Coffee Call was my place to go with friends.

We oftentimes brought our books to study or worked on some project there. Plates covered with rectangular outlines of powdered sugar were the only indication that beignets had rested there. Stacks of literature sat on the round, wooden plateaus barely able to contain all placed on it. The hardest decision came down to cafe au lait or hot chocolate. Drinks came out piping hot and were funneled into bulky, white, ceramic cups which were incessantly rotated, to quench all in need of a boost. Though they were awkward and heavy, a customary walk was made, from food line to tabletop, slow and aware that every drop must be contained. That was the ritual and why people went there; it embodied a sense of home away from home with affordable, steady ambiance.

I was 24, enrolled at OLOL for a year, and in search of the perfect occupation. Nursing wasn't it, even as practically every being I was related to, pushed me into it. It was nonsensical. "You want a gifted and talented artist, to take all of that inventiveness and cast it aside for a nursing career? How'd you figure that?"

It might have worked if I had merged medicine with kids, but I surmised that children in critical pain would have been too difficult as a profession. Death, which was a concept I was eerily familiar with, due to my empathic and sometimes clairvoyant nature, already brought me intimately close to the darkest images that I once contemplated unimaginable to conjure.

When calamity struck, I could feel what some witnessed. I didn't choose, but each time my eyes closed, I'd develop snippets of pain or terror. All I could do about it was breathe, try to sleep regardless while keeping it to myself and accepting this sensitivity I had.

With nursing, I thought, "This is not my passion!" Therefore, I resisted, when I saw it wouldn't manifest into my unique aspirations. To show that I was a good sport, I did try to figure it out for myself though; I was good at that.

As I bounced around, on an involved quest, my family life turned hectic, not that it was ever known for being placid. My family was splitting up and disintegrating, like a flimsy house of cards. Though they were never supportive, I sensed my preserved world fall out from under me. My childhood home and all of its contents and collections were gone, wiped away; leaving no monuments.

This must have shown in a hapless sadness weaving through my stride. It became intermittently harder to concentrate on classes and remain inspired. Mirrored figures clutched dashed hopes, broken hearts and obliterated dreams like accessories. Barely eating more than the breadsticks, I got at the restaurant where I worked, free of charge, I wasn't earning much and cycled down in pounds. I fancied wine, for that chaotic period, and found a store that sold clothing for dirt cheap.

There were guys circling, a waiter and a neighbor, rather, several neighbors, who took turns vying for my affections; but nothing was serious. The waiter and I had a date with potential, but when questioned about past girlfriends, there was a name mentioned after which, I unwittingly knew, that he wasn't over it. That was my most common dealbreaker and never took long to decipher. When a guy spoke to me about another woman, I'd know the essence of their connection. I could discern, by reading his energy, love, bitterness or a ploy. I understood with the waiter's vibe that his investment in me wasn't deep, but he was willing to fool around, if I allowed. So, I passed and we stopped seeing each other.

In another world, at school, there was a professor there who always had his door open. Once, he came into my class and spoke, eventually inviting any of us to come and speak to him, if need be. Me, being the trusting girl that I was, took a chance hoping for a mentor or possibly advice.

He suggested we meet at Coffee Call, one of my favorite haunts. Since this location already felt so special and familiar, I readily agreed. We made a plan to connect, on a Thursday night, supposedly, to go over school items.

I was curious to see how he could assist me.

When I turned up, he was waiting, seated at an accustomed table. I sat down, right next to him, disarmed and smiling. We got up and each picked our favorite choice, café au lait or hot chocolate. I selected the café au lait and had begun to ween the other off, since, to me, it resembled a beverage for teenagers and children, and afterward, had a seat.

My memory indicates that it wasn't too long before things became evocative when Mr. Medical began to say things from out of nowhere. He'd repeat these phrases,"I want to hold you. I want to be there for you and hold you all night."

I guess some guys would think me impressed, when the only thought I had was,"But, you don't even know me."

As he spoke utterances more suited for soulmates or elderly couples on the verge of one of their departures, I withdrew every intention for personal growth. My posture tense, I squirmed and discerned the immediate longing to vacate. I'm sure my look registered as a woman-freaking-out, but holding it together and aiming not to make a scene, which could be defined as the standard reaction to sexual harassment in public.

At one point, he took my hand and held it, continuing to say more of the same. At 24, I heard,"I want to hold you," dozens of times, while at Coffee Call, from an educator at OLOL, who I was barely acquainted with.

