I didn't think it could happen to me while I was in college. 

It happened, first, when I was between the ages of 5 and 8, but I didn't think it could happen again, now that I had already experienced it. 

Well it did. 

I only had one drink at a co-ed that I trusted. Then, I went alone to another fraternity. 

Then I went to another...one far away from campus. Not that many people have heard of. But nonetheless, it happened. 

He drugged my drink with aderol. I know, because he mentioned that he sold it while we were at the party. But it was too late by that point; you see, I already took my first sip. 

Afterwards I found myself on the ground in front of the house. there were no neighbors awake, and the people that were outside didn't notice me throwing up on the ground. 

Thankfully, my best friend came to get me in time before something worse happened. 

So to my fellow survivors: I want you to know that you are not alone. You are the strongest, loveliest, and most important person to me right now. You are the reason I still fight. You are the reason I still continue to live and be brave, when i thought the easiest thing to do was end it right there. So if you ever feel alone, know that the person whose post you are reading loves and cares for you, even if you aren't aware of it. 

I was sixteen then, bright and hopeful for my future as a student, but I was very lonely. Back in my previous school, I had no friends or anyone to talk to. I wanted to have someone who I could love and who would love me back. I had my parents with me, yes, but they were rarely emotionally supportive of me, so I wanted to look for support somewhere else.

Then, I saw him... a tall boy with blonde hair and icy blue eyes. I instantly was infatuated with him. He said he liked me and that he wanted to be there for me.

At first, everything was rosy and beautiful. He took me out on dates, and I would play the piano for him telling him how much I have loved him. Then things started to change. He started pressuring me to have sex with me, since we both loved each other very much. Due to being raised Catholic, I adamantly said no to him and he became more distant and stopped holding my hand or showing affection in public. He blamed me for the relationship going sour and told me that I was holding out on him and being a selfish girlfriend.

I felt so bad that I "failed" him that, one day, when I decided to play piano for him, I let him have sex with me. It became heated, and we ended up on the floor of the piano room; at first, I felt excited and loved for once in my life.... Then, I felt the sharp pain in my nether regions, and told him to stop, but to no avail. The pain was so much, and I just froze and could not scream for help. I pleaded with him to stop, but he said that it was wrong for me to stop him, and if I did not want sex, I should not have led him on.

I felt so terrible and hurt that I cried myself to sleep that first night. Even if I cried in my bed afterwards, I kept going back to him in hopes that he would love me. People have asked me, "Why did you not leave?", and all I have to say is that, during that time, all that mattered to me was feeling like I was loved for once. I did not know what love was, so for me, sex was the closest entity to it. 

The painful sexual experiences went on for two years until I came to UNC-Chapel Hill this year. At UNC, I felt that I would never ever find someone who would like a broken girl like me. But during my first few weeks here, I found out that sex can be a beautiful union between two people who love and respect each other, regardless of gender or sexuality. 

It is hard to fight the pain and struggle of not trusting anyone when you are in new relationships with people; however, I can assure anyone that there is still hope. Everyone deserved to be loved and respected. Just hold on, have hope, and remember that there are still good people in this world. 

You never expect your innocence to leave you so early in life.

You never expect that someone you love and care about so much can do something so harmful.

At the time, I didn't know it was wrong. I was young and clueless, and for so long, I had used that as an excuse for what happened. But now I know that it's not my fault.

We were both young. I remember going down to his room after school and just hanging out, talking about Pokemon and Gameboy games. When he asked me to lay with him on his bed, I didn't think anything different of it. He was family, and this was totally okay because we were just two children.

I don't really remember a lot of the details about it now, but I do remember the feeling of guilt and disgust I felt with myself after we were found out. I remember sitting in the bed of my father's truck while he was washing something, holding back tears as I could feel his disappointed silence penetrate the air around me.

All I wanted was to play computer games with one of my then favorite people. Sometimes I wonder if I was too scared or too distracted to say no when he would sit behind me not wearing any pants, and he told me to take my pants off. When I felt his body against mine as he laid on top of me on his bed.

Sometimes I wonder if any of this really means anything because I don't remember explicitly saying no. But I know that I didn't want it, even though it felt good. My body felt like a betrayal, and I was torn between two completely opposite feelings.

Nothing will ever feel the same as that rush of relief and fear that I felt when my mom found out, when she saw that his zipper was undone and that we both looked nervous. I never want to feel the way that I did those days ever again.

