OK, first thing’s first: I need to clarify.

If you don’t know what theCHIVE is, theCHIVE, or theCHIVE.com, is a photo-entertainment website independently owned and operated by Resignation, LLC.

theCHIVE stands for charity and bringing people together and raising money for good deeds and that’s amazing. theCHIVE encourages groups and States of people to come together to form their own "Chive Chapter" where each Chapter raised money to donate to Chive Charities.

Cool, right?

Too bad I can't even think about theCHIVE without my stomach dropping and pain in my chest.

It wasn’t theCHIVE itself that ruined my life, it was an admin of a Chive Chapter that represented the website that ruined my life.

This said admin sexually assaulted me.

Sexual assault is defined as an act in which a person sexually touches another person without that person's consent, or coerces or physically forces a person to engage in a sexual act against their will.

What happened to me was sexual assault; sexual assault can happen TO anyone and BY anyone.

Mine was with someone I cared about immensely.

According to the Department of Justice, 7 out of every 10 assaults is statistically how many assaults are committed by an intimate partner or someone the victim knows. Additionally, 84% of survivors who were victimized by an intimate partner experience professional or emotional issues, including moderate to severe distress, or increased problems at work or school.

Now, I am choosing not to disclose names of people and business involved in this story. Some people might ask, “Why? If you are telling your story then say the names!” Well, I see your point. But this is how I want to do it. All names are fake. All identities are hidden except for mine, which is the point of this article.

This is my story and this is my choice to share it. Writing and sharing my story is easily the hardest, most vulnerable thing I have ever done. But in life, we are supposed to do the things that terrify us. Within the last few weeks, Oprah Winfrey’s Golden Globes acceptance speech when receiving the Cecil B. DeMille Award went viral and I, along with millions of others, listened and watched her speech in awe and it gave us hope. Her words hit close to home for me and I was inspired.

I, too, want to live in a world where no one says, “me too,” which starts by sharing my story.

I’m a normal 23-year-old girl from Phoenix, Arizona. I’m not known in society. I’m not a celebrity. But I am a victim of sexual assault; I have a story as well as the advantage of having a big, social platform to share my story with other sexual violence victims during a critical time in our society.

I’m here to warn others. I’m here to help define sexual assault. I’m here to comfort others. I’m here to inspire others to come forward. I’m sharing my story to help others gain enough strength to get help, talk about it, and begin the recovery process like I did. I’m here to say #TimesUp.

So, again, theCHIVE itself didn’t ruin my life. In the end, it brought me the one person who did.

I apologize for the next part of my story. This is where it eventually gets graphic.

I met "Alan" through one of the state’s theChive Chapters. Within the next year, we began this romantic journey* together.

*The most fuck boy relationship ever.

Being as young and naive as I was, I felt so mature dating an older guy. I felt like I had earned his respect. No bullshit, I fell for this guy. Hard. He got away with treating me horribly because he knew how invested in him I was. He knew how to talk his way out of everything. He skillfully hid the fact that he was also sleeping with other girls while he and I were seeing one another. He never told me that he had romantic feelings for me. He never made us official. In fact, he asked me to not tell anyone about "us" because he didn’t want drama or people knowing. I obliged in hopes that someday we wouldn’t have to hide "us" anymore.

Guys, I was manipulated. Hardcore. Absolutely brainwashed.

Our relationship was this: He and I texted every day, hooked up about once a week if we could (which was the only time I was seeing him), and I thought he and I were going to be exclusive. Whenever I asked about us taking the next step, he’d say he wasn’t over his ex (who he cheated-on with many girls from the state’s chive community. Me included. Oh, and we all didn’t know he was still with his ex during the times he was hooking up with us. So she was absolutely f**king livid. And for good damn reason but back to the story).

Again, I was on "Alan's" hook and he knew it.

I believe that’s about all of the backstory that you brave readers need to know for the rest of this.

Let’s fast forward to the night of the assault:

One night in September after a concert, "Alan" and I went to a popular bar in Scottsdale for a drink or two. Finally, we decided we couldn’t wait anymore and went to my car to do naughty things.

We were in the backseat of my car and he was on top of me. We had been going at it for about ten minutes or so when I started experiencing pain in my pelvic region. I tried to slightly nudge at "Alan" to get off but he wasn't getting the hint. I was so dedicated to trying to please him sexually that I tried just dealing with the pain. I honestly only lasted about two seconds before I was nudging at "Alan" again to stop. I was getting aggravated because he knew what those signals meant. He'd responded to them before in previous nights together. that was making me uncomfortable. I decided that I wanted to take a break from sex, but when I asked "Alan" to stop, he didn't stop.

Me: “Alan, stop.”

Ten seconds go by.Alan: *hasn't stopped*

Me: “Stop, it hurts.”

