Christina

I was a freshman in college when he first messaged me on Twitter. He noticed we were into the same type of music and he honestly admitted that he was drawn to that feature in me. Despite my lack of physical attraction for him, I enjoyed having him as a friend to talk to.


It wasn’t my fault.


All summer long he texted me and consistently asked me out on dates and even an out of town road trip. I politely changed the subject instead of saying a straight no; heaven forbid I came off as anything but nice and hurt his feelings.


It wasn’t my fault.


He made me believe that he was kind, and that he wasn’t like ‘most guys’. He was a manipulator, gradually coaxing me into sending revealing pictures that I would have never sent to a stranger.


It wasn’t my fault.


As the fall semester started, there was no way to hide from him. I was back on campus, and I could have run into him at any moment. After avoiding dates for the longest time, I finally gave in to his pressure and agreed to meet him. He took me to dinner. I remember being too nervous to eat; something didn’t feel right.


It wasn’t my fault.


A few nights later, I decided to give it another go. He swore we’d just watch a movie. I trusted him because after all, I told him many times I didn’t want to just fool around. I never could have guessed that the movie turned out to be at his apartment instead of a theater.


It wasn’t my fault.


I remember exactly what I wore that night.


It wasn’t my fault.


One second our eyes were on the tv and the next, he was on top of me, his mouth on mine. I remember faking that I was on my period so that he wouldn’t make me take my pants off too. He pressured me to put my hands on him. Lower and lower until he was satisfied. I froze within those moments, unable to fight or do anything except pinpoint a spot on the wall and pray that it would end soon. I wanted to simply fade away and forget that my first kiss was under these circumstances.


It wasn’t my fault.


It’s been over two and a half years since I survived the sexual assault that night. I remember coming home shaking and in tears and calling every close friend I had. I remember dismissing the idea to report it because I was afraid of being told that there was nothing that could be done because it wasn’t as traumatic as being raped. Months later, I remember exactly where I was standing on campus when he happened to walk right past me; my panic attack was so bad that I couldn’t go to class that day. I remember working up the courage to tell my new boyfriend the story to let him know about my past; when I finally did, he replied with, "Well you were in his room, what did you expect?"


It wasn’t my fault.


It’s not your fault. It wasn’t because of where you were, what you said, what you did, or what you wore. More importantly, you are not to blame for other people’s perception of your story. And whether or not you decide to share it with someone is entirely up to you. However you decide to go about it, just know that there is a community that has got your back and believes you. I believe you.