When I Realized I Was Sexually Assaulted

This post was submitted anonymously to Social Millennial for publishing.

You never think it will happen to you.

I was sexually assaulted.

And it wasn’t obvious to me that it happened. It wasn’t me screaming no and crying out while he forced himself onto me. It was much more subtle, unintentional.

Neither of us should have been doing anything, consensual or not. It was a dark time for both of us, and our drug to temporarily solve our problems was sex.

One time it was not consensual. One time his carnal need took over. One time that left a permanent scar.

Being sexually aroused feels guilty. My chest hurts and my mind hates itself. I feel guilty when aroused at all, like my mind is punishing me for what happened.

I haven’t been able to say it out loud to myself or to anyone. It is easier for me to hide it in the shadows of my mind. The bitter taste of the words in my mouth are easier to swallow into my soul than to spit out forever.

I don’t blame the other person. I don’t want to blame myself either. That’s not really what this is about to me. It’s not about pointing fingers and finding an answer. It happened and it can’t change now.

It’s like I am watching it from outside myself. The memory doesn’t actually feel like it was me in that moment. It’s the shell of me, but the inside is different now.

Lying to myself is easier than the truth. The truth makes me panic, feels like a soul crushing burden on my chest. The truth makes me sick. Lies are easier on me, they pass by like a light breeze, and makes reality a little more bearable.

If you or someone you know is facing similar issues and needs help, please contact the National Sexual Assault Hotline 1–800–656–4673