Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
This is the definition of courage-to write the words that you barely even allow yourself to whisper when you're alone. Your story made my hands shake, my breath catch. What saddens me, though, is how long it takes to break that silence for so many women, myself included. For 16 years I never said a word. Then I started a blog about my awful high school poetry and last year the the story came pouring out because it absolutely had to. The reason for hiding it? Vital This #2. I assumed people wouldn't call it a "real" rape because he was my friend, because that night I had been drinking and smoking pot (which I later found out was laced), and because I had made out with him before.
I wish someone had told me those things back then. It would have changed everything. After I published my story most people said nothing to me even though I know they had read it. It's still taboo, I guess. Makes people uncomfortable. But those who did showed me such compassion that I realized for all these years I had judged myself more harshly than they ever would have.
This I not to say that I am completely comfortable in my own skin. It is still pink and raw from the exposure. But it is a start and there is a peace in that start that I wish for all survivors. I wanted to attend Slutwalk San Diego but in the end I chickened out. Had I walked I would have worn what I wore that night: baggy jeans and a plaid flannel shirt-it was the 90's and I was a grunge chick and I wasn't asking for anything.
Thank you again for showing such courage.