Every 107 seconds, another American is sexually assaulted. 68 percent of these cases are never reported to police. And 98 percent of rapists will never spend a day behind bars. I have been thinking about writing this article for a long time now, I have typed drafts, made edits, but I never could bring myself to hit the submit button and have it published for the world to see. But I decided that with everything going on in the media (you know, Lady Gaga's new song and the Kesha thing) this might be the perfect time to click the button.

Once my family and close friends found out I had been sexually abused I decided I wanted the least amount of people to know. I did not want people feeling sorry for me. I did not want to hear the "I'm sorry's" or the "I can't imagine's." I did, however, want this man prosecuted. I knew it would be hard, but he was a rapist, an assaulter, and I was not his only victim. If I stood back and did nothing, he would prey on more in the future. I was assaulted around 100 times in seven years by someone I trusted very much. The problem was, when it first happened, I did not exactly know if it was wrong. Now, just typing these words makes it all play back in my mind. The things he would whisper in my ear, the fear he put inside of me. The way he ensured that no man would ever be able to touch me the way a woman deserves to be touched by her husband. How I can't go grocery shopping in my own town, and I can't drive down certain roads, because he is always there. As a 19-year old girl, I should not have to be afraid to go to the store and get junk food for the sleepover I'm having with my friends. I should not have to drive out of my way, 15 extra minutes, just so I don't have to drive past his street. I should not still be looking over my shoulders everywhere I go, even after I moved four hours away. This is not the kind of life anyone should have to live, a life of fear and constant anxiety.

There was a time in particular that I remember this becoming a real problem, I was at Walmart picking up some shampoo, when all of a sudden I heard his laugh, very distinct. My body froze, I dropped to the floor and started crying hysterically. No one stopped to help me or see if I was okay. I sat on the cold floor for a good 15 minutes, staring at the pink shampoo that had started to seep out of my bottle when it hit the floor. I finally gathered up the courage to leave, I notified an employee about my mess and hightailed it out to my car. I refused to go anywhere alone in that town again. I started going to therapy and gave my testimony for the police, the judge, several detectives, etc.

I decided that I would no longer refer to myself as his victim, but a fighter and a survivor. I would not let what he did define who I am and dictate my life. I have spent too much time feeling sorry for myself, and asking "Why me?" I do not want to feel like that anymore. Just thinking about all of this now, how he stole my innocence, it pisses me off. It should piss all of us off. Those statistics that I talked about earlier, those should piss you off. The fact that only two percent of rapists are punished for what they do. The sad truth that so many victims of sexual assault blame themselves. The last thing I have to say is that if we want any of this to change, if we want that statistic to be the other way around, if we want people to feel safe living their daily lives after going through something like this, we have to start speaking up. I stayed silent for seven years, I bottled it up and when I finally came forward I erupted with emotion. I know it is hard, I know first hand, but it is possible. And it is the only way to change all of these things. So I would like to say to those of you who have experienced sexual assault that you are not alone. We can make a difference, we can change the statistics, but we have to speak up. Together we are fighters, we are survivors, and we are not victims.