I never imagined I would share such an intimate snapshot of
my life with everyone.
Why was I crying when Vice President Joe Biden spoke at the
Oscars last night? Weeping through the impassioned cry of Lady Gaga.
You see, there’s this little voice in my head nagging me to
be brave and frankly, I am sick and tired of ignoring her. She warns me that I
must accept that some will be critical… judge me… think less of me. Many see me
as a woman full of courage and strength. I have worked hard for you to see that…
I’ve been hiding parts of me.
I am taking down this wall of shame brick by humiliating
brick and it begins with memories I cannot escape.
I’m waking-up. There are noises around me: music, laughter.
It’s dark, hot. Laughter, whispers…
“Feel it, she’s wet. She likes it.”
My head is fuzzy. Why am I lying down? What’s going on?
A masculine voice says, “Go ahead, feel it…”
Two hands are touching my vagina. There is a finger inside
of me.
More laughter. “Quiet, she’s waking up.” Another finger is
inside me.
Am I imagining this? Why are they touching me? Jesus! Get
up! I can’t move… so groggy.
I don’t know how long I was on that bed on the second level
of a house in a small town in Wisconsin. I remember that “friends” were driving
around and we decided to stop at one of their houses because no adults were
home. We were sneaking things not legal for us to have.
I was 17.
Shattered… Confused… Embarrassed… Ashamed.
I blocked it out.
I did not tell.
Such a wholesome, strong, capable girl would never LET that
happen.
We cannot continue blaming people who have been sexually
assaulted.
We cannot continue to let them blame themselves.
I cannot continue to blame myself.
I did not consent.
