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! in October 26th, 2016 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.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

How do I start this story? Do I tell it from beginning to end? From the moment he asked to go for a walk to the moment I washed off the blood. From the day I fell in love with him to the day I said, "Enough." From my birthday to Christmas. From innocence, to darkness, to never whole again.

It was my fifteenth birthday and the beautiful boy wanted to take a walk with me. He held my hand and he made me special. He kissed me hard and his hands on my body made me feel like a grown woman, my first memory of feeling sexy. The attention electrified me and I felt my body react in unfamiliar ways. But I was a child that wanted to sit Indian style with him, in my dirty sneakers and gym shorts, and talk about movies and classes and marching band. With every refusal, every time I pushed away his hands, he reminded me that I was not strong. And when he shoved me down, and my head hit rock, I was too confused, too upset to run. I watched him kick my ankles apart. I viewed the unnerving first sight of an unclothed man and I felt his weight on top of me. I saw the limbs of the trees and the clouds and the birds as I looked everywhere but in his eyes. Nature had not stopped for me. I felt the dirt and twigs grind into my hips and mix with my hair. I felt the tearing of tissue and the warmth of blood. Later, I cried and choked as he gripped my head in the palm of his hands, and more than once I thought to bite down, but never did. And when he cried and apologized and asked my forgiveness, I did not hesitate.

And this was the way we were. Several times a week from October to December. Too dazed and afraid to leave, too bloody and broken to endure.

How do I end this story? From the breakup to the next boy I kissed. From nightmares to therapy. From finding my strength to finding pleasure. From failed relationships to falling for her. From broken, to rebuilt, to survivor.

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