Five seconds go by.Alan: *hasn't stopped*

Me: “Get off of me.”

Three seconds go by.Alan: *hasn't stopped*

Me: “Stop, please.”

Two more, long seconds go by.Alan: *still hasn’t stopped*

Me: “Stop.”

Immediately. Alan: “No.”

His whisper chilled my body and cursed me. It cut deep and embedded itself in the darkest caves of my mind. I closed my eyes. I felt my chest begin to cave in. Every breath became harder and harder to take. I felt the tears build up in my eyes. My immediate thought was, “is this really happening to me?”

My heart was pounding. I began hyperventilating. My mind kept yelling at me, “PUSH! PUSH HIM OFF! KICK HIM IN THE F**KIN FACE WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?”

But I couldn’t move.

You see, the body works in strange ways when it’s undergoing a traumatic event. Instinctively, I knew I needed to push him off. I knew I should call the cops and report him. Physically though, I couldn’t move a muscle. I couldn’t breathe normally. My heart felt like it was going so fast that at any point it would just stop altogether. And that’s what I wanted. I wanted it to stop altogether.

I found my voice.

“I’m having a panic attack. Stop.”

He stopped. FINALLY. He shifted and pulled me next to him. I couldn’t move away from him. I didn’t want to be near him. But I couldn’t move. He held me and soothed me during my anxiety attack...not realizing that he was the one who caused it.

When my breathing rate came back to the normal range, I found my voice again.

“You said, ‘no’.”

He froze. He knew what I meant when I said that. I could feel the tension between us.

There was an apology from him. I can’t remember it word for word, but at one point he did say, “we’re a couple that pushes each other’s limits.”

I remember this because he referred to us as a “couple” and that made me happy.

Honestly, the rest of that night is a blur for me. There was me numbingly getting dressed. There was me numbingly driving home. I remember texting him I got home safely.

You would think I wouldn’t talk to him anymore. But no, I still talked to him. I still slept with him multiple times after that night. He was nicer to me. More attentive. This eventually lead me to sweep the night of the assault under the rug for him.

Roughly two weeks later I found out he slept with another girl about a month prior. This was the second time this has happened. So, I broke things off and blocked him. I didn’t even bother to give him a chance to explain himself. I’ve heard it all from him before. Manipulative relationships like this are typically “on and off” a mass majority of the time.

You would think that would be the end of him. Nope.

A week or so after this occurred, I started working at the same bar that "Alan" and I went to the night after the concert. To be clear, "Alan" helped get me this job because this was a place "Alan" hung out at and knew the General Manager, "Daniel."

About a month into the job, I hadn’t seen "Alan" come into my work at all. I knew that when I did see him that I wouldn’t feel safe if he was there. After a talk with a coworker, I sat down with "Daniel" and told him a brief summary of what happened between "Alan" and me. I explained how I didn’t feel safe with him here. "Daniel" was understanding and told me that he would talk to "Alan" and let him know he wasn’t allowed in the bar as long as I was working. I can’t begin to describe how happy that made me. I felt protected. I truly respected "Daniel" for his word.

On Halloween, "Alan" came into my work. Immediately upon seeing him, my heart sank to my stomach. To this day, I remember exactly how it felt seeing him again. It was awful. The pain and sadness I had swept under the rug came pouring into my veins. This man broke me to my core.

Let me explain. I trusted him immensely. I confided in him. I went to him for advice. I looked to him. I stood up for him. Yeah, "Alan" has hurt quite a few people. I took the time to stand up for "Alan" and I told everyone that he had changed.

Did "Alan" really change? No.

I believed "Alan" when he told me he changed. After the night of the assault, I was absolutely heartbroken. I wanted to believe that he was a good person. I wanted to believe he wouldn’t ever do something like that to me. That he would never hurt me that way. But he did, and I was devastated.

I walked up to "Daniel" and told him "Alan" was there. "Daniel" went to talk to "Alan," and then I didn’t see "Alan" again.

For another twenty minutes.

"Alan" was sitting at the bar but was hidden around the back side.

I immediately walked up to "Daniel" and asked him why "Alan" was still here.

“Well, he said you two just stopped talking and that was it.”

My heart dropped. “But he assaulted me.”

"Daniel" looked at me for about five seconds and then asked, “Well, did you report it to the police?”

“No…” I said. I couldn’t believe that this was the way this conversation was going to go.

"Daniel" shrugged, “Well, then I can’t help you. He brings in a lot of business for us.”

