*Trigger warning*
“Approximately 1/4 women, 1/13 men, and 1/3 TGQN (transgender, genderqueer or nonconforming, questioning or not listed) students at WashU are survivors of sexual assault. These numbers are on par with other colleges and universities across the US.”
Near the end of my sophomore year I was violently raped in my dorm room.
I told no one for a while but eventually it bubbled into every aspect of my life. I stopped sleeping in my room. I joked about ‘always’ being at the library. I withdrew. I had nightmares. Statistically I knew that I couldn’t be alone in my trauma but I felt so isolated from everyone around me, as though I was viewing the world through a thick film I couldn’t manage to scratch from my eyes. Eventually my friends noticed my dulled demeanor.
Slowly, painstakingly, I told my closest friends what had happened to me.
I, like most people in my position, chose not to report. I did this for a number of reasons, some of which are unique to my situation, such as my attacker not being a WashU student, and some of which are part of the rape culture narrative, such as the fact that I had been intimate with him before. I knew that if I reported, every aspect of my life would be dissected and I would be asked all the wrong questions like “what were you wearing” and “were you drinking?”
I do not regret my decision to not report because I think ultimately the ensuing process would have drained me of the little life I had left. That being said, I encourage any one in my situation to pursue an investigation if they’re up for the challenge of the arduous process.
It’s been almost 6 months since my attack and I have bumped into my rapist entirely too often. I scare easily and I look for his features in every stranger’s face that I cross paths with.
Every day I have to wake up and make the conscious choice to be happy. I do not always succeed. My story is not one of overcoming or strength or perseverance in the face of adversity. My story has been defeat and depression and numbness.
Near the end of my sophomore year I was violently raped in my dorm room.
I told no one for a while but eventually it bubbled into every aspect of my life. I stopped sleeping in my room. I joked about ‘always’ being at the library. I withdrew. I had nightmares. Statistically I knew that I couldn’t be alone in my trauma but I felt so isolated from everyone around me, as though I was viewing the world through a thick film I couldn’t manage to scratch from my eyes. Eventually my friends noticed my dulled demeanor.
Slowly, painstakingly, I told my closest friends what had happened to me.
I, like most people in my position, chose not to report. I did this for a number of reasons, some of which are unique to my situation, such as my attacker not being a WashU student, and some of which are part of the rape culture narrative, such as the fact that I had been intimate with him before. I knew that if I reported, every aspect of my life would be dissected and I would be asked all the wrong questions like “what were you wearing” and “were you drinking?”
I do not regret my decision to not report because I think ultimately the ensuing process would have drained me of the little life I had left. That being said, I encourage any one in my situation to pursue an investigation if they’re up for the challenge of the arduous process.
It’s been almost 6 months since my attack and I have bumped into my rapist entirely too often. I scare easily and I look for his features in every stranger’s face that I cross paths with.
Every day I have to wake up and make the conscious choice to be happy. I do not always succeed. My story is not one of overcoming or strength or perseverance in the face of adversity. My story has been defeat and depression and numbness.
Nevertheless, here are four [positive] things I have learned in the half a year since my rape:
- I am a better person than I was. I am exceedingly angry about what I had to go through in order to become the person I am today. That doesn’t change the fact that for me, personally, this experience turned me into a kinder and more empathetic person; I try to give the majority of my time and attention to bettering the lives of the people around me. I realized that either I can resent the circumstances that brought me here or I can allow it to help me love more. It is unproductive but understandable to be angry at what happened but I learned that when I chose to be angry or sad my rapist had beaten me all over again.
- Friendship can save your life. I cannot accurately describe the deep dark hole I fell into following my attack. I can definitively say that it was with immense help from my loved ones that I crawled out, inch by inch. Do not underestimate the power of a helping hand. Community is one of the most powerful healing tools and we do not take advantage of it enough. I never felt comfortable asking people for help, but when I finally did I was so humbled by the willingness of my friends to give me everything I needed.
- This doesn’t define me unless I allow it to. I go back and forth on whether this event will be a salient part of my identity from now on. For me, I think it will be, and that’s ok. It inspired me to fight my hardest to make sure this stops happening to other people. Sexual assault on college campuses is that topic we cannot seem to stop talking about right now and at first my world felt saturated by it in a way that felt suffocating. But I decided to stop fighting against the current and instead be as much an agent for change as possible.
- Finally, it truly gets better. That seemed impossible in the immediate aftermath, and I by no means will ever be the same, but every day that I wake up, and take a breath, and love my life, I gain a little bit of my soul back. It was incredibly traumatic for me to reach the top of the mountain that is “self-love” and then have someone push me off so viciously. The climb back up, however, has taught me so much about myself and those around me. I’m not back to the top but I think I already love myself more completely than before.
I share this in the hopes that it reaches someone else in my situation so we know we are not alone.