Come to think of it, in my lifetime assessment, this happened often, as a stranger did that again, once I moved up to New England from down South. He took me and friends on a ride in his boat, then we went to J's Oyster. As we all took a bar seat, trying to get warm, he took my hand, longingly held it and drunkenly slurred inches from my face. My eyes stunned, I peered back, my hand seemingly glued to his, and no longer interested in purchasing a shrimp cocktail. He'd just met me and with that hold, transported me directly back to Coffee Call, years earlier. I thought,"What's with these guys! An ardent desire to be with me when invented, on the spot, while I'm unaware of your basic stats doesn't amaze me. It's unreal!"

At the first chance, I took off, while a platonic, male friend stayed behind. Embarrassed, the guy evidently realized his gaffe and mentioned,"Scared her off, didn't I? " My friend, picking up on the intrinsic wavelength replied,"Yup."

The instructor's voice sounded like his words were meant to be a beacon and welcomed, but instead, I felt put off and wanted out, both times my hand got stuck with some sappy guy.

Luckily, we were in a very open spot, with people around, and I did not taste fright that he would grab me, or worse. It bubbled up, in my vocal chords, that I didn't want to be there, and it was, in fact, the last place where I wanted to be. Alas, I couldn't say this, too bewildered to apprehend that it was harassment and in effect, appropriately respond.

As I'm confident that my handling, of an alike situation today, would be swifter and more concise, I also realize that part of what this male appreciated the most was how my situation slanted in his favor. Now, I recognize the essentialness of avoiding invitations like that. My maturity level in this is experienced and comparable to that of a person who his schemes would never have worked on today, but that wouldn't have helped me until I learned it which took getting harassed to master.

In the wake of Louis C.K., Kevin Spacey, Harvey Weinstein, and others being implicated in the grave and numberless transgressions from the minimal of sexual harassment allegations all the way up to assault, an epidemic is made apparent that females aren't equipped to confront this when it's the most consequential. This is why we have confessions, years and decades, after the fact. It's because no one can fluently glide over this, even when they think they can, and most choose the road of censorship, not because they judge it as minor, but because visualizing the conceivable harm of publicity is enough to stifle the masses from the most headstrong to the timidest of victims.

Louis C.K. admits it, to which I give credit, while most harassers refuse to acknowledge they were wrong or lie.

Just like my attempt at a medical career, I and most others endeavored to move along without some lowlife affecting us or needing to address them. Instead, the final disclosures come behind botched attempts and the realization that the only way to go, is by exposure. Unless, of course, you want to live with the nightmares and stay silent for what's left of your life. Or in my case, you can write about it.

Yes, it was cowardly, as all of these extra examples confirm, striving to fill a void, whether of power, need or lust, by making romantic advances towards women who weren't interested. It was a relief that Mr. Med's motives did not comprise the criminal or violent, at least, not that I was aware of. However, this interest, from out of the blue, and accompanied by an ever-present pushiness, was plenty uncomfortable and downright stifling.

Clearly, it started innocently enough, as it always seems to. What I could say, to him, that night was, "I want and need to go." This gave me a smidgen of control over a freaky encounter that one never sees approaching. Had I known what that Coffee Call visit would entail, I never would have shown.

These are the words of our females, in defense or while clarifying what we did or did not want and it's usually something we never thought we'd need to explain.

We're female, but we exist for reasons beyond our bodies and sex. We have dreams, goals, and jobs to do which make us who we are. When we are harrassed midstream that, it is disquieting and demoralizing, like out dreams don't matter when a man wants a piece of ass and takes the slice he wants, how he wants, when he wants, no matter what the size of it.

Dear guys, we no longer live in the jungle, so these male antics that belong in barbaric times, are too ancient to be functional. If you do this, you belong in jail or ostracized from society, unworthy of our pity.

Instead, I end up wishing I'd stayed home and avoiding this crossroads comes easy and therefore, bypasses the experience, which has proven vital to adapting to it. This demonstrates how women, who feel vulnerable, would rather bow out, due to the potential of something fishy happening to them. We begin to think that around every, shadowy corner, there always will be this bad guy waiting to take advantage. Is this paranoia, wisdom or damage? I think the answer is a little of all.

There will forever be this risk, for females, in universities and the workforce. Hereafter, we must equip fledglings and beyond, with handling these impasses aggressively yet, effectively.