I post my story every semester. There is just something therapeutic about it being told, even if I’m not the one telling it. 
It didn’t start out as abuse. We held hands, we kissed, we cuddled, we went on dates. We were normal.
We were in 8th grade when we started dating, 11th the first time he hit me, and First-years when the bruises became too hard to hide.
I thought he was protecting me. He didn’t want me staying out late, he didn’t want me wearing revealing clothes, and he didn’t want me alone with guys. Then one day he found out that I broke the rules, and he broke up with me. Just like that. I cried, I begged, I pleaded for him to forgive me, and I promised I would obey him from then on.
When we got back together more rules began to be made. I had to respond to all of his texts, answer all of his calls, and check in frequently. I didn’t, there were consequences. It started off as name calling and threats to leave. I became so afraid of making the wrong decisions I got into the habit of asking before I did anything—he liked that.
I remember the first time he hit me vividly. We were arguing over whether I could go to GSE. After what seemed like hours, I finally just said I was going no matter what he thought. The second I was on the floor with my face red from his hand print. He apologized and cried for what seemed like hours.
But when I got back from GSE it continued. He would go through my phone daily, he would hit me when I disobeyed him, and he chose what college I would attend.
After entering college I was raped at a party—a party that my boyfriend had told me not to go to. I told him and he said it was my fault. The next time he saw me he forced me to have sex with him, and said that it was my punishment for being such a whore. Then he broke up with me. I cried, I begged, I pleaded, and a few weeks later he took me back. But he wasn’t the same. The smallest things set him off and he began to hit me frequently.
People always ask me “if it was that bad, why didn’t you just leave?” And it’s simple 
In between these violent spells we were a normal couple. We went on dates and he bought me flowers. I never had to hold open my own door and sometimes he would randomly make my favorite foods for me. He would say things like “you’re everything to me” and “I would die without you,” and I said them back. Every hour of every day was about him and what he wanted me to do and what he thought about what I was doing and wearing and going, and I thought that was how it was supposed to be. 
Then one day, I got caught. I remember the first time my roommate questioned a bruise on my arm. I remember feeling nothing but shame and I made something up like “oh he was drunk, it’s no big deal.” I remember her shock, and I remember thinking that she just didn’t understand. She became my best friend. She made it harder for me to make excuses for him, and when things got good she reminded me of how bad they could get. Then one day he broke up with me again—I was heart-broken, but this time I had my roommate. She held me, she comforted me, and she even stood up to him for me.
Over time I started to realize that the guy who kissed me under the stars and the guy that punched me in the face were the same person. I realized that he didn’t change, that he had always been the same; and, once I saw that he did not change into this monster, I began to understand that he would not stop being this monster. That summer he begged for me back, and for a few weeks we dated. Everything was perfect until I broke a rule, and he hit me. I ended things with him, I moved away, and I began to heal.
It’s been over a year since I left him, and I still jump when I’m touched and have nightmares and get confused when my boyfriend doesn’t control me, but I’m improving. I’d like to say that it was that last hit that gave me the strength to leave him, but it wasn’t: it was my roommate—the girl who spent months convincing me that I was worth more, told me what a healthy relationship was like, supported me after the break up, and continues to be by my side today. 

I experienced sexual assault. It feels so strange coming out of my mouth---I've said it a few times to myself out loud, yet somehow it feels like I'm not really talking about myself, but someone else. In some ways, I was someone else. I went to another school before UNC, and I was in a top tier sorority. We were expected to go out and party almost every evening, and we did a lot more than drink. Every day was a party filled with beautiful people, and I felt so special being a part of it. One evening, we were mixing with a frat I didn't know very well for Valentine's day and there were two bowls of punch. One was red and one was pink. When I reached for the pink punch, one of the brothers said "I think red is more your color" and winked at me. Being the outgoing flirt I'd always been, I snatched the cup from his hand, winked back, and said "I think you're right" and gulped down that punch without a single thought crossing my mind. Within the hour everything started moving in slow motion and the music became muffled. All the sudden I felt like I was walking in quicksand. I could barely move my legs. The guy who gave me the punch started flirting with me as he slowly started leading me up the stairs. I had no control of my body. I wanted to stay still, but he was in control. I followed him up to a room and he shut the door--putting a chair under the doorknob. Then all of a sudden he spun me around and stuck his tongue down my throat and his hand up my skirt. I resisted, but he just gripped my arms harder and pinned me against the wall. My body had gone dumb and all I could do was scream. I screamed and screamed and screamed, but the music was either too loud or nobody cared. Luckily, one of the brothers knocked down the door just in time because he needed to use the bathroom. I bolted and ran into where the main party was. My clothes were ripped, tears were streaming down my face, but everyone looked in another direction. Nobody spoke to me. They just kept the party going. It's interesting how "sisterhood" works sometimes....I later learned that the frat we mixed with is known as "the frat that rapes you"---that shouldn't even exist. Anyway, I am no longer there and I am surrounded by people who love me. I'm even trying to participate in a real relationship, but sometimes my body shuts down during the physical stuff, particularly if I get flipped around suddenly. Everything just goes black--numb. I think he just thinks I don't want him or something, but that's not true at all. I don't want him to ever feel like that. I really like this guy a lot, but I don't know how to talk to him about it without freaking him out. I hate that this happened.I hate that this is messing with my relationships. I hate sexual assault--not just because of what happened to me, but because it's so normalized. Sexual assault is not normal. It's scary. It's disgusting. It doesn't discriminate. It can happen anywhere. To anyone.