I was 13 when I was sexually assaulted. I didn’t really know what was happening, really. He was my best friends older brother (he was 14) and we always shared his bed, while my best friend slept on the couch in his room. I had a huge crush on him and he knew that. He and I had made out and cuddled before because it was pretty obvious that I liked him. I woke up the morning after a night full of horror movies to him on top of me from behind me. I am only 17 now and this is the first time I’ll have ever told the real story. My closest friends know I don’t like to be touched because they know I was raped, but they don’t know who or when because we go to the same school and quite frankly I’m scared of him. For the longest time, I blamed myself for leading him to do that because I had been hinting at it but really I hadn’t. It took me a very long time to accept that I wasn’t at fault. It took me a long time to understand what happened to me. After that, I was hypersexual, which isn’t healthy for any 13 year old. I never told any of my therapists this, not that I was raped or anything, but I got through it somehow. It’s possible.