I wish that I could just drill a hole in my head and share all the emotion that I feel after finally sharing my story. Not just THE story, but MY story - the one with out censorship, with all the doubt, fear, and blood curdling hatred that boils inside me. Coming out as a survivor, the world looks at you differently sometimes - "Oh, that's her, she was raped." - any of that sound familiar? You know, those small talk pity phrases that eagerly prompt a change in topic - that eagerly pry for something to gain from your vulnerability. Are you afraid of men? Are you going to start dating girls? Why do you always talk about it? Is that why you're so political? You're never going to attract anyone with all your hate. Hate. Hate. What is hate? My story, I never told it in whole - they just weren't ready to hear it. It fucking sucks. Actually, it's so grueling that, it makes me cringe too, and I'm telling it - it ACTUALLY happened to me. But,even though I found solidarity....no one felt like me. No one understood the unforgettable feeling of head banging; the smell of fresh, living blood; the bold, piercing eyes that distracted you from the name, that choked your words away and did not let you speak. While sometimes we hurt, we're bruised, but never broken. Sometimes, it stings to think about it, to talk about it, to stand when others pity about it. But there is something about letting your heart take the wheel, and about finding your courage to be. Just be. Be the survivor. Be the student. Be the friend that skypes till 3am (despite timezones) and make her feel damn great. Be the voice that can change things.