I was raped. By someone I knew, trusted and valued. The worst part? My inability to tell anyone. I felt like I was drowning and I couldn’t even shout for help — I didn’t think I deserved help. I felt worthless, dirty and guilty. So, so guilty. I just knew, I knew that I was the person responsible for what had happened, not him. I was too drunk. I was too flirty. I led him on. He didn’t know any better. I did want to have sex with him. He couldn’t hear me say, “No.” He was drunk, too.
I stayed silent for six months — six long months of constantly being on the verge of tears, not being able to eat, not being able to sleep and staying in bed for days. Six months of putting on a brave face as I put out this newspaper day after day and then going home and sobbing in the shower. (The sound of the water covered my wails.)
The level of mindfuckery going on in my head right now is beyond belief.
http://www.diamondbackonline.com/opinion/article_ca9716b4-b985-11e2-ba90-0019bb30f31a.html
