Eleven years ago, when I was 16, I was raped. Or that’s how I seem to remember it. You see, I wasn’t held at knifepoint. I wasn’t pushed onto a dirty mattress. I didn’t have my clothes ripped off. I wasn’t even crying. My young self let things go “too far” with a man I barely knew. The next thing I knew, he was having sex with me and all I remember saying is, “I don’t think I want to do this.” That should be enough to consistute rape, right? I’m not so sure. I didn’t push him away, but I laid there lifeless waiting for it to be over. Was I raped? Over the last eleven years I’ve gathered strength from reading and hearing stories from other friends and strangers that have been raped, including my best friend Jennye that has been contacted for this documentary. She screams her rape from the rooftops and is doing something to try to make the world a more safer place for rape survivors,and for those who hopefully never have to see the face of rape. I am “comforted” by statistics that most rape is brought on by someone the woman knows. I know a dark ally didn’t have to be part of my story to make it tangible and true. I was raped. Plain and simple, although not “textbook” in my mind. I look at his face on My Space and Facebook from time to time and have the occasional urge to send him a message that reads, “YOU RAPED ME. HOW ARE YOU ABLE TO LIVE WITH YOURSELF?” just to make it true and to stop second guessing myself. I hope you reach many women in my thought-situation and give them the courage to admit the truth.