Independence Day is no longer a day in my mind of fireworks... It's the day I died. The night I lost a part of myself.

I was drunk, I was given Xanax and my body gave up on me. All I have left are flashes of memory.

The hardest part is not knowing what I thought, what I felt... what happened. I was scared and angry the next morning and I can't even remember why.

The judicial system could care less. My "weak case". Do you think it could have been consensual when you find out you have a tampon inside of you days later from a Rape Kit? How dead I must have been.

What did he do to me? Why didn't I do anything?

The feelings I have are impossible to express because I don't even know how to feel. How do you create a feeling from something which you don't even remember? From something which you have no idea what you felt about at the time? I can't. I don't think I ever will.

Was it rape?
He didn't think so.
So, should I?

I hate myself. I hate my body. I hate that night.

I am not a direct victim but I am a victim. I have never been the same since I got that call, my baby sister was raped. My sister!!
No it was not me, though it will never be the same. I have never seen my sister smile the way she use to...
I lost my sister that day, that happy bubbly little girl is no longer there. Now a scared timid girl remains.
Really Guys, she is someone's little sister, someone's daughter, it could be your little sister. I never thought it could be mine...
But it was my baby sister.
I follow a rule : I will treat a girl the way I want my sister to be treated. ( like a Queen)

It's Okay to Cry Too

During my senior year of high school I found myself in an emotionally abusive relationship. I was often the subject of insults and jokes for the sake of laughs from his friends. I was regularly told how my opinions and ideas were worthless. And, like any true abuser, I was called “gorgeous” and snuggled any time I got upset enough to threaten the relationship. I still hate being called gorgeous. Over the course of a year, I transformed from a confidant, energetic young woman to a weak, unhappy girl with zero self esteem.

Days after I worked up the courage to leave him, I woke up one morning with a hangover and a lot of confusion in a bed that wasn’t mine. Lying next to me was a male friend who knew my pain and state of mind and still seemed to think that doing whatever we did was a good idea. I don’t remember what happened, but was just incredibly relieved to realize that he didn’t have sex with me.

Now in college, I look back and tally up my encounters: an abusive relationship, a rather questionable “one night stand,” and countless instances of being touched inappropriately in bars on Franklin Street. And I consider myself lucky. When people ask me about my experiences with sexual assault, I think I’m lucky. Because all I can think of is how my best friend was raped two years ago. I’ve been by her side as best I could while she’s tried to deal with her trauma, and it’s been a difficult experience for everyone involved.

I want to change tracks and take a minute to speak for those of us who are the secondary survivors. Those of us who have helped our friend or partner or sister or whoever through these tough times, who have been the shoulder to cry on, who have been the proverbial rock. Those of us who have calmed irrational fears, talked into late hours of the night, or were just simply there when she needed us. We are strong and wonderful and appreciated beyond belief, but most us of already know that.

What you may not know, and what I want to tell you, is that it’s okay to think about yourself sometimes. It’s okay to be angry about how this has affected you. It’s okay to cry for yourself.

I hesitate even in writing this because I know my friend’s biggest worry is how her problems have affected her friends and family. And she’s right. We’re all affected. We’ve all been through tough times right alongside her. But I don’t blame her for my nightmares, or the paranoia that inevitably strikes me every night when the sun goes down. I don’t blame her for the bad days when I just can’t get it out of my head. I don’t blame her for the overwhelming anger I feel all the time.

I blame her rapists. Despite all the what-ifs and the if-onlys, they are the only ones responsible for their actions that night. They are the only ones responsible for affecting her life and thereafter my life so negatively.

I may not have been there that night, but he hurt me too. He traumatized me too. And now I’m healing too. I struggle with this daily, but I’m beginning to come to terms with my own pain and being able to deal with it out in the open. I’m beginning to realize that my pain is legitimate too, and it’s probably better for both of us if I cope with it out loud.

Wow, never believed I would ever do something like this, guess it is all a part of this "turning over a new leaf" process. I am not good at beating around the bush so here it is, I was first assaulted by two family members when I developed two new marvels on my chest. I was what you called "over-developed" for my age. I guess people thought since I looked older, they would treat me as if I were ready for the things older people of my stature did. Both a male and female family member assaulted me and the female member raped me repeatedly for....man I tried so hard to forget that i actually forgot how long it went on for, but never the less it happened.
In 2004 (I was a senior in high school) and an acquintance took it on hisself to kiss, grope, and force hisself on me in the middle of a parking lot filled with people. Luckily he didn't rape me, but he did take all feeling and emotions from me.
Then in 2005 a friend tried to force hisself on me in my apartment. He felt he should have been "rewarded" for crossing Kappa. Again, thanks be to God, another failed attempt, yet another oportunity for feelings of self-worth to be stolen.
These events haven't spoiled me from dating, but it seems the more I try to give guys the benefit of the doubt they prove me right; they are all animals. Some dogs sniffing around any female hindpart, some octopus with eight arms in eight different directions, and some fox, sly and sneeky, always with ulterior motives.
But through and I haven't gave up on my prince charming and faithful believe he is on his search to me. However, i have wised-up (blaming none of my past experiences mentioned on myself) and decided to take a stand for me. I have been abstinent for four years and seven months and have really took a bold approach to letting guys know what is and isn't going to fly by me.
I pray for all females who have encountered similar to worse incidents and i truly appreciate what Project Dinah does as well as all those behind it pushing the project to new heights.

It has now been barely two years since I was raped, and I’m not ready to forgive them. That night, that next morning, that day in the hospital, that next sleepless night, that numbing realization that it wasn’t just the worst nightmare I’d ever had, that morning I confessed to my brothers and my parents, the months of dealing with the police and my attorney, the months of seeing my multiple attackers face-to-face walking freely around campus as if they were not criminals, the corrupt judicial trial that ended in more pain and disbelief, and leaving the school from which I had wanted to receive my degree. No, I am not ready to forgive them, and I don’t think I ever will be.

It is impossible to forgive the animals who took advantage of me, and with one power-hungry move, made me a victim. I won’t forgive them because they raped me and called it sex; sex is something between two consenting adults. This was not sex; this was violence. It was rape. They raped me. How dare anyone say this was “sex”? I won’t forgive them because they not only made me suffer, but they made everyone I cared about suffer, too -- my mother, my father, my brothers, my sister-in-law, my best friends. I won’t forgive them because they took what wasn’t theirs to take. But the one person I have forgiven is myself. My own forgiveness has been one of the most important parts of my healing process.

Every day I feel a little bit better and a little bit stronger. I still have bad days, though none are as bad as the ones right after my assault. I still have bad dreams, though they are becoming more infrequent. I still think about the “what ifs,” though I can’t imagine my life differently now. I’m still livid that nothing was done to keep them from raping another woman, though I’ve accepted that the lack of justice doesn’t mean it’s acceptable. I’m still outraged that it happened to me, though I’m using my experience to improve my life rather than to let it ruin it.

I am not a victim. I am a survivor. I will not let this get me down. I was raped. I forgive myself, and this experience will only make me stronger.