#MeToo

This is my experience dealing with the aftermath of sexual assault. Although I do not go into any detail over what happened and solely talk about what happened afterward, I’m placing a TW:
TRIGGER WARNING This article or section, or pages it links to, contains information about SEXUAL ASSAULT which may be triggering to those who have been sexually assaulted or are sensitive to the topic.

Kindergarten. 5 years old. An adult acquaintance. Too young to even know what was going on.

Third Grade. 8 years old. Perpetrators were classmates, no one believed me because how could an 8 year old do something like that?

Last summer. 21 years old. Durning a massage. Was told by an acquaintance afterward: “Why didn’t you enjoy it? I’d love to have a massage therapist make a move on me during a massage!”

The 24 hours after I was sexually assaulted last summer was probably one of the worsts day of my life… and speaking as a mentally ill kid who’s suffered abuse from friends and strangers alike, I feel as though that’s saying something. I was sexually assaulted during a massage (not at the spa I worked at the time). It was a Monday. I spent the rest of my day in denial. I kept telling myself it was an accident, or that it was all in my head. I actually had a good rest of my day hanging with some close friends. But when I slowed down my brain enough to get ready for bed, reality came crashing back down. I cried harder than I’ve cried in my life. For the first time in over a year, none of my coping skills were working. I couldn’t lay down to go to sleep without an intense fear that it was about to happen again. I wanted to believe it wasn’t assault. I called the sexual assault hotline and talked to them. They assured me it wasn’t all in my head, and that what happened to me was definitely assault. They explored my options with me before hanging up. I had a plan. I was going to go to my therapy appointment the next morning and have my therapist help me report the assault. But my appointment was still a whole 12 hours away. None of that helped me now though. I called my best friend to tell her what happened. It was 1 am by this point, and we couldn’t talk long. It helped to have someone know what happened and have their empathy. After a couple more hours of failed attempts to distract myself with self-care and coping skills, I called my other friend out of sheer panic and fear. I was in hysterics at this point in the night. I could not come to terms with what happened… even in the weeks following I found myself unable to cope with the idea that this man had done such a terrible thing to me.
When it finally came time to go to my therapist’s office, I was beside myself with anxiety. When the police arrived at her office, I found myself face to face with a male officer. I hadn’t thought about it until that moment, but I didn’t want to spend the day with a male stranger… last time I was alone with a stranger he sexually assaulted me. I don’t know how, but I was able to make the report. The officer proceeded to take me to the hospital to meet with forensics where they were going to extract the massage therapist’s DNA from my body. It was a very traumatic experience. Having PTSD from prior trauma, I knew I was familiar with the fight, flight or freeze experience. But until that day in the forensics room, I had no idea just how frozen one can get. On the exam table during the procedure, I completely froze. I couldn’t move even if I tried. I laid there for at least 5 minutes, crying and unable to move. I couldn’t even move to scratch an itch.

The worst part of this process what the advice I seemed to get from everybody: “Don’t tell the police about your mental health issues.” Friends, my therapist, the rape crisis counselors who met me at the hospital to support me. Their reasoning? Because they might dismiss my case because I was mentally ill. The argument could be made that I’m overly paranoid or made it up in my head. I was furious! The mental health stigma was… IS bad enough that I had to go out of my way to hide one of the main factors in my life so that I would hopefully be believed?!? I felt like I was manipulating the situation, or lying by omission and that I would get into trouble for it. In fact, the only reason I’m now choosing to tell my story is because I recently got the call from the detective saying that they were dismissing my case (not enough evidence). I was told that I couldn’t post on my blog, Instagram or Facebook just to be safe. I was nervous that I’d get found out, mess it up, and not get justice. Well, now that justice will not be served. I’m speaking out:

I am a survivor of sexual assault. #metoo

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