For the next six months, I saw "Alan" every single weekend. And every single weekend I suffered 8-10 hour-long anxiety attacks. I know what you're going to say, "Why didn't you just quit?" Yes, again I see your point. And most days I wish I had. But the money was good. And I had to eventually pay for nursing school. I was so determined to just make my money and leave as fast as possible. I even tried to be civil with "Alan." That didn’t work for me. We argued constantly about "that night," which means it was being constantly relived in my mind. I would tell him how it was sexual assault; he would tell me why it wasn’t. "Alan" would bring up the "pushing each other's limits" line as one of his many repeated reasons. He went as far as calling what happened that night a "misunderstanding." Like. Really? REALLY?

A "misunderstanding?"

Regardless, any and every argument we had, he knew exactly what to say and it worked.

A couple months into me working at this bar, I had a close friend of mine try to convince me that "Alan" hadn’t sexually assaulted me. And that I owe him an apology for saying that he did. The worst thing I could have ever done, I did.

I listened to her.

I listened to her because she was my “best friend” at the time. I listened to her because she got me thinking about everything "Alan" said in every argument. I literally let myself believe that I was in the wrong. That I was overreacting. That I took it too far.

From then on, I would have nightmares of him threatening to attack me. I would wake up absolutely exhausted because any dreams involving him were emotionally and physically draining. As I said before, I would have a panic attack as soon as I saw "Alan" at my work. Each shift at work was absolutely awful for me. He would come in every Friday and Saturday. And once football got popular "Alan" would be there every Sunday morning also. I would see him for about 8 hours every shift. He knew how much it bothered me that he was there while I was working because of our situation. And I kept telling myself I was stronger than this and dealt with it. The worst was when he brought his new girlfriend to my work.

Now, I was in a relationship at this point. And I knew I didn’t want "Alan" back romantically, and that I had no residual... good, feelings about him anymore. But I also knew what he was up to. He knew exactly how to push which buttons to get me to the point of breaking. I put up with it for several months and as spreadably stated throughout the story, my mind was trying to heal from a traumatic event but couldn't because that event, and the feelings involved, was always on replay. I became a complete mess; I was empty inside. If I slept it was for a few hours. Falling asleep was a chore; my mind wouldn't shut up. All I wanted was to be left alone by "Alan" to move forward and move on. I wanted everyone in my life to back off because I was utterly ashamed of what happened to me. I felt like the only direction my life was going was crashing down.

In April of the next year, I decided to go to buck up and go see a psychiatrist and a psychologist/therapist. I told my therapist everything about my life, eventually leading up to the night/situation with "Alan." For the next five months, I saw my therapist twice a month. I also told my life story to my psychiatrist, who, of course, wanted to know more about how that all made me feel. Luckily, I wasn't scared to tell her the truth. I was aching for help. Aching for anything to quiet my anxiety down so I didn't frequently feel like I was dying. For years prior to "Alan," I had a feeling that I had been suffering from depression and anxiety.The psychiatrist confirmed that and added post-traumatic stress disorder.

Yes. I was diagnosed with PTSD.

My heart dropped. Me? PTSD? No. That's not right. I remember feeling unworthy of being diagnosed with PTSD because I thought the assault and seeing "Alan" so much after wasn’t a "good enough reason" to have PTSD. That PTSD is for those who go to war or are physically tortured.

But I was wrong.

My psychiatrist explained that the anxiety I experienced before bed was because I was afraid of the dreams I would have about "Alan." That I would fear seeing him. That work became a toxic environment; it went from somewhere I truly loved working at to my biggest fear. I lived in a constant state of anxiety and it was exhausting my body and mental health.

After that appointment, I decided that I had to do what was best for me. I started by putting in my two weeks notice at work. It helped that I knew I had plenty of money saved up that I could afford to take the time off. I started taking my medications regularly and therapy had started off well.

But I still felt unsafe.

Yes, my other symptoms were being treated and those were a work in progress. However, I still had this sick feeling in my stomach. I was uneasy and paranoid. What if " Alan" finds out the next place that I work at and starts going there? I even made myself be careful about who I was friends with on social media and what I was posting. I did not want "Alan" knowing ANYTHING about me and my life.

A few days after I put in my notice at work, I asked a dear friend of mine to go with me to the courthouse; I had decided to file an order of protection against "Alan." An order of protection basically stated that "Alan" wouldn't be able to go to my work, home, and other addresses. I had written down my work, however, I had filed the order after I put in my two-weeks notice. I was hoping that the order was going to be served before I finished my last two weeks of shifts at work. Anyways, the judge granted me the order and I felt so relieved. I was ecstatic. I felt secure and safe for the first time in months! So once it was filed, I just had to wait for police to serve it to him. I thought it would go out as soon as possible like it did in those crime TV shows. Nope. It took weeks.

Actually, I was there when police served "Alan" the order.

