I sit in the shower, hugging my knees close, letting the cold water drip down my face and smear my makeup as I sob silently so my roommates don't knock on the door and ask me what's wrong. Because the truth is, they won't understand. No one will understand for a long time. Not even me. Between the ongoing fear of it happening again, or the embarrassment that I feel because I let it happen to me—I won't be OK. Not for awhile anyways.

My head hurts from hitting it on one of the stairs that I was pulled down. My shoulders hurt from his fingers digging under my collarbones and pulling me down from behind. My ribs hurt from crying so hard, but no sound coming out. There's blood running out of my nose like a sink faucet, while some is already dried onto my skin. My whole body is shaking, still in shock because of what just happened 20 minutes ago.

I violently scrub my body over and over trying to get him off of me. When I finally give up, I throw on a big t-shirt and run to my room, praying that no one sees me. I lay in bed under all of my covers and hold my pillow tightly to my body. Then my phone lights up.

My friend texts me, "How did the date go?"

I stare at my phone screen and lie. "It went great, I'll tell you more tomorrow."

I refuse to sleep. I make sure my window is locked four times. I sob some more, wondering what I'm going to do? What will people think of me if they find out? Who will I tell? Do I even want to tell anyone? I don't sleep that night.

The next day, my parents call.

"How'd it go last night?"

"Oh, it went fine. Hey. I'm busy, can I call you later?"

And I hang up. I lied to my parents, the two people I trust the most. I look in the mirror and see the bluish-brown bruises forming all over my body. I practice covering them up the best I could with the makeup I had that day. Believable, still swollen, but not recognizable to anyone who doesn’t look too close. I don't eat that day. I put a blanket over my window because the light hurts. I press my fingers to my temple and wince. Thinking about my head hitting the wooden step makes me sick. I run to the bathroom and throw up the little I had in my stomach. I take some Aspirin and sulk back into my room.

Until now, I felt invincible. The thought of someone trying to hurt me never crossed my mind. What will my friends think? What will my family think? I lay down in bed and fall asleep from being exhausted and sleep until the next day.

You see, I lied to myself. I told myself that I did something wrong. I convinced myself that it was my fault.

After getting my heart completely destroyed by someone I cared about, I did everything to try and forget that person.

Put yourself out there! That's all you need to do!

So I did. I agreed to meet up with him after my basketball game. I park my car on the street, take a deep breath, walk to the door, and ring the doorbell.

This will be good, you need this.

He takes me to the basement of his house and says we should watch one of his favorite TV shows. I agree and sat on the opposite end of the couch.

"Oh come on, I don't bite!"

I move closer to him timidly. He puts his arm around me and we watch the TV. We talk. We laugh.

See, there are good people out there, you just have to open yourself up a bit.

He grabs my thigh and tries to move his hand up my leg.

"Hey, let's not, OK?"

He stops and sighs loudly, clearly annoyed.

20 minutes pass and he grabs my thigh again.

"Can you not? I just said no."

"Oh come on, just a little fun!"

I grab his hand and throw it off. I get up and start walking towards the stairs, wanting to leave. I feel his hand grab my shoulder, thumb pressing into my shoulder blade, other four fingers grabbing underneath my collar bone, like time slowed down so much that I was able to feel each individual nail on my skin. I try to scream and nothing comes out. He pulls me backwards so I land flat on my back, and within no time, he's sitting on my stomach.

"I said just a little fun."

I slap him hard and sprint for the stairs. Before I make it halfway up, his hands are around my ankles and I'm pulled down the stairs, my face and ribs hitting each step on the way down. I turn and kick him in the face, but regardless of his yell, he is still holding on.

I feel paralyzed after the kick. I can't move, but I force myself to. My fight or flight instincts quickly kick in. I sprint up the stairs, out the front door, and into my car with the fear that he was behind me. I peel out and immediately start crying. A thousand thoughts are running through my head as I pull into my garage. I walk into my dark apartment, into the bathroom, and start the shower.

"I handled it mom, don't worry. Pulled me down the stairs, got some pretty bad bruises. But I'm okay."

I'm not.

"Send pictures, did you report this?"

"No mom, I just want this all to go away, I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding."

I cover my bruises the best I could and sent pictures to my parents.

See, the bruises don’t look that bad.

Covered under five layers of foundation they didn't, but I knew what was under it all. But what they don't know won't hurt them. I find myself looking out for their well-being instead of my own.

I hang up the phone and feel alone.

I lay in bed in pain. Not from the physical pain that was searing through my entire body, but the pain of my mind screaming hundreds of thoughts at one time with no way of understanding them. I couldn't shut it off. Sometimes I still can't shut them off.

Give it a couple days, you'll be fine.

More lies.

A year passes and I’m finally finding my old self slowly coming back. I finally speak.

I no longer feel like a stranger in my own body. I'm no longer afraid to leave my apartment alone. I no longer get instant anxiety whenever I see a red truck drive by my apartment one too many times. I'm no longer afraid that I'll somehow run into you on campus. I'm no longer scared of every male that I come in contact with. I'm no longer afraid to talk about what you did to me, because it's people like you who should be ashamed, not me. I'm no longer going to keep what you did to me a secret because I thought that it made me look and sound weak. No. You're the weak one for thinking that you could take advantage of a vulnerable and scared girl.

Because I'm stronger than you, despite what you did to me. Because maybe speaking up will help someone else before you make another person lose their sense of self. Because it's not easy finding yourself once you don't recognize yourself anymore. Because it's not easy feeling like a prisoner inside your own mind and body.