I’m consumed with an anger that I had been lucky to never have felt before this past summer.
I’m angry at my friend who went home, not questioning my slurred “I’m OK” as I stumbled
over and my other friend who disappeared with her boyfriend, never saying goodbye.
I’m angry that I kept drinking and that I can’t remember how I ended up in the basement with
him.
I’m angry that I didn’t say no.
I’m angry the reason I didn’t say no was because someone had not listened to my repeated no’s
the year before.
I’m angry that I felt like I couldn’t move, that I kept going in and out of consciousness.
I’m angry that he said “that was bad” when he was finished.
I’m angry that he dressed me, sat me up, then left me in the basement without turning back.
I’m angry that no one was around or answered my calls when I finally made it upstairs.
I’m angry that he passed me sitting on the stairs to get food with a friend as I waited for a car.
I’m angry that I threw up six times that night.
I’m angry that I could barely sit the next day.
I’m angry that I felt numb for two weeks after and I now cry myself to sleep almost every night.
I’m angry that my friends don’t acknowledge what has happened to me, that they don’t check in
to see if I’m alright.
I’m angry that I feel like I’m being selfish, feeling that sharing my experience would be a burden on those who listen.
I’m angry that I’ve never felt more alone.
I’m angry that he invaded my thoughts every day this summer, even being across the globe.
I’m angry that I had to change where I would normally socialize at school and that I still see him
in areas of campus where I once felt safe.
I’m angry that I still can’t fully express my pain in words.
I’m angry that I have to distance myself from media surrounding sexual assault and that my
volunteer position in SAPAC is now too much to handle most of the time.
I’m angry that I have to accept this as a part of my past.
I’m angry that only time can heal this wound.
I’m happy that I love and feel in control of my body once again.
I’m happy that this anger is no longer constant and that I can handle it better when it reappears.
I’m happy that I have proved to myself that I am stronger than I ever thought I would have to be.
I’m happy that I have come to terms with this being a part of who I am.
And most of all, I am proud that I do not let it define me.
This is the first piece in the Survivors Speak series, which seeks to share the varied, first-person experiences of survivors of sexual assault. If you are a survivor and would like to submit to the series, please see our guidelines for submissions here.