Little did I know that my replies, that night, translated into the words I could not say. Creeps never hear these utterances for what they are while decent folk back down. In my mind, that makes their transgressions truly disturbing as if this is just some secret fantasy or game to them.

After practically running towards the door, my ex-professor insisted on walking me to my car. While I consented to allow that gesture, he followed, like being a gentleman and valued was the intent. In these little moments, where contesting to the smallest things, seems slight, vision must twist back to reform and assertion like, "No thank you. I can walk myself. " But is that enough?

I would love to think it was, but we can definitely see that female, impact statements evolved from ignored and overlooked pleas of victims. A woman could say no 100 times and still, go unheard, then proceed to her violation.

As we walked through the College Drive parking lot, it was dark. I felt nervous, further away from bystanders. I tried to step faster, but he kept a decent pace with me. I attempted to point towards my car and say, "Thanks! See ya! Goodnight, " but he pursued. Once there, I fidgeted for my keys that were then, held with a death grip. At this, he came in and hugged me while I stood like a motionless doll along the lightly lit backdrop. As I didn't embrace him in return, preferring to be done, he held on for a while and as soon as he let go, I escaped, turning my eyes and jumping into my car.

The one regret I had was that I failed to report what happened that night. Pick any female you know, she probably has a similar tale. And, they likely, along with myself, didn't see this behavior for the sexual harassment that it definitively was.

There is an overlap sometimes, at a place of business or school, where I'd think that if this took part at a school or on its property that the statutory right would be based from there. If what happened was off campus, I assumed it wasn't the school's jurisdiction but, I was incorrect. It is their scope, since Mr. Med, met and lured me, through an institution, where he was employed and I was learning.

We never talked again and eventually, I discontinued my studies at OLOL and moved away. I've wondered how much of this disheartening experience influenced my choices directly following it. Then, a few years later, I ran into somebody from OLOL and we conversed. This is when I got news that this professor had been fired for being inappropriate with a student.

I immediately felt responsible and did not say anything. It was right there, as we stood in a dimly lit hall when I realized that I could have said something if I'd thought he'd keep trying with other, OLOL students.

The trend I've noticed, in sexual harassment cases, is that those who do the harassing are generally very prolific. It's safe to assume that you being the only one ever approached by a perpetrator is nil. The same could be said of assault.

With the recent allegations, against Harvey Weinstein and others, I believe my transformation is compelling.

By the time a few years had passed, I acquired that I was one of two, known students who had been harassed by a professor, at my former college. Today, I'm sure there were more.

Most women who have been sexually harassed, have lived it, multiple times. I was resembling the only person to ever chronical this narrative, except for that one time, until recently. Also, I had an understanding, after OLOL and with myself, that never again would I fail to declare this, big or small.

Later, this comfortable situation found me again, when a man I worked with in a grocery chain, held a box of product against my right butt cheek, then proceeded to slide it up and down my rear, as I was facing a group of female coworkers, one of which, he had previously harassed by yelling "Tits!" as he cupped her breasts. At the time, I had no idea about that episode but, I followed through, with my pact to myself and other women, and disclosed the incident immediately to management. Less than a day later, this grocery guy had been sacked and two other women, including the one I was conversing with, when it occurred, surrounded me and shared their stories of being harassed by him.

Their attitude was of immense gratitude and relief. As they spoke, I was happy with doing the right thing, but simultaneously, angered by both who had flopped at protecting their same-gendered counterparts.

A woman could be a chain smoker and wear clothes that looked lame, but if she stood up to sexual harassment and those who break that law, she was cool in my book. Then again, a woman could be a total humanitarian and lovely musician, but if she failed to report, like these two, only to praise me while remaining mute, I couldn't fathom that, finding it shameful. Still remembering both women's names vividly, while the man who harassed me has a forgotten one, they were either too chicken or useless to inform on him. They thanked me after he'd been let go, but only quietly, when no one else was around and whilst grasping an imposing wrath at work would be aimed at only me going forward. I'd solved their problem, yet they indicated no need to share the incoming blame, from the fallout, with me.

As the story goes, I was doing fine, then things went to hell. One minute I had a great job, benefits, a home, and furniture. A year and a half in, I got harassed at work and reported it, then the paradigm slowly shifted as personnel distanced, refused to do their duties in relation to mine and showed a genuine dislike of me, who they regarded as "the bitch who got their friend fired." My two coworkers allowed me to absorb every drop of acrimonious radiation and neither defended me overtly. As both folded in half, one assisted to terminate me later on.

