I don’t remember much of what happened that night. I can’t recall what he was wearing or how we got to his room, but I remember feeling his presence over me. I could feel a cold breeze coming through the window and I could feel the goosebumps rising on my skin. I could hear the creaking of his mattress. Its noises lending voice to the words that could not come out of my mouth: stop.
The toughest part of it all was the shame. Knowing full well when I woke up that next morning that I could never tell a soul. They would never believe me. I carried my shame like a bag of bricks. The first time I ever dared myself to say anything was on a drunken camping trip in a game of never have I ever.
”Yes I’ve had anal, but it wasn’t on purpose.”
“I don’t think he noticed he put it in the wrong hole.”
They laughed, so I laughed and I almost felt relieved. I almost bought my own story.
When I came to terms with my denial I began to lay a foundation of bricks to help shield me from the pain. With every cut on my arm I laid a brick. With every sleepless night I spent thinking about that night I laid a brick. With every time I refused to carry on with my life in fear of seeing his face I laid a brick. It wasn’t long before I had built a fortress around me.
I became so caught up trying to handle the pain that I had not realized how much I had pushed everyone away. My friends were his friends which turned into I have no friends. The blood on my arms was the blood on his sheets which turned into me hating every molecule of my being. My pain was his ignorance which turned into me resenting my own existence.
This campus is a living breathing memory of that night.
With every corner I turn I’m reminded of losing control. Losing control of my emotions. Losing control of my mind. Losing control of my body. With every corner I turn I am reminded of the failure that I am and I pity myself for ever being naïve enough to think I wouldn’t be another statistic.
For three years I have let one night rule my entire life.
And even after those three years, I’m still not okay. I don’t think I’ll ever be over that night. I don’t think rape is something you ever really get over. But if there’s anything that you take from my story it should be that I sure as hell didn’t ask for this.
So to the asshole that said I should’ve known this would happen: Fuck you.