You learn to watch the signs: You stay with friends and in groups and only walk underneath street lamps at night; you even have your boyfriend teach you self-defense.

Even though your parents have warned you that it happens to one in every five women, you tell yourself that you’re not a part of that statistic. But nothing prepares you for the moment it actually happens.

At least when it happened to me, I wasn’t.

It was my first semester at college. I was excited and impressionable, ready to make the memories I would carry with me for a lifetime. The late night hang-outs, the random adventures, all of the new friends—I was anticipating it all.

But the one thing I didn’t anticipate was the one thing that has stuck with me the most the past four years in college.

Two months into my first semester, and I am at my first house party when a stranger comes up to me in a crowded room and rubs his hands across my body while he pins me to the wall, taking his sweet time as I protest. With no room to move away, I struggle to push him back enough to run out of the room.

When I get home I tell no one. Instead I take a shower and hide underneath my covers and hope that it will all be over the next day.

Three years in college, and I’m out at a friend’s house having a bonfire when he pushes me to the ground and forces a rough kiss on me. I push and pull against his firm hold on me, kicking up dirt in the process.

My once joking tone turns into a serious plea to let go, getting louder each time he tries to kiss me, until he finally lets go.

When I get home I want to tell someone, but instead I choose to write in my journal versus telling my friends.

Four years in college and I’m at a bar dancing when a guy comes up behind me and tightly grabs my waist while he tries to lift up my dress and reach in between my thighs. I turn around and push him so hard he hits the floor, and I walk away while all his friends laugh.

When I get home I don’t tell anyone because keeping it to myself has been so much easier than trying to talk about it.

In a year I graduate, and as I look back on my time in college, I’ve realized that don’t want to leave and become another person who’s story wasn’t heard. My college experience isn’t unique; each year thousands of women experience sexual assault.

But, there are still so many people out in the world who don’t realize how many women are affected by this. I want this to stop being a memory in my mind and become a reality that more people need to be aware of.

When I walk off stage with my diploma, sure I’ll be walking away with happy memories, those late-night adventures to Wawa and the dozens of times of trips I’ve made to Ocean City just to feel the sand between my toes. But I’ll also be walking away with the memories I never intended to make, but will surely follow me beyond college.