It’s not your fault

It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone out that night, shouldn’t have allowed myself to become vulnerable.

He has people who would protect him. How am I supposed to compete with that? It’s better to pretend nothing happened than to stir up any trouble.

I’m probably just delusional. He seems like a decent person, and was apologetic enough, I guess.

I can’t sleep. I can’t stop screaming into my pillow because it hurts so fucking much. I’m tired of having to flip my pillow over because the damp puddle of tears keeps reminding me of all the mistakes I’ve made.

But I went back to him. Doesn’t that erase that first night? Doesn’t that make everything okay? I know it doesn’t… But I can’t help but feel invalidated.

Too many people know. It’s dangerous. I don’t want this information falling into the wrong hands.

Maybe I just want attention. Maybe I’m making everything up.

Is this PTSD? If I had PTSD, there would probably be some sort of terrible event that occurred, haunting my memory. Except I don’t remember anything. There is nothing to go back to, nothing to replay in my mind. Just darkness. An empty space in my timeline that continues to haunt me, because who knows what could have occurred during that period of time… Oh, that’s right. He does.

I feel like no matter what I say, I will be blamed for everything.

I can hardly utter the words “rape” or “sexual assault” because every single time I do, I feel like I’m betraying myself. The person I thought I was would never be raped. She would never allow herself to experience sexual assault. This is not who I am.

My biggest fear is that people will not believe me. That they will point at me and see a liar, a person begging for pity. Now I understand the whole “if somebody tells you they have been sexually assaulted, you should trust them” thing. I used to think that was absolutely ridiculous, and always made fun of people who actually believed it. Although there are definitely people out there who would lie about this… Why would I do that? What do I have to gain?

Most people seem to understand that the Stanford dude’s actions were not okay, and empathize with the victim. But I’m not like her. It wasn’t her fault, and everything was my fault. Her story is worth telling, and mine is not. Her feelings matter, and it’s easier to just ignore mine and pretend like nothing happened. I can’t help but compare myself to other victims and feel guilty for thinking that what I’ve been through is anything compared to what they’ve had to experience.

I always think: “That wouldn’t happen to me”. I don’t hold my breath every time the airplane starts descending, to pray for a safe landing… Because there’s no way that my airplane would crash. I even take my chances when walking across the street, hoping that the driver saw me sprinting across the road during a green light because I’m late for my meeting… Getting run over by a car? That doesn’t happen to me.

What about rape? What about sexual assault? What about having your body used in ways that you don’t even remember? What about waking up and having no idea what happened? Examining your body in the morning and finding unexplained bruises in areas you wouldn’t expect? Feeling paranoia every single time you walk into a different building because What. If. He. Is. There? And then laughing about it later, brushing it off as a casual hook up, because you’re still in denial? Hesitating before blocking his number and social media accounts, since part of you still wants to be connected to him… because that would mean that nothing bad ever happened, right? No, that would never happen to me. I’m a good girl. I do well in school and eat my vegetables. Rape is for the degenerates, the ones too weak to defend themselves. Not me.

Rape is real. Sexual assault is real. It’s not just something that happens to “certain” types of people. Maybe it happened to your mom, your dad, your best friend, your professor, your Uber driver, your boss, your waitress, your doctor, your celebrity style inspiration. Maybe it happened to you. You’re not protected from it because you think you’re a responsible person. You’re not protected from it because you don’t wear short skirts or go out clubbing every weekend. It’s a culture. It’s perpetuated by assumptions and stereotypes. It’s the product of a dangerous mindset.