On Wikipedia's sexual harassment page, a list includes fourteen common effects to victims of sexual harassment. Of the fourteen, thirteen happened to me after this harassment, with the only exception being "having to drop classes or leave school" since, at the time, I wasn't enrolled at any school. But, you obviously realize that has happened, as well, at a different time and place. I wonder how it matters as every listed possibility has plagued me since 2008.

My first boss, at the store, supported me and literally, had my back, but he returned to Texas. Then, I got a new boss, who at one point, was voted the best manager in the company. He arrived pleasant, for a few days, then suddenly, changed and things got worse. In less than a year's time, post-harassment, I routinely begged for a backup, never missed a workday, was booted off an advisory position and falsely accused of messing up projects and misplacing things. My long-term relationship dissolved next after my only dog died of a fast-acting disease, that went intentionally undiagnosed by an ex who was housing her. Months later, I hydroplaned my car, losing my only form of transportation, after a sexual assault devastated me two weeks prior to that. My life went to shit in a real hurry and I kept going to work every single day.

I called home, pleading, only to be left of my own accord. No one wanted to hear it and no one cared. With that in mind, I trudged forward, my only goal: to keep a job and survive.

For a year, I desperately hung on, until my inevitable release, when I couldn't do the work of two, on my own, without a complimentary pause. In hindsight, I'm positive this was a constructive dismissal, which is illegal, and resulted from the unhappiness sensed due to my coworker's supposed unjust dismissal. Worse, the second coworker who forgot to mention her ass being grabbed, by the man who tried illegal ass play with me too, watched me sob, in front of our boss, as he fired and proceeded to escort me out weeping.

What I knew then, was that I had nowhere and no one to turn to and was as close to screwed as I'd ever been. It produced the worst wave of desolation I might have ever shed.

That is what I received for reporting sexual harassment. I spoke up when grocery guy called and threatened me and again when I begged to retain my job and income. From the looks of it, this article should suffice at how well it turned out as just another sacrificial lamb resigned to share her epic and shocking journey online.

Because of this, my relationship with this unidentified conglomerate and all who worked there was furiously burned to the ground, once they slurred my name and had me blacklisted. Despite telling me I could reapply and get rehired, turns out, that was meaningless drivel and bullshit. Correspondence with corporate officials went unanswered, when the preceding failed to occur, making the pit in my belly grow wider. Because of that stimulus, I walked away from an unsupportive family, since I had no other options. Then, I acknowledged that I would leave, on my own, with only one thing that I held for certain: that I would either end up living or die trying.

It is shocking how much my results sound like the results in Hollywood right now, except I was not a harasser, I was the harassed.

Remnants of friends who couldn't find their loyalty under a rock and were invited to leave littered my space like ashes of a volcanic explosion. It was one of those life or death things, that deserved no reconsideration. This hard line was black and white, with simple decisions: either you condone this or you don't, either you support this business or you support me. There is no both.

I was livid and would never think twice about giving my patronage to a place that would allow this, especially to a friend or family member. The views I took in from the aftereffects were oftentimes more annihilating than the secondary fondle that brought me there. This development came down to what people stood for and what I saw was absolutely disgraceful from both those I knew and those I didn't. My mother continued to shop there, friends opposed my objections and they'd never worked there. They merely shopped there or knew an employee. What this revealed to me was that friend and foe prioritized their bottom line and covering their behinds over correcting a massive injustice that nearly destroyed my life.

This is quite a brutal account to live with.

In my opinion, after learning of the two, other incidents, my violation was the least offensive. Yet, my representation was vilified by those who caught no truth or thought that laws were meant to be overlooked.

Deceived by this crooked guy, what every company representative did accomplish was agree to inaction and ultimately, relayed a memo that outlined putting up as preferable to pissing off the macho employee who is popular yet, disgusting. With a deep penchant for grabbing women, we were a buffet or hors-d'oeuvres to him and that was allowed per unspoken, company policy.

When I disclosed, I thought confidentiality would be paramount and handled, but it was addressed carelessly and without consideration, for the impact, his wounded reputation would have on me, the woman he saw as a villain. A year later, he called me at work, after one of his friends patched him through to my office, and threatened me with a lawsuit. It was never something I spoke of and if he was being defamed, as he claimed, it was because other people were speaking about it and my employer should have protected that information, and me, from being known or misconstrued.

