One in five people know their attacker. 

Statistic

Girls ages 16-19 are more likely than anyone else to be attacked.

 Victim.

I spent an hour in a scorching bath trying to scrub the feeling of his hands off me.

 Dirty.

I google “How to get stains out of sheets.”

Bloody.

 I spent 3 hours crying asking myself what I did wrong; was I too naive?

Stupid

 I was the girl who fell for an older guy when he coaxed me with pretty sparkly words like “I love you”. 

Weak. 

It took me 2 weeks to break up with him, over text, 

Coward. 

It took me two and a half months to tell anyone, 

Liar.

“You don't want to press charges? You’re okay with him doing it to another girl?

Traitor.

I find my strength in my dad, the man who loved me first.

Lifeline. 

I find my refuge in my mama, in her hands as they silently hold me when I cannot hold myself up anymore. 

Rock. 

I cannot listen to Imagine Dragons anymore, I can’t see a red car, I can’t watch wrestling, I hate the number 77; it all reminds me of The Incident.

Thief.

Seeing him at prom meant I couldn’t breathe, my feet moving on their own accord, away from him. 

Robot.

When I finally told some of my friends they all unanimously agreed to kill him for me.

Support.

I'm still recovering, it's a long process. 

Patience.

I have notebooks full of words and poems and stories about what I feel, it's an escape.

Freedom.

I no longer flinch when someone places their hand on my shoulder.

Progress.

I am Hypervigilant according to my therapist, it's a long word for enhanced sensors.

PTSD.

I still get nightmares about The Incident.

Anxiety.

I want to get better. 

Overcome.

I believe I can get better.

Hope.

I am enough.

Validation.

I am strong.

Survivor.

I am not broken.

Whole.