It was my first year of college and I was struggling with depression. I didn’t like my college and I felt out of place. I wasn’t ok.
But it was suddenly so much worse.
I was a freshman, he was a senior. We were both sociology majors and had a class together. We would chat in class, like class mates do. He had shown interest. I had made it clear I was in a relationship, and he shares that he was too. I thought we were on mutual ground.
One night after class, he asks to hang out. I tell him I am not in the business of doing anything. He says that he just wants to talk and hang out, “no harm”. I finally give in and let him drive us to his place. My heart soon sank when I got there, as I realized he had his own place. I had expected his family to be around or even roommates, something. Who has their own apartment and car in college? I hadn’t even considered that he’d have his own place. I sit down and go through the Cable to calm my nerves.
He begins to get undressed next to me. He asks if I’d like to join him in the shower. I say no. After his shower he puts of shorts and sits next to me. Wraps his arm around me and lays down. For some reason I let myself lay down. I keep my arms folded on my chest.
He asks to see my body. I say no.
He asks me to give him head. I say no.
He begins to kiss me roughly and then my neck. I begin to panic and I say “please slow down you’re scaring me” He does not.
Suddenly, he’s pulling off my pants and there’s a lump in my throat. I can’t seem to speak. Or scream. I can’t seem to move.
And he’s committing a terrible crime to my body. Im frozen and afraid, so I do nothing. But squeeze my eyes shut and pray it’s over soon.
He calls an Uber when it’s done, so I can get back to the dorms.
I left feeling disgusting. I felt so sick to my stomach. I told myself I had cheated and that I was awful and that I was terrible. That I was a “slut.” A week later I break down in my therapists office and tell her everything. It wasn’t until I said it all aloud…that I realized I had been raped. I had said no. I had not consented.
I then began to tell myself it didn’t happen because it was easier to cope that way.
I’m still coping. Everyday is hard, but I know that I’m not alone. And with every day, I know that it wasn’t my fault, just a bit more.
— Survivor, age 20