Welcome to the SpeakOut! Blog

Break the silence that surrounds sexual assault, sexual harassment, interpersonal violence, relationship abuse, stalking, hate crimes, and identity-based violence. Share your story here on our anonymous blog.

To speak about an experience with any form of interpersonal violence is difficult, but it is also empowering. Breaking the silence reduces shame and helps others to speak out about their own experiences.

End the shame. Be empowered. Speak Out!

Thank you for Speaking Out! We would love to get your permission to share your testimonial. If you would like to allow your testimonial to be used at a later Speak Out!, please let us know by making a comment or a note in your testimonial.

We are holding our first fall Speak Out! on Thursday, October 1st, 2015. For more information, check out the Facebook Event.

Because this blog features stories of interpersonal and sexual violence, we offer this *trigger warning* as a way of caution.

Friday, November 27, 2020


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Thursday, October 1, 2015

I still love the man who raped me. I still love the man who beat me. I still love the man who sued me for 'emotional trauma' for breaking up with him. I still love the man who told me he would kill himself if I ever left. I really hate myself for being able to love someone who held me down, beat me, and didn't stop until I had covered him in blood because I was too small for what he was doing to me. I was only fifteen. He was eighteen. I barely weighed 90 pounds and he could pick me up with one arm. He took me to a park at midnight once, and he locked the door and told me we weren't going anywhere until I "made him happy". I still have scars from him. And I still have scars on my wrist from when I thought that I could never escape him unless I killed myself. I would have married him. I would have run away with him. But I didn't. I think of him every single day. I think he's married now. And I'm alone. But I'm safe. And I'm here, at the school I always wanted to go to. And I'm getting an education and I'm gonna spend my whole damn life making sure what happened to me won't happen to other little girls in love. Kyle, fuck you. I'm stronger, and I'm bigger than you'll ever be and I'm not your little pet anymore. I'm a big, strong woman and there's nothing you can do to hurt me. 

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

I’ve been through so much worse that I don’t feel justified in sharing this story. It pales in comparison to the assault my first-year and the stalking and assaults that happened the year after that, but no matter how hard I try, I’m going to have to let the pain in. All I’ve felt these past months is empty. 

He was charming, and he cared about feminism. He was a graduate student, so I trusted him. I’m not sure quite why, but he didn’t seem threatening to me. I ~thought~ that he was different.

So when I texted him to meet me on my birthday, I didn’t think that it was going to be much harm. I just wanted to see him and spend some time with the people I liked. He was completely sober, but I was close to black-out drunk. He left his apartment to see me, even though I was clearly not in a state to be interacting with him. I know that a good person would have taken me home or not came. I technically know that it’s a big deal that he took advantage of my weakened state, seized the opportunity, but I cant shake the feeling that all of this would have been so different if I never sent that stupid text. I “know” it’s not my fault, that he should have known better, but I can’t help feeling that I could have prevented him from hurting me. How dare I let myself think I could trust someone?

I remember sitting in TOPO, and I remember walking to his car, because it was “right there.” I don’t remember saying I wanted to go to his place. I felt sick, but he was so strong, you know, and supported me to his car. We go to his place, and I’m taken to his room. I’m not sure how I got to the bed, but at some point my dress is off. I remember flashes of him holding my arms down. I try to break free, but he just holds me down harder. He gets off on it. I’m turned face down, and he’s on top of me. I can’t breathe, but I hear his panting on my ear like a fucking dog. He touches me everywhere with his, his fingers. I ask him what he’s doing, but he just responds by saying, "pleasuring you." It’s sick. My body responds, but I don’t want it to. At some point I fall asleep, but I don’t know how or when. I’m gone.

I woke up, and I didn’t know where I was. Naked and confused, I found his arms around me and his dick between my legs. I took a minute to process, but I got good at shoving it down. The room got blurry and I rushed to find my clothes. I felt so ashamed. As he offered to drive me home, I saw the word “feminism” on a book on his desk. I wanted to throw up on it, but I just tried to ignore it so I could get home. He noticed that I started crying and tried to reassure himself. "You wanted this, right?” What a joke. 

When I am finally back at my apartment, I spent 2 hours in the shower. I felt the unexplained bruises he left me with — the ones left while I was asleep. A week later, I can still feel the bruises on my thighs, near my vagina. I keep getting this weird watery discharge and pain near my vagina, but I know he didn’t penetrate me when I was awake. I didn’t get my period for more than 2 months after the incident, but the 3rd month I can finally get some solace knowing that I’m not pregnant. 

To this day, I still hate the fact that I don’t know what he did to me while I was sleeping. What made him think that he was entitled to my body? He should have known better.

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

My assaults left me broken and shattered. It created an obvious aversion to sex, but tainted the rest of my life as well. I didn’t feel for such a long time that I forgot what it was like to be sad, let alone be happy. When the emptiness faded away, it wasn’t long before the pain set in. Every moment of every day was a battle. I was constantly fighting to get myself to do anything. I felt nothing, and by lying on my bed I could be nothing, pretending my existence made no impact. It was nearly impossible to get out of bed most days and I often slept through important meetings. No one said anything, but the idea was that I was lazy, even worst unapologetic. I didn’t care about school, and I used alcohol to numb myself. I was invisible. All of my thoughts and struggles were non-existent. 

