I recently read a post on Facebook, something that just popped up onto my feed about a woman in her early twenties coming forward and telling her story. Now it’s my turn. I pride myself on being honest with myself and others, so I feel like writing it all down might make something better. All are memories, so in the moment they may have been different, but this is how I recall these events.

When I was a freshman in highschool, I had my first “real” boyfriend. We barely spoke at school, and he asked me if we could, in regards to our first kiss, “get it over with.” The night before our homecoming dance, he broke up with me over text.

The following year I decided to give an older boy a second chance. The first time we were supposed to go on a date he had stood me up. This time, we went to a movie theater and he didn’t pay for my ticket. We were barely through the movie previews when he was on top of me kissing me – it was the first time I had ever made out with a boy. We didn’t speak for the next three months.

When I was a junior, I was seeing someone and I thought it was “serious.” The older boy asked me to come over to apologize for his previous actions and I said yes. When I got there, he put his arm around me and tried to kiss me. I stopped him explaining that I was in a relationship. He said “no one has to know.” We didn’t kiss. I didn’t forgive him for his previous actions.

That same year, my boyfriend was away for Thanksgiving break. I went out with some of my friends from my soccer team, two boys and a girl. We drank a lot of tequila, and things ended poorly. One of the boys I felt was being forceful, but I didn’t say anything. I was too drunk and too confused. The next day I called my boyfriend sobbing. He yelled at me through the phone and told me I was a slut. We didn’t break up.

When he came home I tried to make him forgive me any way possible. I decided I would give him a blow job for the first time. I started and then stopped because I was gagging. He didn’t like that I stopped, so he held my head down. I cried. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care enough to stop.

After that, it seemed he still didn’t trust me. He said I could make it up to him by having sex with him. I agreed. We began, and it hurt, so we stopped. I never really counted it to this day because it didn’t exactly work. After that night I went home and cried on the floor of my shower, trying to wash away the grossness I felt. We broke up soon after.

My next boyfriend seemed better, more mature. He was sweet and didn’t pressure me. That is when I consider to have lost my virginity, in a bed rather than a car, and with someone I trusted.

Unfortunately, people don’t necessarily stay that great. He became the jealous type, and would tell me not to wear certain things around other guys. Didn’t like me hanging out with other guys. Didn’t want me to dye my hair or get piercings or tattoos. He liked to control me. He broke up with me five times, the last time over the phone even though he was coming to visit the next weekend. He broke my heart.

Then I went to college. I started “seeing” some guy I met at a party. I ended it because he seemed like he wanted to get around a lot, and he drank way too much. He always made me feel bad.

I moved on easily and casually dated for a while. One night I was drunk and with a boy I liked. He explained that he didn’t like me. In my intoxicated state, I texted my friend to come help me – the same guy I had been seeing earlier in the year. I had been drunk and lost, and I knew he would come help out. After all, we were close.

We went back to my room, and that’s all I can remember. I woke up in pain. Mostly down there. When packing stuff up to leave for winter break that day, I found a condom wrapper. I never said yes. I guess he assumed it was ok because we had once a long time before. It hurt. I tried to talk to him about it, and he said it was my fault. To this day I can’t figure out if it was rape or not. I can’t figure out if it was my fault or not. All I know is I didn’t want it. Maybe I did in my drunken stupor, but I don’t even remember him coming to my room. All I know is it still hurts me sometimes, still scares me. I almost wish I knew what happened. But I can’t seem to bring myself to ask him about it.

Now I have this incredible man in my life. Supportive, patient, kind. He knows about the last situation and never pressured me. He doesn’t get jealous. He just trusts me. And I trust him. When we first started dating, I would have nightmares of being attacked, and he would hug me until I was calm again, and would hold me until I fell back asleep. He is a good man. They are out there.

The things listed above aren’t the only situations in my short life that have bothered me. I have encountered sexual harassment in almost every aspect of my life. So have many others. I just wish people were standing up for themselves a bit more. We all deserve to have our voices heard and shared. No matter how small the incident may seem, it still matters. It still shouldn’t happen. I shouldn’t have had to be scared to go to sleep in my bed after that happened. It’s horribly wrong that people have to be afraid almost everywhere they go. My situations may not have been as horrific as those of the anonymous 24-year-old I read on that post, but they still affected me. And that’s okay. And it’s okay to come forward. Anyone who has experienced something like this should feel safe enough to come forward and know they are not alone. There are people here, friends, family, and even strangers who will support you and applaud your courage.