Surviving #metoo

Have you seen the news coverage? Flip on the television, look on any social media site, and right now, you will see the story of Dr. Christine Ford and Brett Kavanaugh displayed across headlines. Honestly, I can barely bring myself to read any article because it makes me sick to my stomach. I don't know if I can face the horrid details.

Why?

I am a survivor. 

A little over 7 years ago, something happened to me, and to this day, I can barely speak about or write about it. Today, I am going to try. The word rape brings tears to my eyes, and for the longest time, I never used that word. Instead...

I blamed myself. 

Whether or not you believe Dr. Ford personally, we have a terrible history of not believing women in this country. We paint them as fame-hungry, hysterical creatures who have ulterior motives rather than vulnerable, scared people, who are just trying to do the right thing. 

I never reported what happened to me. There is no point now. The evidence is gone, and honestly, I still believe nothing good would have come from it. I mean I was drinking and at a college party in a dorm room, and if you ask some people, then that must mean I was asking for it...right?

Yet, no one has ever asked to be assaulted. No one ever woke up and thought, you know what, I really want to be hurt today. I want to have nightmares and intimacy issues for years to come. 

I will never forget the black and blue bruises that blossomed on the side of my body - hips, thighs, my arms - from tight grips that wouldn't let go or how the pleads of "please stop it hurts" were ignored.

I will never forget how I lost most of my friends because they blamed me for why that guy's female friend at the party was upset. Maybe they were dating, but before the incident, he had said they weren't, not that I would believe him now. I understand why she was upset. She thought I had seduced him.  I couldn't bear to tell anyone the truth.

You know what's worse. I don't remember his name, or when exactly it happened. Somewhere in the midst of the spring semester of my first year of college is what I recall. I would be the worst witness since I don't remember. I wanted to forget. So I did. 

Still, I will always remember the cold tile floor beneath my back, the pain that came with every second in the dark of that small locked bathroom, and how my bruises took several weeks to heal. It was simple enough to hide them underneath long sleeve shirts and pants. At least none were on my face. 

I will also remember his glasses, short hair, his reassuring smile that we had just had fun because this was what I had wanted, right? He also told me he was preparing to be a cop someday. It's odd which details stick.

Most people never knew, and for years, I blamed myself. If I hadn't been drinking, if I hadn't gone with him....I believed since it had started consensually that my voice didn't matter as I begged him to stop. 

So, now I can barely look at Facebook or Instagram, forget Twitter because it tears me apart. I've been that silent survivor, and today, I still am. Most of us will never openly share our stories. I remember when #metoo became an internet sensation, and I wanted to share it as well. I am part of that group, and it's sad but comforting knowing I am not alone. But I didn't say anything. I didn't know how my family and friends would react. I don't want to be painted a victim. I also don't want to be perceived as worse, which is exactly what the world is doing to Dr. Ford at the moment. My heart goes out to her. 

It takes incredible strength to tell this story, and I'm only brave enough at the moment because this is anonymous. I'm writing it into the void of the internet where no one really hears you scream. 

The least we can do is listen. Listen to their stories. Believe them, and think about what this moment in time is teaching our young girls and women about how what happens when someone decides to tell their story, what happens when someone is brave. 

This story is common, which is why it's sad when so many of us can say #metoo.