My body is evidence to a case gone unsolved. The way that I interact with men, the instinctive fear that runs through my bones when I am in the presence of any male and the way that I act to deter the opposite sex are only pieces of the puzzle of my unsolved sexual assault case. The sad reality is that I am not the only girl living this way.

I am not the only girl walking around a town with a hope for a future but a mind that only echoes the words a rapist once yelled at them. I am not the only girl having trouble falling asleep at night because of flashbacks and feelings of a man holding arms down tightly on the bed. I am not the only girl waking up in the morning with the stark shock and sense of reality that comes with the feeling that my rapist is walking freely while I am still incarcerated in the figurative prison he placed me in.

There are almost 400,000 UNTESTED rape kits nationwide. My only question for law enforcement is: why? It's hard for me, and those many other women, to sit back and sense that someone picked up their case file and thought of it as much less important than another case. Whether that be the truth or not, who is given the right to assess that women being violated in the most vulnerable of ways is not important enough for time or resources? Who gets to decide that those assaulted women don't deserve justice?

Many victims never speak up about their assaults for the fear that they will either not be believed or that their case will go unsolved. It hurts my heart to say that the reality of my own assault case holds true to the latter of the two fears. Speaking out, reporting, sitting in hours of interviews and doing everything I could to get justice went unnoticed by the justice system in its entirety. What the investigators overlooked is that my own body itself was and still is enough evidence; at least it should be.

It confuses me that with only a simple denial of an allegation that my testimony, factual remembrance and emotions themselves were not enough to bring justice to the openness of my wounds. Sadly, again, I am not the only girl with this problem. The justice system is made up just for who the world is made for: men. No matter what the situation, any detective or law enforcement worker will always find themselves coming to a sudden halt as soon as they hear the words come out of a man's mouth: "I didn't do it."

Women around this country are being told different things they can do to fight off the men around them while the real problem itself is going unsolved. I remember the first time my friend told me I needed to carry pepper spray around as soon as I got to college, and I, of course, denied. I am committed to the fact that hell will literally freeze over and a cold drift will swallow the earth whole before I succumb to the INSANITY of the normalcy of females being consistently used, abused and thrown away.

MY BODY is being detained within a box in a file where my name and my story are doing nothing but collecting dust. MY BODY is incarcerated within the world where men are rulers of all and the crimes against women are deemed just not as important as others. MY BODY is alive only within the walls of those interview rooms and sterilized stirrups where I too had to uncover. The body I am living in now is not near the same that is alive in that case file; that body has been taken in as evidence.

But, I shouldn't be angry. My body has been taken in as evidence! Thrown into a file folder, placed into a box and crammed into a storage unit where it is kept alive and kept company by the thousands of other file folder cases gone unsolved. Oh wait, that's why I'm angry to begin with.

When will my story ever be enough for justice? When will my body be enough evidence for prosecution? When will my shell of a current body find peace with it's former self? When will any woman be worth the work?

How many more of your daughters have to say #MeToo?