Sexual Assault, Suicide, and Finding Healing

Even though today isn’t a Womanly Wednesday, when my friend Brittany emailed me about sharing her story my answer was a resounding YES.  I’ve known this girl since we were in middle school and remember walking with her through lots of what she describes in this post.  The realities of sexual assault and its devastating consequences are absolutely heartbreaking and I hate that one in four college women experience this to some degree.  Brittany, thank you for sharing your story of pain, darkness, and ultimately, healing.  You are more than a survivor – you are a radiant, courageous, and strong woman and it’s an honor to know you.  

It’s been seven years and as each year goes by I tell less and less people because although it is apart of my past it does not define me.

Seven years ago, I was sexually assaulted at my first college campus. I refer to it as “the incident.” Yes, I was drinking. Well, to say that is an understatement, I was wasted, smashed; I could barely stand. I was wearing a cute party dress with tights and high heels because like any other 18 year old who wanted to party, I was dressed for the night.

Somehow the guy was able to walk me away from the bar, walk me 3 miles to a motel, where members of his fraternity were waiting.

No matter how much I accomplish and become the best version of myself, one clip from a movie or a song or just laying in bed late at night will throw me back into that hideous moment where I’m trapped, helpless and vulnerable. A guy will mention he was in a fraternity in college and this feeling of complete disgust and lack of respect will engulf any positive emotion I feel in my body. This leads to a constant internal struggle of this material image I have created of myself – one of confidence, modesty, self-discipline, educated, high moral; and yet that 18 year old me is still there – broken, helpless, dead.

Not only did it happen, but the incident did not end that night. What followed was months of police reports, psychologists, psychiatrists, physical exams and contemplations of suicide.

I thought the flashbacks would never end. I thought, “This was my life now. I am a victim and always will be.”

A month had gone by from the incident and I started getting the phone calls. I received about three to four a day and for some reason or another I was never by my phone to pick up. On the fifth day I had received seven missed calls; I looked down at my phone confused, and then it rang. I answered it and to my horror, it was them, the boys that did this. I knew it was them because they were saying things only them and I would know. They had somehow gotten my number and were now virtually across the country inside my head, my home, my safe haven.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t escape. This nightmare I experienced was still real and those people were still living, breathing monsters.

Dying seemed like the easiest way out. I scared myself so much thinking about it, my parents and I checked me in to a hospital’s detox facility. At least here, the outside world didn’t exist. I didn’t have to face myself, or the impending failures that awaited me.

I completed 2 weeks at the hospital and convinced my completely reluctant parents to send me back to the school because I “knew” I was stronger than what happened to me, I didn’t want to fail, I had to go back and keep fighting.

I wasn’t ready to go back. I was sober for about 2 months until I starting drinking entire fifths of vodka again. The flash backs were getting so bad I wouldn’t sleep for days and would have to get up and walk out of rooms because I felt trapped like I was back in that motel room. I had a family that loved me but this pain was too much for me to live with. The thought of death came back to me as a relief; it made me feel calm and what needed to be done.

While walking in the woods by my school I found an old tree log surrounded by trees, but was close enough to the walking path that someone would eventually find me. The plan was to take a bottle of vodka and all the prescription pills I was prescribed, go into the woods and just go to sleep. I had the how and the where. I just needed the when.

I was trying to sit still in a night class and it was time. I couldn’t be on a college campus anymore. I couldn’t be in rooms with people. I hated everyone but most of all myself. How could I have done this? Why did I let this happen to me? Why did I have to drink that night? How did I allow myself to fail so hard and so fast? I grabbed my stuff and ran out of class.

As I walked back across the quad to my dorm room that night, I knew I was going to fail at one more thing, but it was the best thing I ever did. I called my parents. I told them they had to come get me. My dad and I were on a flight home the next day. I don’t know what it was that kept me going, but I had this overwhelming feeling it wasn’t my time.

One of the hardest parts of the incident was facing my family. I have three brothers, and at the time, two were still under fifteen. I couldn’t find the right way to explain why I was home from college after only five months and “what I had done.” I was ashamed to look my parents in the eyes. They tried to give as much support as they could but nothing can prepare anyone for something like this.

Time went on and so did everyone’s lives. I tried drinking, calling assault hotlines, self-mutilating, finding a higher power – anything to hold onto. In getting over a tremendous life incident, the worst thing to wait for is time to pass and people telling you it will only get better as time goes on. I wanted to be out of this nightmare immediately but it is true, time heals. I have these massive scars on my heart that only I can see and feel everyday.

Some nights when I can’t sleep or I hear of another college assault, I allow myself to grieve for myself and accept that nothing I did that night was my fault.

A girl has every right to drink as much as she wants.

A girl can wear however much or little clothing she wants.

A girl can want to partake in sex and then change her mind.

I’m often asked if I wish it hadn’t happened. I don’t know. I would have really, really liked for it to have not happened but everything positive in the last seven years has come from it. I ended up finishing my undergrad at UCLA. I am a second year law student in San Francisco. I have met and fallen head over heels in love with an incredible man that not only accepts my past but also fully supports my future. It’s so easy to get caught up on our mistakes and those who have hurt us but I have to keep reminding myself of my success and that every year does heal another piece of my soul.

The incident broke me and I have spent the last 7 years rebuilding. Meeting my boyfriend helped re-teach me what it meant to respect and love myself and that not all men are the enemy. But I can’t give him all the credit – I started to love me. I forgave myself. I respect myself. I accept what has happened and I am a survivor. And, I like me.

If you or someone you know has wrestled with any of the things Brittany describes, I hope you’ll reach out for help.  Call a friend, a family member, or call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1 (800) 273-8255.  You matter and your story matters, and like Brittany, I hope you’ll take the steps to fight for your own heart and your own healing.