank the ex for letting me borrow the knife and when I did I broke down and told him what happened. He didn’t care a single bit what happened and left me crying on the floor until someone else found me. I haven’t touched a single game controller since then outside of using one as a remote for Netflix.

Third time I was 19. I said no and I never once said yes, eventually I just stopped talking. This time was the traditional sense of the word (P -> V). Someone I used to care about a lot and will probably end up protecting the rest of my life. This time I stopped sleeping. I jump at every sound and touch.

I’ve always hated the r word. I’ll usually use sexual assault. It sounds less personal, tamer, and not as violent. Two of the three people at one point or another I cared for/loved deeply. I still go to school. I still go to work. I still act as though everything is alright. Few know about my lack of sleep. Even less know about how much I actually live for the weekends when I can drink all the memories away for a time and sleep until I’m sober. I don’t think anyone knows the fears I have about going to therapy again, about opening up about all aspects of my own personal hell; of the guilt, confusion, heartbreak, betrayal. Some days I want to lock myself away and never have to be scared of being touched by someone again, some days I want to sleep with multiple guys over the course of a weekend as if that has any remote possibility of reclaiming the word “yes” for me, as if it would give me my body back and not have it under the command of others, to give me back my consent. But don’t ever ask me to call it the r word and don’t ever ask for me to one day believe it wasn’t my fault. You would only be wasting your breath.