Eventually things got so difficult that I couldn’t take the pain anymore. With therapy, things started to seem brighter but not for long. After a semester of therapy, I was forced into the summer, far away from getting help. I was alone and the depression swept in again. I never responded to messages and I barely talked to anyone. I festered in my pitying and depression, refusing to seek help or acknowledge my friends. Because I didn’t have access to alcohol, I used pills to numb myself. I haven’t told anyone this, but I tried to kill myself over the summer. I swallowed the pills and hoped that the pain would ease away, but I was so lucky that they didn’t. As the impact of what I had done hit me, I ran to the bathroom and forced the pills out. Vowing to never let it happen again, I stopped abusing drugs. The pain was unbearable, but I started looking to my friends for support. Things began to look up, until my friend decided that she couldn’t take on my problems, even though I never asked her to. She completely invalidated my experience and tore me apart. 

The assaults were hard, but the response of the ones that I thought I loved and cared about were even more unbearable. The pain inflicted on a stranger I could have found a way to cope with, but the hurt that my friends had inflicted shaped my view of the world more than I could have anticipated. She closed me off, and it feels like I didn’t even have a choice. How can one trust again, when the one you trust the most takes your weaknesses and breaks you down, ripping apart every last piece of what’s left of your dying spirit? While I didn’t turn to harming myself, I spent all my time alone. I went to class, and then locked myself in my room. I was always lonely. I spent so much time around people, but there was no one really there. 

Cut forward a few months and things are bit better now. I’ve started to let myself be open with others, and I think it’s really begun to change me. The days really look brighter and I’ve found myself smiling about so much more. My life has started to seem worth living. When I share this story, I want survivors to know that it does get better. There are days where I saw no future; I couldn’t even see the next hour, forget the next day. I want you to know that your strength is incomparable. Things are going to be hard. I won’t lie to you about it. Even after it gets better, it can get worse. But after that rainstorm, there will always be a brighter day for you. When it seems like there is no hope, no future, I want you to know that I have unbelievable hope for you. Your future is going to be wonderful and the light inside you will nourish so many other lives. You mean something to me, and so does your future. When the world comes to you with its weapons and words of hate, let me show you that your love can transform even the darkest of ways. Like the lotus, you will grow through the mud of your fear, struggles, and pain and show the world that it can't break you, but it makes you more beautiful. So I beg of you, keep fighting. I know it’s not fair and it’s hard, but keep fighting and a time will come when you won’t even feel the weight of your battles. Fight and one day you will be free. 
After surviving a very traumatic assault the fall semester of my freshman year, I dissociated myself from a lot of what happened, but I would get flashbacks of this stranger at a party forcing his dick into my mouth. I heard the sounds of his moans and remember the feeling of not being able to escape, held down by him and by the inability to escape what happened. I thought I moved on, but I remember seeing him on the P2P and walking back to his dorm with him, where he assaulted me again. I was supposed to get closure and talk, but it just brought all of the pain to the surface. 

It was at this point where I started looking to other survivors. I learned more about the resources I had and I got better. I dealt with my pain and I got stronger. 

The next year, I was assaulted again, once by an acquaintance and a few times by a close friend. The semester continued on, and so did I. My friend stalked me and harassed me, but I was forced to keep him in my life. I tried to tell him I didn’t have feelings for him, but he told me that he I shouldn't let other things get in the way of our relationship. But I didn’t let all of his behavior trouble me, because I was bulletproof. 

For Halloween, I’m a queen. I go to Franklin Street with my friends and end up at a party where I meet Wolverine. I agree to go back with him. Little do I know, my drink was spiked.

He practically carries me to what he claims is his house. We go upstairs and start kissing in the middle of some lounge area. He forces his fingers up me, like he was trying to stab me with them. “Stop! It hurts” and he agrees to stop, but the next thing I know he’s jammed his fingers up me again. This back and forth goes on for a while, until I can’t take it anymore. I have to run into the bathroom, because I’m in so much pain. 

Eventually, I'm ready to leave after what seems like a lifetime and I go to get my phone, but it’s dead. I ask him to let me charge it somewhere, but he’s too busy playing a game. I take my crown and phone and leave. I start walking in some direction, but I honestly don’t know where I’m going. By some miracle, I find my way to Franklin Street, but I’m livid at this point. I couldn’t accept that it had happened again after I survived so much. I think to myself that I could have prevented this. I finally see people and some guys attempt to catcall me, but I tell them that if they even dare to look at me that I’d chop off their dicks. I felt like I was going to explode. I regain some strength after this and convince myself that I dealt with it. I see a familiar face and walk back with them to my dorm

I arrive at my room and overhear my friends comforted that everything is okay. I knew I couldn’t tell them, so I charged my phone and texted the only person I knew wasn’t going to feel bad, my stalker. I let myself be comforted by the person who was sucking the life out of me, but I thought I didn’t have anyone else. The night ends and I move on, because that’s all I can do. For weeks after, it hurt to pee and it hurt to use a tampon for months after, but eventually the pain went away.

I’m sure everybody would be shocked to know that all of this happened to me. How can one person go through so much and function normally? I don’t really have a great answer to that. Somehow, I did it. Being assaulted as a survivor and an ally was the hardest and most shameful experience for me, but I think I’ve moved on enough that I can accept that I didn’t have a bearing in what happened to me. This stranger hurt me and I didn’t do anything to deserve that. 

I’m putting myself back together again. I’m happier than I’ve been in years, even though I’ve lost so much along the way, but I don’t let it bring me down. It’s been hard. There is no denying that, but I wouldn’t change it. All of this pain has helped mold me into this beautiful and compassionate person. I found this love for people that touches the core of my soul. My life is so clear to me and I know good things are on the way.