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“I Am Not a Victim, I Am a Survivor”

The Truth Behind the Title

By Erin ConnorPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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“I am not a victim, I am a survivor” and “my rapist doesn’t know he is a rapist”: a few common phrases you hear from women and men who have been raped. I am here to call bullshit, but first let me tell you about myself. My name isn’t important, but my story is, I am a sophomore in college and I was raped my junior year of high school. My boyfriend at the time and I had just gotten in a huge fight and I needed a distraction, so my friends took me to a party. While there I had a lot to drink and I met this boy. This boy had a smile that lit up the room and was throwing back drinks like a frat guy, he caught my eye the second he walked in. However, no matter the fight or the amount of alcohol I would never be unfaithful, so I continued on with my night and had fun with my friends. We played beer pong and danced on tables, eventually as everybody does while drinking I had to go to the bathroom. I couldn’t find any of my friends, so I ventured off alone, a big mistake on my part, spoiler alert. I walked up the stairs and quickly grabbed the handrail because I was very dizzy.

The boy I mentioned earlier found me struggling on the stairs and helped me to the bathroom, he even guarded the door while I was using the restroom. I came out and he offered to sit with me until I sobered up more to be able to make it down the stairs, I told him no that I was able to go down stairs. He had a different idea, he grabbed my arm and led me into one of the bedrooms upstairs. I resisted, but at that moment in time I was no match for him. Once we got into the room he quickly pushed me against the wall and covered my mouth. He told me I wasn’t allowed to yell, then made a snide comment about how I was too drunk to yell anyways. He then went and sat on the bed across the room from me as I sat on the ground trying to regain my strength. He set down his drink and stared at me for a few minutes, then walked back over to me. He picked me up and threw me on the bed. I remember yelling that I was going to be sick, but that didn’t seem to turn him off. He took off his shirt and threw it at me, then he laid on top of me. I remember the feeling of his skin on my hands as I tried to push him off of me. It was soft and so smooth, the type of texture I will never be able to forget the feeling of. He started kissing my neck, I kept moving hoping he would realize it was too much work and he would leave. Unfortunately, I was very wrong, he slapped me and told me if I didn’t stop moving things would only get worse. I screamed once again that I was going to get sick but by that time he was too distracted removing my shirt and unbuttoning my pants... my world was spinning, and I didn’t know what to do. Honestly, I was hoping to pass out before thing got any worse. I could hear people coming up and down the stairs and I was just praying somebody would come into this room and save me, but I wasn’t that lucky.

His hand shot down my pants faster than I did with my shots. I wanted to scream, I wanted to scream so bad but when I opened my mouth nothing came out. I don’t know what was worse, my inability to fight back, or no matter how nauseous I was he still forced my head down on him. Even when I pulled away to throw up that didn’t stop him, he kept on with his agenda. When it was over, finally over, he put his clothes back on and just left me there. He was getting ready to walk out of the door and he looks back at me and says, “thank you” then shuts the door. I laid there; cold, naked, and afraid. I was unable to move until a friend found me in the bedroom and immediately ran over to me, she got me dressed and took me home. She explained to my father that my boyfriend and I had gotten in a fight and that I had to much to drink but she didn’t tell him anything else. She took me to my bed where I slept the rest of the night. I woke up the next morning, confused as hell how I got into my own bed. I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror and I think that is when I was most terrified. I had a fat lip, bruises all over my neck and body and even had a few cuts on my arms.

I didn’t remember anything that had happened the night before, I called my friend and she told me how she had found me but still nothing came to my mind. It wasn’t until almost a year later that I could remember all the details, and it wasn’t until almost four years later that I am able to write this. Once I remembered the events of that nights I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t look my parents in the eye. I am a survivor, but I am also a victim. A victim to a man that thought he could take that part of me because of one to many shots, and too short of a skirt. It is okay to admit that you are a victim and it is okay to be damaged and broken and in need of help. Now “my rapist doesn’t know he’s a rapist” is the most annoying phrase for a girl to hear who has been raped. My rapist knows what he did and what he took from me that night, hell he even thanked me for it after it happened. It is all over social media that if a girl does not give consent then you do not have the right to do anything. I don’t think men understand this so any guy that is reading this, you are NOT entitled to anything. Not my time, my money, and sure as hell not my body. I was raped, I am a victim, I am also a survivor and my rapist know exactly what we did.

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