April is Sexual Assault Awareness month. It’s a time for people to speak out against this horrible crime and stand up for what is right. There are several myths regarding sexual assault, including “she deserved it” and “males don’t get raped.” I’m not here to address why all those myths are false. There have been several articles about how those myths are false. Yet, people still believe these things. People refuse to learn. So, I am here to tell you a story. Because apparently the best way to make people learn how terrible sexual assault can be is by hearing a story about it. This is mine.
It started at my friend’s high school play. I was fifteen, and he was eighteen. I didn’t know him, but my friend did. She invited him because he also knew someone else in our group. One of the first thing he did after introducing himself was put me in a headlock just to show me he could. At the time, I thought it was funny. We seemed to get along well. The play was fun, and he came with me and a few other people to get frozen yogurt after. I found him funny and charming, so I gave him my phone number.
The first time I hung out with him, I went to his house with another guy I knew. However, he left before I did, which left me and my new friend alone. I ended up putting my head on his lap, mostly because I was awkward, tired, and at the time it was really easy for me to develop a crush on people. We were talking when suddenly he started leaning in. I jumped up my heart pounding. I wasn’t used to this. I only had one boyfriend before, and he wasn’t even a real boyfriend. He was also a douche. Anyway, I went home after that. My mom noticed that I was upset and I told her what happened and that I wasn’t sure what to do. She seemed surprised but told me to go with my gut.
At school, my friends seemed happy for me. They told me he liked me, and that I should give it a chance. I figured I might as well. He seemed nice. The next time I saw him was after my sister’s birthday. Coincidentally, in April. I asked him on a date and he agreed. I was happy, but there was a little feeling inside me that felt strange. He told me that he once snuck into his last girlfriend’s window as a surprise for her. When I look back now, the signs are all there.
A week later, we went on our first date. It was innocent enough. Until we ended up back at his house, alone. My head was on his lap again, mostly because I had no idea what to do. Then he leaned in, and kissed me. I jumped up again, like déjà vu. I felt so unsure. I didn’t like kissing on the first date and it made me nervous. At the same time, it was nice to finally have a boyfriend, and for him to pay attention to me and care for me, unlike my last one. So I let him kiss me, even though I didn’t really want to.
The next month is a blur. I really try not to remember what happened. All I know have I felt uncomfortable the entire relationship, but I didn’t know what to do about it. He was the first to touch my breasts, but he didn’t ask if that was okay. He stuck his hand down my pants, but he didn’t ask if he could. He saw me flinch, he saw me cringe, he saw my eyes lose my sparkle. But he never asked me why. I left his house always feeling conflicted. My friends have always told me that physical activities feel good and that you’re special when it happens to you. So, I merely thought that this wasn’t wrong. It was my first time being physical, and I had no idea what to think. I just thought that I must be doing something right, that I must be special if he touches me like that. But every time I left him, it made me relieved.
Eventually, I got tired of feeling gross when I left his house. I realized that even if being physical with my boyfriend made me “special”, I didn’t want that. It was too much for me, and he was moving too fast. And he never asked. So, on my birthday, I broke up with him. My friends agreed that he was moving too fast and that he was a creep. One of my friends even said, “What happened to you really wasn’t that bad. At least, you weren’t raped.” At the time, I agreed. And then I moved on.
Until my friend started dating someone who gave me the same anxious feeling as he did. Suddenly, my emotions went haywire. I felt crazy like I couldn’t control anything I did or said. I talked to a therapist about my feelings, and I told her about him. Slowly, things came to the surface. I realized I hated myself. I realized I hated myself for not speaking up, for not pushing him away, for not saying “No”, for being so naïve, and for letting him do those things to me. It took a long time and a lot of crying before I realized it wasn’t my fault.
And if you ask why then you are the problem. It’s not my fault because he never asked me if I was okay with what he was doing. He never asked me permission to touch me. This is around the time where I realized what happened to me was terrible. And despite “not being raped”, my experience with him messed me up, and it took me a very long time to recover. It made me un-trustful, it made my anxiety skyrocket, and it made me hate myself and act like a total dick to my friends.
But that was three years ago now. Today, I am strong. I am a survivor. And I will not rest until people know that sexual assault isn’t something to take lightly. It’s a terrible thing that makes you feel broken and used. But let me tell you: you aren’t. You can get better, and you can survive. You aren’t alone. Please, reach out to someone. Get help. Find friends who build you up, not tear you down. And for those of you who believe all the myths, take a second to think why you do. Take a second to think of all the survivors who need years to feel better about themselves and to convince themselves it isn’t their fault.
So, think before you shout “They deserved it!” because chances are, the person you’re saying that to already believes that, and you’re furthering their suffering. No one deserves this.
And that’s my story. What will yours be?
