LOY Article

Being harassed is weird. It isn’t something I would suggest, but if you are more of a “bring it on personality” then maybe this is for you. Personally, I am a deer-in-the-headlights kind of gal; I have a real knack for freezing, shutting down, and accepting the situation as is. This was really good for my social life — I excelled, people. For any of my friends now reading this that I haven’t told, see, I’m not a bitch, I’m was just someone’s bitch. And, honestly, that was how I felt. I felt like I had no control over what was happening for six months of my life. I had tried to go to the police, but the only thing I was given was a case number that I could basically store information on like a flash drive; I was assured that it would be reviewed, it wouldn’t be looked into, it would simply sit there. I felt the epitome of “I can’t do this”, something every college senior goes through at least once each semester, if not each day — You are welcome LMU. I think college seniors have personally built the new science building with their Loft expenses. But, at the same time, I can’t say that nothing good came from it. I learned how to rely on my friends, especially on my boyfriend and his roommates for always leaving their front door unlocked, as I used this as a free pass to come in and hide as I pleased, and I pleased often. I began self defense training. I called my mom more. I even realized that I have friends who would, and did, drive three hours five minutes after the phone dial sounded to come be with me when things got really intense. Being harassed most definitely has its downside, but realizing that the person was wrong was the best thing that could happen for me. At first, I was embarrassed to ask for help; I believed the things this person said and I thought that other people would, too. I also felt like I was making a big deal out of nothing; I was sure there were people who had it worse, and I still am sure of that. I didn’t want to open up, but when I did, I realized that there was over one-thousand people who had before me. I talked to Psafe, who documented my case and labeled it under a confidentiality number. The number was staggering, and sad, but also comforting to know that I didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. My advice is to reach out for help, no matter how meaningless it may seem. Ask your teachers for advice — and extensions. Ask you friends for their couches and your mother for her comfort. Call SPS. Call Psafe. Call anyone who will make you feel more relieved, because life is stressful enough being a college student, there is no reason to make trying to do taxes, balancing two jobs, finding housing, becoming a printer problems fein, and figuring out if you can actually wake up for an 8 a.m. any harder than it already is.

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