There's something really haunting about repressed memories. The idea that your brain can shut away something that happened to you because you couldn't handle what happens is an interesting thing. While it's nice that those memories don't exist in your mind for a while, nothing can prepare you for when those memories suddenly come rushing back. You're all probably wondering why I'm talking about the repression of memories and how it relates to me but before we get into that I want to set a scene for you.

Scene: A 7-year-old sitting on the floor in a dark bedroom around midnight. The moon is bright and shining through the window casting a shadow on everything around her. In the bed lays a man.

Scenario: A traumatic experience that will shape her for the rest of her life.

As you can probably guess that 7 year old was me and that traumatic experience was the case of sexual abuse - it took me years to remember that day and once I did my entire world came crashing down. To this day I can tell you what I was wearing when it happened, I can tell you who was there and what was said. I can tell you the smell of my hair and the smell of him. It was traumatic remembering what happened because I had to relieve it all over again.

Unfortunately, me finally realizing what happened to me wasn't the end of it. I had to go through the conversation and explanation with my mom and step-dad. I had to talk to police, both in the state of New Jersey and the state of Florida. I had to deal with my family finding out and hoping that they didn't tell me I was a liar and making up stories for attention. (They supported me and came to terms with everything on their own eventually but the stories I saw growing up about families who shunned the person who spoke out scared me at first.) I realize now that I got lucky. The police were more than helpful, they didn't question me in a way that made it feel like it was my fault. My family supported me. My friends supported me. Most importantly though, I supported me. I didn't let what happened break me as a person, at least not forever.

Jump forward about 8 years after I finally spoke up and I still had a lot of pent-up anger and issues with what happened. I still blamed myself for what happened and for letting it go on for as long as I did. I knew I was a child and was powerless at the time but I still thought there was more than I could have done and a part of me will always hate myself for not speaking up when it happened for the first time.

This summer I saw Kesha at Firefly and I'm not afraid to admit I cried. A lot. As a rape survivor seeing this woman come back after everything she was put through gave me the realization that I've been missing for years. Being raped doesn't make you weak, admitting what happened doesn't make you weak. Anyone who tries to make you feel bad for what happened to you is not a good person and seeing Kesha made me realize that. If she can overcome what happened after being in the spotlight for so long then so can I. Kesha is my hero - I love her style and her music but more importantly, I love her soul. Seeing her this summer gave me back a part of me that I've been missing. That I didn't even know I've been missing and I wish I could thank her for that. I wish I could thank her for reminding me that there is hope and that there is life after an assault.

People don't under what seeing her means to me and that's okay. I don't expect them to because they didn't go through what I went through. They didn't follow her story every day hoping that she got the justice that I did. They didn't see themselves in this girl who was just trying to bring a little bit of light into the world. But I did. I saw her and I saw myself in her.

I got lucky, my attacker admitted to everything that he had done and I didn't have to go to trial. I didn't have to face the idea that he was out walking free. Unfortunately, not everyone gets to say that. To those who have never been raped or sexually assaulted, you have no right to judge the person, you have no right to ask what they were wearing or if they were drunk. Seven year old me was wearing a nightgown that I had been wearing every summer when I went to Florida. Seven year old me was with someone who I trusted with my life because he gaveme life. Seven year old me was and is stronger than 22 year old me and I'll never forget that.

All I'm saying is I'm still standing, after suicide attempts and years of self harm. I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.