The journey from victim to survivor

There are many labels that I am proud to carry: daughter, student, friend, and sexual assault survivor. I was raped on my college campus during my freshman year. I was eighteen, and just started at my college. I was away from my small town for the first time, and a little scared. Then, the unthinkable happened.

A domino effect occurred after the incident, which I had repressed. I developed an anxiety disorder, called conversion disorder. For those who may not know about anxiety disorders, what happened is that essentially, my mental stress took on physical characteristics. I would go unresponsive, have weekly panic attacks, and had seizure like episodes. I went to several hospitals before receiving the diagnosis. I thought I was going crazy. I had never had anything like this before. I was in the top twenty percent of my class in high school. I was voted Most Likely to Take Over the World. I was “the smart girl” that everyone wanted to study with and do group projects with. I thought that I couldn’t handle college, and thought of leaving. Then, my psychiatrist said something to me in passing that would change my life forever. He was trying to get me to leave college, and said, “You have a repressed memory; something happened to you that was so bad, your brain can’t handle it. When you figure out what that memory is, then you’ll begin to heal.” I forced myself to stick out my freshman year, and then went home for the summer.

I remember the day that the first memory hit me. I was playing with my Cocker Spaniel and Poodle mix when it hit me like a ton of bricks. I remembered a man being on top of me, while another man watched. I immediately burst into tears. My mother ran from the kitchen, and I told her what had happened. She just dropped to the floor and hugged me. We then went to my doctor and had every STD test imaginable done and a pregnancy test, just to be on the safe side. Luckily, I was STD- and baby-free. My doctor then recommended that I go see a sexual assault therapist. S0, we found CAISA, and I went to see my new counselor once a week. It was an hour drive, so I had plenty of time to think, which was a blessing and a curse. I was a mess. I blamed myself, developed a self-harming habit, and began questioning everything I had been taught. I thought God had abandoned me. I was an atheist for a bit of time, which, in my town, is practically unheard of.  I was diagnosed with depression, PTSD, and insomnia. I was put on every antidepressant known to man, sleeping pills, and a lot of therapy. Luckily, I got better over the summer, and my anxiety is finally gone. Unfortunately, I still don’t fully remember what happened that night. I remember that I was walking home from the dining hall after grabbing a late supper, when someone pulled me into the bushes. Two men were waiting for me. They took turns raping me. I can still hear their voices like it was yesterday  I won’t go any further, they’ve taken enough away from my story as it is.

Unfortunately, not everyone was as supportive as my parents were. My college, the school I loved, and for some reason, still do love, sent me a letter in the mail one day. They said that I had to get a letter from my doctor, psychiatrist, and therapist promising that I would not have another incident of my anxiety disorder. If I did, I would risk expulsion. I couldn’t believe it. They did realize that this wasn’t my fault, right?  Why are they doing this to me? I didn’t ask for it, I swear. I showed the letter to my counselor, and she was furious. She said that she had never seen a college handle rape so poorly in all her years of being a counselor, and advised me to get a lawyer. I got all the letters that were necessary, and came back for my sophomore year, which I am currently completing.

Many people have asked my why I stayed at this college. The answer is simple. I couldn’t leave my friends. I have a lovable, slightly crazy group, and I love them dearly. We have become a family, and couldn’t have come back to school without them. They helped me through my anxiety disorder and have continued to help me with my PTSD, depression, self-harming, anger with God, and insomnia. I can’t thank them enough for all they’ve done. I also have an amazing set of professors and mentors at this college that I couldn’t leave.

With all the attention that on-campus sexual assault has been getting, I thought I needed to tell my story as well. I am proud to be a survivor, but not everyone sees that the way I do. I have been asked countless times what I was wearing, why I was walking alone at night, why I never reported them to the police, and on and on. I didn’t report them, and still haven’t, because I still don’t remember everything that happened, over a year later. I don’t want to hinder the police in catching them. As for why I was walking alone and what I was wearing, I fail to see how that could have possibly changed what had happened. I finally realize that it was their fault, not mine. I did nothing, and I refuse to entertain the notion that I possibly did something to make them do that to me.

To all sexual assault survivors, I would like to say that you did nothing wrong. Those people that hurt you did. There was nothing you could have done to change what happened, and let nobody tell you any different. You are stronger than you know, believe me. I’ve been there.