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!

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We are holding our spring Speak Out! on April 16th, 2018 from 7-9 pm in The Pit. For more information, check our Facebook page.

Because this blog features stories of interpersonal and sexual violence, we offer this *content warning* as a way of caution. We also ask that you do not reproduce any of the content below, as the authors of these personal stories are anonymous, and cannot give consent for their stories to appear anywhere other than this blog or at a Project Dinah-led SpeakOut event.

Friday, November 9, 2007

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.

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