The sun flooded in from behind the blinds and panic roused me from my slumber. My usual longing to turn off the alarm was replaced by a longing for my memories from the night before. As my eyes reluctantly fluttered open, I was met with horror before me – him. Where am I? Who is he? Where on earth are my clothes? What did I do? I shuffled out of the bed as quickly as I could, hoping and praying that I wouldn’t wake him. I had fun last night, he said. We should do it again sometime. I turned and gave a weak smile before closing the door behind me. On the back of the door I saw it - his name was ________.

At first I didn't know what I felt. Something like this surely couldn't happen to me - at Wake Forest of all places! I couldn't be a part of that one in four statistic. I thought that I must be overreacting, so I didn't say a word. I suffered in silence.

For a long time I have thought about how that night could’ve played out differently. Maybe if I hadn’t had that last cup of punch – or maybe if I hadn’t worn that crop top – it wouldn’t have happened. Every time I saw him after that I thought about how I could’ve protected myself. My insides recoiled in fear of ever feeling so vulnerable again. I should’ve been in control of my body that night. I drank too much, so it wasn't rape. I should've been more responsible. It was my fault.

The "maybes" consumed me. Maybe I did want it. Maybe I came onto him. Maybe he just didn't notice that I was passed out. Maybe it would be easier to blame myself. Maybe if I blamed myself it wouldn't be rape. If I told myself that I wanted it then I would've been in control. Maybe if I blamed myself it would go away.

It didn't.

I was afraid to be a victim. I was afraid that if I called it that one word it would be real, and I didn't want to suffer any more than I was. I was afraid of labeling it "rape." I thought that being a rape victim meant I was weak, helpless. I thought that I would never trust again. I thought that I would never move on.

I was wrong.

Nobody asks for this. My crop top wasn't asking for this. My alcohol consumption wasn't asking for it. There is no real blame to be placed anywhere but on the perpetrator. Drinking doesn't equate to being assaulted - the intentions of the perpetrator are the only factor, and they were out of my control. There was nothing that I should have had to do to protect myself because I could never have seen this coming. The only person who could have prevented my rape was him. It wasn't my fault, it was his.

I am Patrece and my first semester of college I experienced something that I never thought I would. I am a rape victim, but I am not weak. I am a rape victim who is speaking out, because (while any number is far too high) one in four is a frightening statistic. I am a rape victim who is sick and tired of hearing about color changing nail polish to detect date rape drugs and special underwear that can only be taken off by yourself. I am a rape victim who never ever should feel like I have to take extreme measures to protect myself. Let it be heard: Instead of "don't get raped," how about we take the blame off of the victim and start saying "don't rape."