With everything that's been going on in the news, I realize that maybe I had been ignoring some thoughts I had surrounding something that happened in high school. From Day 2, (Not day one because I was too afraid to talk to anyone about it) They called it sexual assault. I never wanted to think about it like that because I didn't feel comfortable with anything sexual. At sixteen, I wasn't in a rush to become an adult nor was I comfortable with the idea of physical intimacy. At the time I was dating my first boyfriend and I had so much to learn about what exactly my position was and how I felt about these types of topics. My first boyfriend's friends made the decision for me, and it's an experience I'll never forget. No, it's not anything drastic, but it's extremely important that we listen to other's stories about sexual assault because it hurts no matter how big or small the incident is. It's hard to explain all of my feelings at once, so I've decided to write a short letter to the person who assaulted me, as I hope it will give some clarity to how people in these situations feel.

To Whom It May Concern:

I've thought about writing for a few years now. Not for you. For me. It's been over three years since the incident in the cafeteria. Do you remember it? Sometimes I find myself trying to relive or remember the exact details. Some visuals I can remember. What you wore. What I wore. I remember that day I chose to wear my glasses because my eyes were irritated from the April winds at school. Of course, most of this visual details are only relevant because I still have the video. I don't think I'll ever get rid of it. I find it fascinating to view from another perspective. There is something that neither the video nor my memory can ever lie about that hasn't stuck with me for the three years that have followed. I'll give you a hint. It's not the kiss you forced upon me. It's not the whispers I heard for weeks following, and hearing that many of my peers had seen the video.

It was the laughter.

The laughter that was drawn out from not just you, but her, and him, and them, and the whole table at which your little witch hunt resided. Laughter at my expense. Laughter at my anxiety. Laughter at my fear. Laughter at my suffering.

Did intimacy really not matter to you guys at all? Was my fear of rejection a game you wanted to play? Had my first boyfriend really betrayed me as such? These are questions I will never get answered, and if I'm honest, I don't want them. Every time I think about them, I feel a pit in my stomach, harsh, dry, lips forcing themselves against mine, and laughter rings in my ears. Your laughter. Her laughter. His laughter. Their laughter.

It is my sincerest hope, that you have learned from your mistakes. I hope you are doing well in New York, and I hope that you find all the happiness in the world. Clearly, there was something that caused you such unsettling feelings, and you had to take them out at the expense of another person. I never wanted to add to that unhappiness or be the target of your frustration.

You don't deserve to know how I'm doing now. You don't get to hear the difficulties I may or may not have gone through. You have already gotten your satisfaction at my expense. Not for your sake, but for my own self, there is only one important thing you should know:

I have forgiven you.