You might have well put my face on a poster and circulated it that said," She reported a guy for sexual harassment. He has a lot of friends here. She's been branded unfairly. She's going to pay for this because he's not happy about it."

And why should he be? He lost his post as a consequence of contacting me provocatively while doing our jobs, regardless of how tempting it may have appeared. I was standing out of his way and watched him pass me by, then slowly he stopped to consider a thought which followed a U-turn that headed right back at me. After this, he stood directly behind me where no one else could see what he was about to do.

This doesn't deserve a,"oh, poor guy" response; it warrants a punch in the face. Sure, I wasn't dating steadily at the time, which must have helped him, since he didn't have to be concerned about an irate boyfriend or husband coming after him. There were women with significant others in the business, who I am confident never got addressed as he had time to deliberate and consider who to draw nearer to, with an expectation of compliance. This is apparent since he'd esteemed himself as beyond approach before being dismissed.

The truth: his job was cut because me and, at least, two other women that I know of, were violated by him. The way it appeared was that every company that refused to hire him was being dealt a favor and every potential date that heard of his scumbag habits, would be properly warned. I guess if that made life unbearable enough, he'd have done what was required and changed his ways. Instead, he got vengeful. This is how I ascertained how real this was and how, unlike or similar, recent stories were compared next to mine.

What is needed, in all, is an apology, not dissension for allowing a cockroach, like a sex-obsessed counterpart, to touch women how and when he wants. Speaking up might have prevented that from happening to the next, which is why I made that deal with myself after Mr. Medical. It was extra traumatic because of my background, plus history, but legally-secure.

What I did do, should have had no consequence on my livelihood. If grocery guy was mad, that was grocery guy's issue, not mine. My job was to protect me and other women and I will never be sorry for that, even if I paid a terrible price for it.

When those two ladies found me, in the morning, once I had clocked in the following day, I felt proud and strong. Then as they articulated, I became angry, felt betrayed and offended.

On the flip side, when I found out Mr. "I-want-to-hold-you" had been fired, I was guilt-ridden and ashamed. The second time, I trusted my instincts and honored my experience at Coffee Call. While I got that it had ended well, that night, I also comprehended that it could have gone in another, scary direction. What this latter event, left me with, was the worst possible way it ever could have gone down, omitting death.

I asked myself, "Did the incident have something to do with the vicious crime that I survived?" It seemed a little too relative to the timing and served as a possible motive. The attacker knew where I worked and lived near the store, but, at the time, it never occurred to me that there might be a connection. Now, most days I cannot keep that thought from penetrating my mind, since mentioning this theory to my present-day teacher.

When I heard the word "probably" after asking him about my suspicion, I only saw the part I missed and went completely into lamentation. Why hadn't I thought of this sooner, when it was needed?

We have a faulty pathway built in our current ways of life, supports are lacking for people who go through harassment, of all magnitudes, and especially if they have no one behind their scenes. There's no way to circumnavigate this moat without an incredible fear of atrocity, or without more backers, as my example eloquently demonstrates.

I still try to keep this out of mind, yet it is painfully hard to do that, in particular when all of these stories are being brought to light. Who am I to make waves? I'm a teacher, artist, and writer. Who will care? It's too late to legally do anything anyway.

But, it fucking matters.

These happenings have residual effects that leave you wishing that criteria had been carried out differently, or better. Maybe, no one will care, but my pact was to assist all women, so this is about that, not me.

My story horrifies me, it appalls me, but I write it out, one word at a time. As memories come and go, I execute this measure, so it's worth something in this messed up planet. Believe me when I say that even I don't know it's purpose, but what I do see is that it's valid, meaningful and symbolic of a war most ladies are versed in.

When sexual harassment happens outside of the workplace or school, it is related to that institution, as long as the abhorrent behavior stemmed from that environment. In other words, if that's where you met, then it qualifies as sitting under a legal right that's protected, alas employers and universities are obligated to fulfill their legal duties and shelter their students and employees from harm, especially crime.

I didn't know that when crucial and apparently this message is rampant, which coincides with the statutes of limitations usually expiring before one can act on it.

Surely, someone, where I used to work, did cognize this and was supposed to manage it. Yet, the company was in the know as were their lawyers. With that, they permitted an unpopular opinion, from members who supported my harasser, to navigate my existence into a near, deadly and punitive downfall.

Like I said, "It fucking matters." And if that was my downfall, I'd prefer it if this narration were the kickoff to my comeback.