To my assaulters,

And yes, you did read that correctly; assaulters.

To the one I didn't know. The one who I met a week before. The one who was my first boyfriend, my first kiss, my first everything in my eyes. The one who took me on a date and paraded me around his friends like a prize. The one who lied to me about everything. His faith, his beliefs, his values. The one who told me everything would be fine. I look back at August 31st of 2012 with heartache. I can remember being SO excited to go out with you. To watch you play in the football game and go to In N Out after. To ride in your truck, to tell my friends all about it at school the next Monday. I couldn't stop talking about it the hours beforehand. Me, a sophomore, was asked out by you, a senior. Senior class president, football player, the perfect guy. I couldn't believe it, but it was happening. We met on the field after. We took cute photos and my friends sent me on my way, thinking I'd be safe. I did too. Everyone did. At the game, so many people were telling me how happy they were for me. How lucky I was and I thought I was too. Like I said, a sophomore asked out by the perfect senior. It was rare. We got food, we sat in the bed of your truck, we looked at the stars and listened to the waves crash on the beach, we kissed, and I thought I got to know you. Emphasis on thought. Your true colors shined much more as the night went on. We went to the beach after. You held my hand. You held it so tight. I felt safe, comfortable, loved. I had never felt this before and I craved it. We talked, kissed, and then you told me to lie down. It's fine, you said, it will all be fine. But it wasn't. I got in your truck after, scared. You drove me home with your hand on my leg. I didn't want it there, but you insisted. You dropped me off at home and went on your way and I went on mine. "How was it?" my mom asked as I walked in. "Fine. I had a good time." Looking back, she tells me that she knew it wasn't but didn't know how to get the truth out of me. I took a shower that night. I wanted to wash him off of me. I wanted to get his scent and his sweat off of me. I wanted to get the feelings of hands and heavy breath off of me. I wanted to feel clean after feeling so disgusting. I got into bed with a text from him. Tonight was fun. Let's do it again. Text me tomorrow when you wake up. There was a red heart emoji at the end. I know it was there to try and keep me feeling loved. You broke up with me three weeks later. I refused to sleep with you and I refused to go on another date with you so we would not repeat the actions of August 31st. So you broke up with me. You broke my heart. You broke me. You told me I was worthless, I would never get someone better than you. You told me all these things and I believed you. Everyone put you on this fucking pedestal like you were a God. But you weren't, in my eyes, you were far from it. But that was only in my eyes. I couldn't tell anyone or at least I thought I couldn't. I didn't remember much from that night. I remember lying down and then I remember moments. Your hands, your breaths, the noises you made. I don't remember what I did. If I tried to say stop or scream. If I tried to run. I think I just stayed there. I think I was so scared that I didn't want to move. The one thing I remember? "Please God. Let me see the light of tomorrow." The one thing that was running through my head the entire night. I couldn't tell anyone because I couldn't remember anything and I felt weak. How could I try to convince someone that he sexually assaulted me when I could not even give them a full story? I assumed that no one would believe me. We went on with our lives after we broke up. You dated other girls, I felt broken. I tried to move on, but I couldn't. I craved that initial love, but in my heart, I knew that love was never real. It wasn't until a full year after that that I felt like I could move on when I met him.

To the one who I loved: The one who I had known for three years. The one who helped me feel worthy again. The one who took me to my high school dances and brought me flowers on my birthday. The one who came to all my shows and supported me in everything I did. The one who quickly became my everything. It wasn't until I left for college two years after meeting you that I realized how much you meant to me. And how real the possibility was that I loved you. We met on your first day of school in the band room. You were tall, cute. I was a junior, you were a freshman. We connected immediately and our friendship grew over the years. We went to dances together, went on dates together, and hung out all the time. But it was never like we were boyfriend and girlfriend. I was frustrated. I liked you so much and I wanted more. I left for school wanting more. I saw you every break I came home. I made sure I would. You were one of the only people I wanted to see that badly. But still, nothing happened. Part of me loved it. He wanted to sleep with me on the first date, you wanted to hold my hand. And that's all you ever did. Held my hand, told me I looked nice, made me feel special. With every look, every birthday card, every moment of every day. I felt loved. I came home for summer determined to make something happen. And in a way, I guess it did. It was an empty house. It was July 1st, 2016, dead middle of a hot summer. We had been drinking. But we had also been laughing, playing games, watching TV, and overall just having a good time. You asked to spend the night. I said yes. It's him, nothing bad will happen with him. We got into bed and I kissed him. No context, nothing before hand. He got up and closed the door. This night I remember perfectly. I told him I couldn't do anything, I was too drunk. He didn't care. "It will be fine." The first time, four years before, popped into my head. All the feelings, all the moments, all the fuzziness. "No, stop, please, I can't." He didn't. I got up to run and I fell. I was too drunk. He picked me up and put me back into bed and stopped for a while. I thought he heard me and respected my wishes, but he didn't. He started again soon after. I remember that night perfectly. This boy I knew. This boy I loved. But he didn't love me, I know that for a fact. He fell asleep eventually and I sneaked into another room. I texted anyone I could. I even texted a friend in London hoping she would be awake because of the time change. It was 2 AM when I was trying to reach people for help. The next morning he left and I felt sick. No one knew we were together that night and I didn't know who to turn to. I took a shower when I got home. I wanted to wash you off of me. I had scratches on my back and legs and I was bleeding. But I was still too scared to get help. I got into bed to sleep. But I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt your hands on me. Your nails digging into my skin. Your cowardly words of "it will all be fine." It wasn't all fine. I couldn't sleep. I didn't sleep for days. I didn't eat. I closed myself into my room and cried. I wasn't angry, I was heartbroken. You were supposed to be different. You weren't supposed to be like him. You were supposed to love me and treat me with respect and stop when I say stop. But you didn't. We talked after it all. You apologized, I accepted it. We have moved on since then, supposedly. I don't think I ever really will. The first one was bad, but this one was worse. I trusted you, I loved you, and you fixed me the first time, but then broke me all over again.

To my assaulters,

I pray neither of you intended this. I pray that both of you have changed over the years. I pray you never do this again. You broke me. You made me question my worth and my value. You made me scared to trust anyone. You made me scared to date anyone or even talk to a guy that I could possibly have feelings for. And it wasn't until a third person came along, on September 24th of 2016, that I even began to feel safe and normal again. He treated me with respect and dignity. He did not pressure for anything and he did not try anything. This third person showed me what is supposed to happen when you decide to go home with someone and began to help me trust again.

Society tries to break me down like you broke me down. It tries to tell me it was my fault, that I deserved it, that I wanted it to happen, and that I just need to get over it. Society tries to keep me in this box of broken pieces where I will never recover. And for a while, it did. But, as a beautiful poet once said, I rise. After the first assault, I rose. After the second assault, I wanted to rise, but I couldn't. How could the one I loved do this to me? But then again, I rose. And today and every day, I will rise. After all the heartbreak and loss, after all the flashbacks and moments of pain. After all the fear of the past and of the future, still, I rise...

Both of you thought you broke me and for a while, you did. And you didn't even care. It took a lot to piece me back together. A lot of therapy, a lot of trust building, and a lot of tears. But in the end, all it truly took was me. To love myself, to trust myself, and to accept myself for who I am: a survivor. Someone who will live on in honor of those who couldn't and will fight for those who are still everyday victims. You thought you broke me, but still, I rise.

(Written in honor of the University of Puget Sound's "Take Back the Night" March in honor of sexual assault awareness on Wednesday, March 29th, 2017)