A few weeks after my last shift, I went back to that bar with my boyfriend at the time because I missed some of my old coworkers and I wanted to drink a little. It was late, and I didn’t see "Alan," so I thought I would be OK. I brought my copies of the order just in case. About 30 minutes later "Alan" walked in with a good friend of his. I turned to my boyfriend and asked him if I should call the police. I wanted to, but I also didn't want to cause a huge scene. I was getting cold feet about it all. "Lance" said I should, so I did.

The cops showed up about ten minutes later and talked to me outside. I was shaking the entire time. My nerves were in hyperdrive. I could see "Daniel" out of the corner of my eye watching us. I handed the cops the order, was told they would handle this, and went back inside. "Daniel" stopped the cops and after the cops talked to "Daniel," "Daniel" came up to me and told me that as long as that order was active against "Alan," I was not allowed back in the bar.

If you don’t know what being 86ed is, it means I was permanently banned from ever going to a certain bar or place again.

I got 86ed from that bar for filing an order of protection against the man who sexually assaulted me and then was harassing me by coming into my work almost every weekend for six months when he knew he wasn’t wanted there. Because that all makes sense.

To this day, two years later, I am still 86ed.

Anyways, I left the bar with "Lance" and went home. About three days later I received a phone call from the court saying that "Alan" was fighting the order of protection.

I would go into detail about how I felt; it was mostly shock, fear, and a type of anger I’d never felt before, but it is also hard to describe how I felt. I felt numb for the most part. And I felt uneasy as the days to the court date drew nearer.

I decided to go into the court without a lawyer. I was a broke college kid, I didn’t have the money for a lawyer, and I was too ashamed of what happened to me to ask my parents for help. I wrote up a heartfelt and honest statement. I felt like I had a fair chance. I had asked one of my good guy friends to come with me because I didn’t feel safe enough to go alone. He encouraged me to stay strong through my statement and to breathe. He coached me through the hardest day of my life.

"Alan" showed up with a lawyer and two witnesses. One of Alan’s witnesses was "Daniel." I immediately started hyperventilating. I recognized the lawyer "Alan" used because I had also used this lawyer about a year prior. He had given me advice on how to get out of a lease agreement and wrote a letter, with his official letterhead, to my landlord. A mutual friend from the theChive Chapter was studying for his bar exam and worked for this lawyer.

I started freaking out. Instant panic attack.

The entire time we were in front of the judge I felt more and more uneasy. I was shaking. "Alan's" lawyer asked me if I was sure I wanted to go through with this. I looked back at my friend. All he did was close his eyes and nod his head. He was literally like my own Yoda. I turned back to the lawyer and said, "Yes, I'm sure." Little did I know that I would be the one who would be the reason behind the order being dropped.

"Alan" kept all of our text messages, like the one where I apologized to him for calling it assault, and used other printed messages that benefited him in court. I destroyed my own protection. The judge ended up dismissing the order. She also told us that we shouldn’t talk to each other again.

And that was it. Instead of accepting responsibility for his actions and leaving me alone, "Alan" was OK watching me suffer.

To this day, I still think about that night. In fact, I think about that night every single day. Every day I hear him say, “no.” For the first few months after the assault, I couldn't let my boyfriend go near my left ear or simply breathe on the left side of my neck without it causing an immediate panic attack. The nightmares aren’t as frequent, and my fear of falling asleep unprotected is still prevalent but it isn’t as bad anymore. Every day I remember how "Alan" treated me, used me, and hurt me. I am haunted by these memories; the night of the assault, the night I was banned from my old job, the day of the court case... every single day for the past two years.

Again, I didn't write my story and post it out to the internet to gain attention or seek justice. A movement is like a fire, it needs kindling to get started and then you need to keep adding longs to keep the flame going. My story is a log being added to this fire. These movements started for ALL victims to step forward.

Here I am.

Sexual assault can happen to anyone. I was sexually assaulted by a man I trusted and cared for immensely. It isn't necessarily always a stranger. If you or someone you know is a victim of sexual assault or sexual violence, TALK NOW. I know it is a lot harder than it sounds. Just keep in mind that WE ARE HERE FOR EACH OTHER. You are NOT ALONE.

Our time is NOW. Movements like #MeToo and #TimesUp are inspiring victims everywhere to not be afraid to come forward and tell their stories. Women like Sophia Bush, Lady GaGa, Rose McGowen, Oprah Winfrey, and more are continuing to keep sexual assault a prevalent topic in society because this IS a huge issue that doesn’t get dealt with properly. Most rape/sexual assault cases go unfiled. Most assaulters don’t get arrested for their crimes. Most victims are too ashamed to come forward. Most victim’s stories are overlooked and deemed a non-issue.

But this is my story. This is my truth.

I know what I have gone through. I know all I have done to move forward and try to live a normal life again. This is the ultimate act of healing; Sharing my story with the world. It is time I stop living in the past and start actually living again.

I refuse to let you hurt me any longer.