This is not a topic I like to often talk about but my therapist says I have to. Says the more I talk about it the more desensitized to it I will become though my hands still tremble at the memories and I can’t bring myself to say his name.

I tell my therapist men like trump are the reason my mother told me “boys will be boys” after I told her I was sexually assaulted. I wonder why she supports him and not me. I try telling her the word no was stuck in my throat, that all the words running in my mind were stuck in my throat. All she hears is I didn’t say anything, I didn’t tell him to stop or no so it is my fault and not his.

I try telling her that maybe the word no isn’t always the word no. Wonder why he couldn’t read between the lines through my trembling body and silence. Fearful eyes like red warning lights. Silence like warning bells, she says I am wrong. Says I must be definite and clear or the blame is on me.

She says I provoked him since I liked him and made some bad decisions, silences me before I can even finish explaining, and the words are caught in my throat just like before and I give up trying.

My therapist wants me to relive the trauma until I am desensitized to it. Play it back like a movie, click pause, rewind, repeat. And we can’t even start because each pause makes panic latch onto my chest, makes my eyes turn into waterfalls, makes my hands earthquakes.

I sit here trying to write about some other way besides desensitization to fight PTSD, but I don’t know how to write about something I’m not doing. I don’t think I’m doing anything.

There are 3,147 students in my school. 49% are male and yet they all still look like him. I thank a god I’m not sure I believe in that we don’t use lockers, remember the way I used to flinch every time one was slammed shut.

Get angry at the fact that I am only good with words when it is on paper. My voice has been silenced so many times I have stopped trying to use it and yet I still never remember saying yes. Never remember giving consent.

But again, I never said no so maybe it is my fault. My mom says it is. I blame myself anyway.

I can’t help but wonder if a two letter word is all that matters. Can’t help but wonder if I matter.

I imagine my mother’s reaction after reading this. Can hear her repeating the line “you didn’t say no… you may not have said yes but you lead him on. Implied it.” I wonder how no isn’t more than the word no, but yes can be. Wonder how yes can be implied but no can’t. Wonder why she has to point fingers instead of just supporting her daughter.

It’s been two years and the feeling of violation remains. I wonder if it will ever go away. I never talk about what happened but the truth is I still feel just as bad as when it was happening. But I hope one day I will not.