There's been a lot of talk about this in the news lately. Not necessarily depression, but a cause that's more common than people think.
Have you ever had something remind you of something and then you realize "oh that explains a lot"? That happened to me during my trip to Las Vegas. I remembered something that I spent YEARS blocking from my mind. Upon returning home, I called my therapist and immediately set up an appointment to be seen. It was time to finally face my fear and come to terms with my past. Ke$ha is a victim. Lady Gaga is a victim. The girl at Stanford is a victim. I'm a victim. If you haven't caught on to that trend just yet, we have some things in common. Yes, we are all female but there's something more crucial. We are all victims of sexual assault. Now's the time where I expect you to stop reading. If you're still with me I know it's a very uncomfortable subject. This happened to me 6 years ago. SIX FREAKIN' YEARS AGO. At the time, I felt alone and scared. I told no one but my best friend who was there for me every step of the way. My best friend advised me to tell my parents, but I was scared. They trusted him. He was involved at church. He played in a christian band. He went to private school. He was intelligent. He was the perfect guy in their eyes. Did I really want them to feel horrible about bringing us together? No, so I lived with it. I stopped talking to him and went on with my life...or so I thought I did. Every time someone would mention his name, I'd freeze and cry. My mind was immediately taken back to the church fall festival October 10, 2009. I had a gut feeling that something wasn't right with him that night and I should have paid attention to it, but I didn't. What wrong could he do to me? He was one of my best friends. He would never hurt me. What happened next was something I never thought would. You see we hear about this on the news and think that will never happen to me...until it does. One day living with it got so bad. I was at my best friend's house (the one who knew) and his sister brought him up. I froze and cried to the point where I couldn't breathe. That was the day my best friend saved my life. He immediately drove me home, and told me if I didn't tell my parents what happened he would. So I did. Two years later. My parents wanted to call the cops and have so much done, but it was two years later. My word against his. I was already living far away from him. So we did nothing. My only fear was seeing him again. That was the first and last time my parents and I spoke about this. Life went on. My mother has asked about him and I respond with a simple I don't know nor do I care. In fact, I do know. I do care. I wanted him to be doing terrible. If you must know: He went on to graduate at the top of his class, attended a prestigious journalism university, got a job with a television news network, and is clearly doing well. How is that fair? He's living free in the world without a trace of guilt in his mind. As for me, I'm living with it. Slowly coming to terms with the fact that it wasn't my fault. I didn't tease him. I was in a tank top and shorts...IN TEXAS. I didn't lead him on. I was stern with him and made it known I had no feelings for him. This wasn't my fault. I fought him. I wasn't going to let him leave me tangled in the dust. Some strength came over me and a simple kick to his groin may have saved my life. Now even though I left with some strength, I felt disgusting. Was this how all guys saw me? For a long time, I thought that was true (but that's for another time). It's taken me six years to speak up and tell my story. Yes, I'm still fighting and living with it every day but it does get better. I just have to continue to tell myself: It wasn't your fault.
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