When I was young, no older than 6 or 7, I was sexually assaulted by a family friend. It happened multiple times too; whenever he would come over, we’d play "Scooby Doo" and he would be Freddy and I would be Daphne. We’d hide in the closet and he would take off my clothes. I guess you can assume the rest.

A few months ago, I went to a party on the UW Madison campus. I’ve gone to a few parties before, so it just seemed like another night out with some friends. I met a guy who made me smile. He kissed me. I was less than sober, so I kissed back.

In the room, he took off my clothes. I told him to stop repeatedly, but he pushed me and got on top of me. No one else would hear anything, so I laid there until “stop” must’ve finally registered in his head. I texted my friend that I wanted to go. I picked up my shoes and left.

I told her I was fine. I told her it was nothing. But the thing is, I couldn’t get it out of my head. For months it rolled in and out of my mind like the ocean tide until I was drowning in my memory. One of my friends realized something was wrong. He looked me in the eyes and told me to tell him what happened. And I tried. I promise you I tried so hard to muster up anything, but with tears flooding and my throat closing up, I only got out a few words.

I wish you could know everything I wanted to say.

I wish you could know that I tried to stop it multiple times. I hit him, I might’ve cried. I don’t even know because it comes in patches. Like I said, it was a party. I wish someone would’ve opened the door because even if it was embarrassing, he would’ve stopped.

I wish you could know that I can’t “be safer,” because I shouldn’t have to expect the worst. I should be able to walk where I want, do what I’d like, and have fun with my friends without worrying about some guy spiking a drink, overpowering me, or using me in some way.

I wish you could know that in the mind of a child, learning what’s right and what’s wrong is taught with clothes on, and when they’re off and you’re exposed in front of someone you called a “friend,” “stop,” “no,” “what are you doing?” don’t just come to you. You know nothing about the birds and the bees, but when you finally do understand the difference between a “man” and a “woman’s” bodies, you don’t expect the worst out of other human beings.

I wish you could know that one in four women will be raped in college. It’s almost inevitable these days and I can’t just “trust” anyone anymore. I fear that one of my “friends” or some cute guy in a party will take advantage of me again. I fear that I’ll lose my friends in the clouds of smoke, bodies dancing, and voices shouting over the booming music. I fear that I’ll be alone, but I’m afraid that I might have company. Because of my rapists, I fear. I can’t trust. I can’t look a guy in the eyes, let alone hold their hand as we walk at night.

I wish you could know that when I look in the mirror, I see someone without worth. I’ve been violated. What am I? Who am I supposed to be? Confident? Because that’s unlikely.

I think every victim wants you to know that it wasn’t our fault. There’s no such thing as “she dressed like she wanted it” or “she flirted like she wanted it” or even “she lead him on like she wanted it” because unless she, or he, or whomever it may be, no is no and yes is yes. The Merriam Webster Dictionary definition is, “to agree to do or allow something: to give permission for something to happen.” Now I’m not sure when “stop” became a term of agreement, but apparently that night it wasn’t negative.

I also think that a lot of rape victims find it hard, maybe even impossible, to charge their attacker with rape. Society constantly tells the victim it was their fault. Not only is it hard to face a group of unknown people and say, “yes, this is the man that violated me and took away my self-worth,” but facing your parents, your friends, your significant other, that’s well, almost impossible. Not only is the reaction upsetting, but a lot of the time their rapist gets away with minimal charges. Sure, they’ll be marked a sexual predator in most cases, but when you have no self-respect because of a man who treated you like garbage, “sexual predator” isn’t really a victory, now is it?

I wish you could know how hard it is to wake up every day, but for now, I’ll just smile and say I’m OK.