The names and places are real. The events are real. The story is real & it’s mine.

Everyone remembers his or her first love. But, as for me, I wish I could forget mine. I met Trevin in 8th grade at St. Patrick Interparish School, a Catholic elementary and middle school. We were instant friends and we ended up going to the only Catholic high school together in our town.
I remember that he asked me out on the last day of our freshman year. I was ecstatic! He was definitely the most popular and sought after guy in my class. The first few months were easy and I felt as if I was floating on a cloud. Our relationship was carefree and simple to balance in the beginning because it was summer, but once school came around, things began to go downhill, very fast.
In the beginning, the abuse was solely emotional. Sometimes I would see him in the morning before school started and try to give him a hug, but he would shove my arms away and say that he didn’t feel like talking to me that day. So I would go the entire day without speaking to him, but he felt free to talk with everyone around me. I had a solid group of girlfriends at the beginning of the year. But, as time went on, they began to drop like flies. I know that the responsibility for that goes both ways. I would never see them on the weekends because I would do anything to be free in case Trevin wanted to hang out. The girls began turning ugly toward me. When I would sit down to eat lunch with them, they would get up from the table and go somewhere else. I found myself crying all the time. After a few weeks of this torment, I began skipping lunch and hiding in the gym listening to my iPod. I wanted to drown out everyone and everything around me.
I noticed that I no longer had a life outside of my relationship, but that didn’t stop me. I remember on our 6th month anniversary, November 25, 2006, Trevin told me that it was time that our relationship got more serious in the physical way. I asked him why and he said that the physical intensity should match the emotional intensity, since we were saying “I love you”, on days he deigned to speak to me, and that I was a lot to handle. I told him that I wasn’t comfortable with doing anything beyond kissing, but that didn’t seem to faze him.
On my birthday, January 11, 2007, he took me out on our first real date. I was excited because it was a family rule that I had to be sixteen before I was allowed to go out on one-on-one dates. Trevin took this opportunity to tell me that it was time in the relationship for him to start fingering me. I immediately felt sick to my stomach and told him that there was no way I would ever do that. I remember that we finished eating in silence and his mom picked us up and drove me home.
I don’t remember exactly when things actually turned violent. The first time I can remember being scared was when we were upstairs in the game room of his house, and he picked me up and threw me on the floor and then pinned my arms and legs to the floor and began to dry-hump me. I was disgusted and when I told him to get off, he squeezed my wrists so hard my hands began to turn blue and my eyes watered. He told me that I would like it and like that, he unbuttoned my jeans and put his hand in my pants. I pushed him with my free hand and rolled over, tears streaming down my face. He then hugged me and told me that he was sorry and that blamed his actions on his intense physical attraction to me. I forgave him, believing that it was a “one time” thing.
However, it didn’t stop. It just got worse. The next few times I went to his house, he would take me back up to the game room and proceed to hit my arms and chest, saying that it “really turned him on”. I had bruises for the last few months I dated him. I don’t remember the specific date of one of the nights that the physical abuse got worse, but I do remember parts of what happened. We were watching Shrek on the floor with a blanket over us. After the movie ended, we started kissing. Trevin lifted me off the ground and put me on the pool table. Then, for a reason unbeknownst to me, he grabbed me and threw me down on the ground and my head hit the corner of the chest that the TV was on. I remember putting my hands on the top of my head, which began to throb with pain. Then Trevin put his hands up my shirt, cupping my breasts. He rolled on top of me and interlocked my legs with his. Then, he quickly pulled down my pants and stuck his fingers inside of me. I have no idea how many, but I remember it was the worst pain I had ever felt and when I screamed he put his hand over my mouth. He continued to move his fingers and I started sobbing. It seemed to last forever. Finally, he stopped and looked at his fingers, which were covered in blood. When I saw that, I shoved him away and hobbled with my pants around my ankles to the bathroom. I locked the door, sat down on the toilet and cried. I felt so dirty. So violated. I thought that I could trust him. I thought that he LOVED me. I thought that he wanted to marry me, but no, all he wanted was to do stuff to me. I cleaned myself up and washed my hands, but I couldn’t stop crying. I felt like there was nothing left for me to live for.
When I opened the door, he wasn’t even waiting for me. He had gone downstairs and changed his pants and was now sitting in front of the TV. I felt worthless. I just looked at him and said that I wanted to go home. He responded, “You didn’t even like it?” I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to kill him for what he had just done. But, I just stood there in shock.
His dad ended up driving me home that night. I acted like nothing was wrong. I didn’t tell my parents, my sisters or anyone for that matter. I wanted to pretend like it didn’t happen. But, it did. A lot of horrible things happened as a result of Trevin’s actions, but in hindsight, this experience did end up with a positive result. In the following weeks, Trevin apologized, like he always did, and I forgave him. It took months before we finally broke up and he raped me one night. I ended up being hospitalized for suicidal ideation in April, was released a week later, began to go to a Psychiatrist and a Psychologist and I began to get my life back on track. I never reunited with those girls I had been friends with, I still do not speak to Trevin, who now attends FSU and swears that he did absolutely nothing to me and that I am a drama queen. Now I am a sophomore at Emory University and I hope to move on with my life and raise awareness for others who have been affected by sexual assault.

