I Can’t Be Your Rape Victim Seven Days a Week

Every time a high profile sexual assault story is in the news, I remember what it felt like to be pressed up against a brick wall.

I’m a rape survivor. I came out publicly about my experience a few years ago in a blog post, and have been a vocal advocate for sexual assault survivors ever since. I spoke up because I knew there were countless others who couldn’t. I put my name and face to a story because I know that statistics don’t resonate with people. Because I know that people only care about sexual assault when it happens to someone they know and love.

Now, I try to do my part to make the world a better place. I always call out the jerk at the bar who makes tasteless rape jokes, because I know there are others who cannot speak up. I regularly visit college campuses to talk about my experience, and explain how consent works. I’ve met with other survivors, listened to them talk about their harrowing ordeals, been a shoulder for them to cry on, offered support, advice, and kindness.

I’ve written articles about how important it is for professional sports organizations to put their money where their mouth is, and suspend accused predators.

I’ve reminded friends and family how important it is to believe survivors when they come forward.

I like to think that I’m fighting the good fight. That I’m taking back control of my life, bit by bit.

I speak to my colleagues about the concept of “innocent until proven guilty” and how when it comes to sexual assault, we generally assume that the accuser is lying, and since false accusations are also a crime, doesn’t he or she deserve to be innocent until proven guilty as well?

I talk on the radio about rape, rape culture, sexual assault, and sexism.

I’ve stood on a stage with other rape survivors and told dark jokes about our traumatic experiences. (It was an incredibly healing experience, by the way. Thank you Heather and Emma.)

I like to think that I’m fighting the good fight. That I’m taking back control of my life, bit by bit. But sometimes, I need to stop and lick my wounds. Sometimes, I need to just take a mental health minute. Because I can’t be your rape victim seven days a week.

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Every time a high profile sexual assault story is in the news, I remember what it felt like to be pressed up against a brick wall.

Every time an accused rapist is found not liable and the jury members take selfies with him after the verdict, I remember every person that has called me a lying whore, or hasn’t believed me.

Every time a presidential candidate brags about being able to get away with sexual assault because he’s rich and powerful, I remember that the guy who raped me is still out there, free to rape more women.

Every time a convicted rapist is let off with a light sentence so as not to negatively impact his life, I remember looking at my bruised, filthy face in the mirror after I was attacked.

I don’t just remember what happened, I’m transported back to that night.

I don’t just remember what happened, I’m transported back to that night, and I begin to relive it. My heart begins to race. My palms begin to sweat. A lump forms in my throat. My stomach twists and I feel sick. The worst part is that I have to put on a brave face and act tough. Because it’s been three years. Because I can’t call in sick to work every day in case there’s a sexual assault in the news. Because I can’t fall apart every single day because I was raped once. But that’s my reality. I live in constant survival mode.

Sometimes, speaking out and fighting back is empowering. But sometimes, getting out of bed and going to work is all I can muster. I need you to understand that it isn’t because I don’t care. It’s because I’m exhausted from faking it all the time.

I appreciate that you care enough about the topic to want to do the story justice. I appreciate that you want to hear from a survivor on the subject. But I can’t be your rape victim seven days a week. I need a break sometimes. I need a chance to breathe. I need a few moments to not think about the most traumatic moment of my life. And every time you bring it up, I’m reliving that moment.

So let me bring it up on my own terms. Let me talk about it in my own way. Let me take back control of my life. Let me feel empowered. Let me feel human again. Let me try to find pieces of the person I was before that night. Let me try to fix myself. Because I want to smile real smiles again. I want to feel joy. I want to feel like this world is worth being a part of. I want to not have to strive for perfection just to feel like I measure up to others.

I can’t be your rape victim seven days a week.