Haunted Dreams

*Trigger Warning: Graphic Language Related to Sexual Assaults

I just had my first breakdown since freshman year of college. Now a senior, in a strange city between the blue sheets in the unfamiliar full sized bed, I broke down in tears even though it was past 1am in the morning and I watched way too many episodes of Mad Men.

It has been more than half an year since I was sexually assaulted because someone could not take my rejection, and wanted to exert his power over my body. He grossly put his mouth and his tongue on my vagina, my beautiful sacred vagina. I wanted him to get out. I pulled on his hair with my intoxicated body. You should go, I said. I felt numb. Thank God to his brother who was visiting campus that night for calling him so that he did not have a chance to put his penis into my body.

I lied in my dim yellow lit room, underwear on the floor, in my bed. There was lousy noise outside. I cried. I kept crying. I could not stop crying.

I see him on campus. I see him on his bike, avoiding eye contact. His hair is longer than it was, and every strain of it makes me want to vomit and scream, and fight. I am not on the track team anymore, because after I briefly told my coaches what happened to me, they thought that I could not handle it, that my life was interfering my performance in track, and hence, I should be removed from the 4 by 400 relay team, even though I fucking earned it. I fucking earned it by running the top 4 fastest times on the team. But does it matter that I sent them an email before conferences asking them to not to treat me any differently because of what happened? Does it matter that I said that I was getting all the help that I needed and that track was one of the things that helped me heal and feel empowered? Does it matter at all that I have my healing process and I want to reclaim my space and that having some fucking men telling me that I “can’t separate track and life” is the last thing that makes me feel supported? Does it matter that I could not sit in front of a panel of strangers and talked about how he put his fucking dirty mouth on my vagina? What the fuck matters?

What matters is that I could not be on the track team anymore. What matters is that this fucking society cannot fucking even give women their fucking voices. What matters is that he is not guilty because I cannot prove it. What matters is that I am still breaking down, my life has to changed because of him. What matters is that I now cannot step into certain places because he still occupies too much fucking space on this campus. What matters is how apathetic some people are about what happened. What matters is that I know that I am fucking beautiful and powerful and amazing, and I do not deserve any of this shit. No one deserves this shit. As I cannot return to the team and has to walk away from parties where my friends are at because he is also there, he rides his damn bike in the cool fall air with wind blowing through his brown hair. How fucking romantic?

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