September 27^th is my least favorite day of the year. It’s sad because it is also one of my closest friend’s birthdays. This Sunday marks the day I remembered why I’ve never liked to say no. Why I remembered how saying “no” didn’t necessarily mean “no”. Why I act like I’m never scared, and yet I’m terrified.

I would never participate in victim blaming because I don’t believe in it, even before it had happened to me. It was something that never made any sense to me.

When someone has been violated in one of the most traumatic and debilitating way, it’s incredible what others have to say.

How it feels to be dehumanized like that is indescribable. But I can try.

You walk outside your room and it’s as if the air thinned out about 75%. If you feel someone behind you, 3 flights down or 100 yards away, your body tenses up and suddenly forgets how to function. Each step you take is like a step closer to wanting to crawl into a ball underground. Your bed, room, coach, anything…even if it was your favorite place in the world, becomes your hell. It’s the constant reminder that you were weak.

And when the Sexual Assault Notice goes up around campus, each door is a constant reminder of what had happened.

People all around you talking about what had “happened” without really knowing what did. They question the validity of the posters, whether or not it really happened. Was it just a night of regret? Did she just want to ruin the guy’s life? Just wanted the attention? But I promise you, attention is my worst enemy.

I couldn’t explain to you what had happened. It’s graphic and just not a pretty picture.

And unfortunately, another factor that followed in the months thereafter included medication. Because I was not coherent the night of, there was confusion on protection and whether or not if he had finished. Plan B was nothing out of the ordinary, I had heard about it and nothing surprised me when I realized I had to buy it. After going to the hospital, I was told I was “highly” recommended to take medication… a lot of it. One in particular involved taking it for about a month afterwards with side effects that terrify me today. It was for possible exposure to HIV/AIDs and supposedly would have heightened my chances of not being passed along the virus. I thank God I was lucky and that I do not have to endure that struggle today.

Those pills weren’t cheap. About 5 of the pills of each of the medication were a couple hundred dollars, and I had to take 3 a day. Out of pocket, it would have been thousands of dollars, with insurance still a couple hundred, and I was stuck. My parents didn’t know about this.

I count my lucky stars when the pharmacist who rang me up had called the companies that provided the medication and lightened the cost. I only paid about $75. Still, I almost did not have enough.

Throughout taking the medication, it made me drowsy and nauseous. Twenty-four/seven. This was to a point of barely eating for a month. I lost over 15 pounds. My immune system, usually quite great, lowered and I developed strep throat the day I was finished with the pills.

Throughout the month, I was weak, tired, and dry heaving every morning (at the very least). I felt dumb. It was my fault that this was happening. I caused it and now I’m paying for all I deserved. I was weak in all aspects and I have no idea how I pushed through.

A week after my incident, another report for the same reason came out. I remember reading the email and the next thing I knew, I was walking off campus down a road I had never traveled down before. When I finally snapped out of it, I was being shaken awake on the side of the road miles down the road from my school. Knees tucked in and sitting upright, I was shivering. A lady I had never met told me she had called the police because she thought I was a runaway. This was the second time I felt like I was wasting the authority’s time with my inconvenience. I was embarrassed and begged for them not to fill out a police report. And on top of that, a friend and my roommate couldn’t find me.

This isn’t even the full story. I went through moments of panic and anxiety attacks, resorted back to habits I had kicked 3 years before, and contemplated suicide on multiple occasions. I can’t tell you to believe me, but I promise you if you listen closely, there are more stories out there that will touch your heart. I am an example, a statistic, but I am also human. And because of this moment, I haven’t felt that way in a while.

I’ve been a victim in more than one occasion, but in the terms of society, this had been the worst. Unfortunately, I am not the only one.

If you have met me, you will know, I am generally a happy person. Most don’t expect a story like this from me but that’s the point. You never know what has happened in another person’s past. You never know whom you’re hurting when you say, “things like this don’t really happen”.

Quoting a friend who looked me in the eyes after hearing my story, she said to me the most amazing thing, that I may struggle to remember, but always remains with me. That after fighting for so long, we weren't just survivors anymore. It’s because we’re alive and we’re still fighting. We are the bravest parts of ourselves when we crawl out of bed and still manage to breathe.

To the survivors and warriors out there, thank you for being strong. Thank you for being you, for being amazing and I am so sorry that something like this would touch you.

To the allies and advocates, thank you for being strong. Thank you for setting aside your hearts and ears to those who need it. You are amazing for caring and for being open to let someone else trust you with this secret.

To my own friends, thank you. I can’t tell you some things you want to ask and know, but you let me open up when I can and never push me to do so. You are the definition of the family I want in my life so as long as we’re breathing. Thank you.

And to you readers, maybe it’s only one person out there, but I don’t care. If I can touch you with my story, if you can bear to read this to the end, I am so thankful to you.