The Stealing

I have been contemplating making this post for months now. Three months to be exact. I don’t know why now, why in this moment I am deciding to write this but I believe it is time for me to lay it all out on the line and let everyone do what they please with it.

I am not going to sugar coat this. I am not going to write this post in a specific way or word it such that it will not offend anyone or make anyone feel uncomfortable. This topic is an uncomfortable topic. It is not one people want to talk about let alone even acknowledge, and that is the problem.

This topic is sexual assault.

This is the topic because this last May I was sexually assaulted by one of my guy best friends.

I can honestly say that at that time I had trusted him with my life,  I would have even taken a bullet for him if it came down to it. During my freshman year of college this particular guy was one of the main people I hung out with, and the amount of photos I have with him from that year is insane.

I know when people hear about sexual assault they immediately want to know how, but I am not going to get into gory details of what had happened that night because those details should not be important for you all to know, nor should it worry you. I strongly believe that the details are for whomever was assaulted and whomever they decided to share those details with.

Honestly, what frustrates me about the topic of sexual assault is that so many people believe they deserve to know those details. That them even knowing I was sexually assaulted gives them the authority to know such information about my life, about this haunting memory. Then other time people take this information and treat it as though it is a burden for them to know that it happened. They act as if I suddenly just ruined a portion of their life by confiding in them about this. I do not know how you would react if someone did such a thing to you, but I know for me that I take this as quite an insult. I am sorry that I am your friend and such a horrible thing happened to me. I am sorry that I have listened to hours of you complaining or crying or confessing your deepest worries to me, but at my time of need my shit is too much for you to handle. I am sorry that someone decided that my body was just an item for them to steal from me. I am sorry that I could not control if or if not this happened to me. I am sorry that you decided that this information is a burden for you to know. But really, I am not sorry whatsoever. 

I have known people in the past to learn about someone getting sexually assaulted and their immediate reaction went somewhere along the lines of, “What happened!? Did they really get sexually assaulted? Were they asking for it? You know by the way they were dressed, or the type of drink they were drinking..” And that kills me inside. It is unacceptable that those are the questions worrying someone first. Why aren’t we worried if that person is alright, or if they have a support system behind them? Why aren’t we worried if that person feels comfortable enough to report what had happened? Why aren’t we worried if the assaulter knows what he/she did was wrong and doesn’t do it to another person?

Recently, I found this post by Alice Brine and I believe that she sums up my stance quite clearly when people try to make the argument that what they were wearing and or drinking truly matters.

Screen Shot 2016-08-04 at 11.53.47 AM

No means no. And if they are too drunk to make a sound decision, is is a no. If they aren’t awake to make a decision, it is a no. Here’s a little video that lightens the mood about this very serious topic, but it is clear as well. Because; Consent really is everything.

Now to take a turn to something more serious; How does it feel to be sexually assaulted by someone you once considered your best friend? Which you will find in the following post.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s