There were 971 students that attended my college my freshman year. That’s 971 faces that I’ve probably seen at least once around our smaller campus. There were 971 voices that melted together in the cafeteria and 971 pairs of ears to take in what those voices were saying. Going to a school where the student population is 971 can be beneficial. You get to know one another pretty well when you run into each other all the time. However, when everyone knows everyone that’s 971 students who hear about the events of someone else’s life.
When I was a freshman in college, I was sexually assaulted. And there were 971 students who heard about it. There were 971 students making judgements about me. There were 971 students staring at me when I went to class. There were 971 students talking about me as I made my way through the lines in the cafeteria. With so many people passing judgement about me, I began to question who I was, what had happened and who actually cared about me.
It happened at a party. It wasn’t a huge party and there weren’t too many people there, but there were enough people to get lost in a crowd. The party was at a fraternity house that I had never been to before. An hour of dancing with friends and one drink later, I had to use the restroom. I told my friends this and wandered into the hallway in an attempt to find a bathroom.
As I was wandering the halls of this unfamiliar building, I saw the familiar face of a boy who lived in my dorm building. I walked over to him and talked to him for a little bit before asking if he knew where the bathroom was. He nodded his head and led me downstairs to the bathroom. It was in that bathroom that I lost myself. I lost my happiness, my drive, my trust towards others, but most importantly I lost all of my confidence and the love that I had for myself.
I remember sitting in that bathroom for an hour crying and throwing up out of confusion, disgust and hatred toward myself and my attacker. When that hour was up, I remembered seeing a few familiar faces upstairs and I desperately needed help. I made my way upstairs searching for one of those familiar faces. I remember stopping at the top of the stairs to vomit in a mop bucket before someone I recognized found me. I remember being asked if I was ok, a question that I continuously dodged. Eventually, I found somebody that I trusted enough to take me back to their dorm. I remember crying in the car back to their dorm and when I got to their dorm room, I borrowed a tooth brush and brushed my teeth for twenty minutes.
I felt disgusting. I felt like I deserved what happened to me. I blamed myself for everything that had happened that night. I shouldn’t have had that one drink. I should have seen it coming. I should have fought harder. I didn’t feel like I deserved help. So when the friend that took me back called in the community assistant (similar to an RA at other colleges) I was livid. I didn’t deserve the help so why get the CA involved? Eventually, I agreed to call campus safety to give a report.
I was with campus safety until six in the morning filling out a report and identifying the guy that assaulted me. I missed a dress rehearsal the next day and had no motivation to do anything. I didn’t go back to my dorm, but I went to my sorority house. I told the president of my sorority what had happened and she lent me her room for as long as I needed. I remember showering multiple times a day and constantly brushing my teeth. My mind and body had been violated and I just wanted to feel clean, but although I showered and brushed my teeth as much as possible, I couldn’t get rid of that feeling of disgust. I was filth. I had been used and I would never not be filth. By the end of the week, most of those 971 students were aware of what had happened.
People began to post about me on social media. I was a lying bitch who got what I deserved. I was a slut who didn’t know how to keep her legs closed in the first place. I should get raped for real so that I’d know not to lie about such a serious issue. I received threat after threat and I didn’t feel safe. After these posts, my sorority allowed me permission to move into the house early. However, because I refused to go back to my dorm, my sisters went to my dorm and dragged every item that I owned to my new room for me.
I remember being unable to eat for weeks because every time I tried to eat, I felt like I was choking. I skipped class most days and my GPA suffered because of it. Depression started to sink in. I didn’t leave my room. I rarely left my bed. I was still confused and in denial. I blamed myself for everything and didn’t think I deserved to live. The things that people were saying about me and sending me didn’t help how I was feeling. I thought about ending things nearly every day for months. If nobody wanted me around, then why was I still here?
Eventually, I decided that I needed to at least pretend that I wasn’t bothered. The guy had been kicked off of campus, I was surrounded by sisters and other friends and I had to get my grades up. So I started to smile again and act like my previous self. It was all an act and my friends could tell, but I think they were just happy that I was participating in things again.
Eventually all of those fake smiles and laughs turned into real ones. I was definitely a different person than I was before, but I found happiness in things again. I still think about that day. I still have nightmares about it. I still blamed myself for it until just recently. However, when I think about it, I can now tell myself that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for it. I know people are going to read this and not believe a word of it. I know that there are people who don’t believe me, but they don’t have to. I know the truth and so does my perpetrator. I’m glad that I filled out a report because now I don’t have to tremble in fear from seeing his face around campus.
My sisters and my friends have helped me through everything. They don’t make me talk about it. They don’t bring it up at all. They don’t treat me any differently. There are people that don’t believe me and that’s fine. I have friends that do believe me. I have friends that are willing to drop everything to just sit with me in silence if that’s what I need. I have a guy in my life that holds me when I have nightmares at night. I have a house of sisters that are understanding and loving. I have a family who supports me through everything I do. I have great people in my life who remind me every day how loved, wanted and special I am. These people are the only people that I need in my life.
If you’re being sexually assaulted, speak up. I understand how difficult it will be to do so. I understand that you may think you deserve it. I promise that you don’t. You don’t deserve it. No one does. No one deserves to feel like they’ve lost themselves. No one deserves to have their mind and body violated in ways that make suicide seem like a viable option. No one deserves to be treated like an object that can be used and then thrown away. Everybody deserves a chance at happiness. Trust me, you are going to feel happier in the long run if you let somebody know what is going on. Your true friends will stand by you. You will have people to care about you and help you through it, despite what you may think at the time. It will be a long road to recovery. It will take a while to feel whole again, but speaking up about it is just the beginning of the healing process.
When I first mentioned that I was going to write this article, I was asked why. Why would I want to publicize what had happened to me? I am not writing this article to publicize what happened to me. I’m writing this article because I am not alone. There are others out there who are terrified to speak up about the things they are going through. I am writing to let those people know that they are not victims, but survivors. I am writing because having the courage to speak up about a traumatic event is one of the bravest things a person can do. If I can give others the courage to let at least one person know what is going on, then this article has served its purpose. All that I’ve ever wanted to do is help people. If this article can help send somebody on the road to healing, then I am satisfied regardless of what people may think of me for ‘publicizing’ what happened to me.
