Before I left for college, I dated a guy in high school. I wouldn't have sex with him for a lot of reasons. One of our mutual friends told me that I should just do it already - - or I would go to college, get drunk, and have sex with some guy who didn't mean anything to me. His statement proved to be true, but in a different way than I ever imagined.

Lost my virginity when I was assaulted. It happened the way many assaults do, in drunken snapshots of memory.

Snap. I'm drinking, wasted, at a frat party.

Snap. I'm kissing an old high school friend.

Snap. That friend and another guy are pulling me out the door of the frat. I pull away and stumble back inside.

Snap. I'm looking around the basement, which is now almost empty. I don't know where my friends are.

Snap. I'm outside the bedroom door of a friend who lives in the frat.

Snap. I'm trying to ask for help and fall over against the wall.

Snap. I'm inside the room, putting on some of his shorts and a t-shirt.

Snap. I'm falling again, trying to climb into a bed.

Then I wake up. Naked. Scared. Trying to remember what happened and how I got to where I was.

He helps me find my underwear and offers me a ride home.

I know something is weird, but I don't find out for sure that he had sex with me until almost a week later.

I pretend like everything is ok, until I'm crying everyday and would rather be asleep than awake.

7 years later, I still pretend like everything is ok. But it still affects me. It always will.