February 6, 2012 is the one day where every minute detail of the day cannot escape my mind, no matter how hard I try to make them go away. I will never know the names of my assaulters or what they look like. Despite the fact that I continuously see them out in public. Any African-American male, I wonder, "is that the man who raped me?" Yes, raped. It has taken almost three years for me to actually be able to say it or see the word in front of me. I never thought something that horrific could happen to me. I was a well-behaved teenager, or atleast I thought I was. Yet due to the fact that the night I was raped I was out partying and under the influence of alcohol, I can't help but blame myself. If only I wouldn't have been drunk, or what stupid girl goes to a guys apartment that late. However, I thought I could trust my guy friend. Unfortunately, the specific details of the night could fill an entire book, but what I can say is that on February 6, 2010 I was raped by 2 African-American males whom I did not even know. This occurred while 3 other boys stood in the room and watched, one of them putting his penis in my face the entire time, while I lay there helpless. Boys, that is what they were and still are. No man would every rape any woman. I was a junior in high school, 17 years old, and a virgin. Now I sit here, waiting for the day when I can just forget it all. Forget every detail, like the fact that one of them used a Food Lion bag as a condom or that I bled for 2 days straight after it happened. When will I be able to move on? In my mind, I forgave my friend whose apartment it was. I wrote out every detail of the incident and read it. I shared the details of my story with close friends. But the details will not escape me. It's been almost 3 years, I think to myself. So why can I not just move on like a normal person and go about my life. Why can't I be alone in a room with a person of the opposite sex without feeling uncomfortable? Why did I have a panic attack when I finally made the choice to lose my virginity? Why do I have to be intoxicated to have any sort of interaction with a guy. Will these problems ever go away, or will they stay with me forever because of that one god-awful night? Who knows? I just hope that one day I will be able to accept the fact that my rape was not my fault, and in the end it has made me stronger.