It was sexual assault.
This happened months and months ago and already consumed two blog posts (both of which were rather long).
It was sexual assault.
It took me a therapist telling me that the lasting flashbacks and panic weren't me overreacting, and it wasn't my fault, and you had NO RIGHT to do that to me.
It took medications. It took counseling. It took months to realize.
It was sexual assault.
Unwelcome or force-able sexual advances of ANY KIND count.
The emotional abuse that followed counted.
The fact that the hardest part of finals week is having to be in a class with you, presenting in the front of the classroom and being able to see you from where I'm standing, knowing you'll be looking either at your phone or me. That counts.
It was sexual assault.
The scars on my leg caused by me count.
The fact I am so hesitant to press publish because what if you find this, read about yourself, that counts.
I'm afraid of you. I don't feel safe. I have to make sure to walk to my classes a certain way, check both sides of the street before I cross it to make sure I don't have to see you. That counts.
The fact that I better hurry up and finish this post before my breathing gets too much faster-- it's still so triggering to think about. That counts.
It all counts. It was sexual assault.
I am a survivor of sexual assault, but that does not define me. I count.
