It is not okay.

I'm not even sure of the best way to begin. This is not a story I've ever told, besides to a handful of people. It is something buried in me. It was something I could never bring myself to say aloud. I am the victim of sexual assault.

When I was 22, I was in a tumultuous relationship with a man who did not respect or value me. The first time we broke up, I congratulated myself on my strength to walk away. Like many young, post grads, celebrations included libations. I went out with a group of friends. I even invited my charming neighbor along. He was always so easy to talk to and not bad to look at. We had dinner, we had drinks. We went to a friends house after and had more drinks. I let him kiss me. He drank more. The events that followed will haunt me forever.

When we returned to my house, he followed me inside. I started telling him I had a nice time, it was getting late, he should go. He got angry. He put his hands on me, he threw me up against a wall, he did not listen when I said no. I said no. Clearly. Loudly. Over and over again. I remember crying and begging him to let me go. He choked me. He pinned my arms behind me and threw me on my bed. He told me I owed him because he paid for dinner.  I told him I would call the police. He told me to shut up. When he let me go to undo his belt, I threw my shoes at him, a hairdryer, anything I could get my hands on. I don't remember how I got him to leave. I do remember the names he called me. I remember the bruises and feeling utterly defeated. He texted and called me repeatedly through the night, as I laid there in my bed, one house over, sobbing.

When I did seek help, what I heard was I was being dramatic; he was drunk-surely he didn't mean to hurt me; it was a "miscommunication". I was afraid to go to the police. I was afraid no one would believe me. Yes, we went our. Yes, we were drinking. Yes, I let him kiss him. Yes, I let him in my home. But I DID NOT invite this man to put his hands on me, to hurt me, to disrespect me, to try to force me into something when I said no. I didn't tell my story. I didn't know I had a voice. I thought I would be told that I was asking for it because I'd heard stories of women being turned away. I wanted to forget. But for 4 more months, I had to live next door to him. I was a prisoner in my own home. I would put my dog in the car to drive her down the block to go to the bathroom. He would stand under my window, yelling my name, in a drunken rage. I was forced to face my attacker weekly, sometimes daily. I had nightmares. I was ashamed. I was afraid. I let myself be a victim instead of a fighter. I let a man get away with hurting me. He has a daughter of his own and I hope no one ever does to her what her father did to me.

I've made a lot of mistakes in my life but my biggest regret was not using my voice, not standing up for myself. No one, except other victims, can understand what something like this does to a person. It destroys you. It affected me on a deeply emotional level. If someone touches me in a certain way, I flinch. I tense up when a man gets too close. This is a battle i fight daily. It affects my relationships. It had made it hard for me trust, to be affectionate, to love. When I do love, it's genuine because I fee I can trust him to not hurt me. But I haven't trusted anyone with my story. But I feel with the changes happening in our world, it's time to share. I have 4 sisters and a niece. I hope none of them face this. But if they do, I hope they know their rights. I will be right there beside them telling them I believe them and their story deserves telling. Sexual violence is not okay. I wish I had stood up for myself. I know my worth now. I have value. I have a voice. You have value. You have a voice.