When I Was 18

When I was 18 I was raped at a party. I am always hesitant to talk about this in a public way for a few reasons.

First, I know it is hard for the people who love me to read about. Most of them had no idea this happened to me and I can appreciate how brutal it must be to find out. Second, nobody wants to talk about it. It's scary to put out there something that is rarely talked about. The fear of judgement is real and the stigma attached to sexual assault is too. Victim blaming is real y'all. When I went through this almost all of my friends turned on me. In fact sometimes I feel that was the most traumatic part.

Lastly, I worry my message won't be clear. I don't feel like a victim and I don't feel defined by this experience anymore. It took me a very long time to understand that I was raped. In fact I didn't realize what happened to me was rape until a therapist told me years later. That's right, someone ELSE had to tell ME that what happened to me was wrong. It took even more years to fully believe that. That. Is. Not. Okay. and I feel really strongly that that needs to change. Young girls should not feel like they have no say over their own bodies. I don't care how much you drink, what you're wearing, how well you know the people you're with. It doesn't matter.

This piece I wrote a year ago when I was just getting sober and feeling all of the things. It was the first time I really sat down and thought about my rape and the words furiously flooded the paper. I think this story is important to share, even though it is raw and very very real, because girls need to know that this is not normal. But, if no one is willing to talk about it, how will they? No one is entitled to your body. Period.

Afterlife of the Party

Grass stains on my back and blood in my jeans

I gain consciousness while my body is jerked like a rag doll

My eyes focus on the hazy streetlights as I try to make sense of my surroundings

I hear his zipper as he’s walking away

So, I pull up my jeans and stumble back to the party

I start to rearrange the reality into something more bearable;

I wanted this.

But my virginity was not supposed to be taken in a classmate’s yard without my consent

It was supposed to be given to someone who cared, who deserved it

So I follow him as he ignores me determined to make that my story

Only to realize we are not lovers, not even friends

He pretends nothing happened so I settle on rejection over rape because who at 18 could accept that truth?

I absorb this belief as it sinks its teeth into my self esteem

Creating deep wounds, I won’t uncover for years

Slut.

The blame falls on me when she finds out, and I start to see the truth

I am the scapegoat

I am something to be hidden in the shadows of shame

I am nothing to him but a body that conveniently couldn’t fight back

But rather than make anyone uncomfortable I accept my new truth

I let this happen

As if I had any say while unconscious on the ground

With no one in my corner I accept my fate as a slut, a bitch, a mess.

I am at fault, I am unworthy.

A bad friend. A bad person.

I am nothing.

So I resolve to become nothing to myself

Detached and casual about sex; because at least that’s still my choice

But I’m a party girl with a secret; this isn’t really me. I never wanted this.

But it’s too late now.

So I swallow every hope I had for my own love story

With the morning after pill he begged me to take.