Why is sexual assault on campus tolerated?

http://www.cnn.com/2011/OPINION/04/08/simon.yale.sexual.misconduct/index.html?hpt=C2

Power (a poem I wrote shortly after being sexually assaulted)

The girl is curled up on the floor,  wondering why she didn’t do more
just because you physically can
doesn’t make you anymore of a man
you’re a fool, cruel
and now there is nothing else to take
but to you there was no mistake

So here I am, in this hour
taking back what’s mine; reclaiming my power

You didn’t expect me to react

You pushed and pushed, but now I am pushing back

Deceit, mistreat, defeat, elite

All of which are now obsolete

This is no longer about me

But to set the future victims free

So here I am, in this hour

Taking back what’s mine; reclaiming my power

It’s such a shame that I was so willing to take the blame

But boy, this is no longer a game

You may not realize now the pain you have caused

The friend you have lost

But one day you will

But until

So here I am, in this hour

Taking back what’s mine; reclaiming my power

Enjoy the worry-free days while you can

Unless you accept full responsibility, you will truly never be a man

My feelings never mattered to you

How could I be so blind as to not see that as true?

You think this is all said and done

But realistically, I’ve only just begun 

Regret, fret, in debt

How I wish we had never met

But from this I will become whole

For you, your actions will take a toll

So here I am, in this hour

Taking back what’s mine; reclaiming my power

There is no longer any reason to hide

I’m ready to take pride in giving a voice to the unheard side

I must bring this out to the open what you did to me that night

If I don’t, then I’d be sending the message that it was right

Anger, despair, repair, what you did was unfair

Confusing, refusing, bruising

This is a chance for me to differentiate between the weak and the strong

The right from the wrong; for genuine comfort I long

To numb the pain would be ideal

So that I wouldn’t have to accept this experience as real

To know I don’t have that power makes me bitter and sour

So here I am, in this hour

Taking back what’s mine; reclaiming my power

I had once had the fear that a tear would show that I’m weak

But today I have never been so brave as to speak

Irate, unable to concentrate,

In the back of my mind I question if this was fate

Now I know I was the one best suited to have this pain inflicted on

So that I could show the rest of the world that this reoccurring problem has gone on for too long

The pain stops today

You must realize that although this issue is not black and white but grey

This doesn’t mean that this action will ever be ok 

So here I am, in this hour

Taking back what’s mine; reclaiming my power

A Poem from a Victim:

we each have gifts and blessings to share
the best ones we have are the love and the care
the love that we wish for our family and friends, the love that we pray for Creator to send
we look at each other and what do we see, what do we hope for each other to be
good mothers, kind daughters, artists and poets
sweet sisters and friends who love you and show it
no judgements or hatreds, resentments or names
labels or words that cause sorrow or pain
we hope that our wish for each other will be
happiness, healing and a spirit that’s free

chiweeboo/cl 10/06

A story from a brave individual:

My abuse started at 9 yrs and ended at 15 when threatened person with butcher knife. lived on street where suffered more rape, abuse, assault as at 16 there were not alot of job opportunites. i am 50 now and have spent a long time learning to like who i am and although many won’t agree, have forgiven and even found the gifts that came as a result of the molestation. and for those who think there can be no forgiveness for this act — for me there had to be to set me free. and forgiveness does not mean forgetting. women are strong and loving and although we suffer most of abuse i believe it is because we are strong that this will someday change. remember ladies we must stand together and help each other to change the world.

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