May 29, 2021I didn’t fight. I didn’t run. I didn’t speak up. Instead, I froze and left my body to be violated. It never should have happened, and perhaps I did have some fault in it, or so I question. I had clearly stated what I did not want while consenting to what I thought was happening, nothing different from before. I did not consent for intercourse, and I only realized that was his intention when I felt a searing pain, one that took my innocence. The moment he grabbed my ankles was the moment I dissociated. I froze and left my body to be violated. Where were my hands? Where was my voice? They were grabbing at the bed sheets while my head was thrown back in agony. I lost touch with my surroundings, and time seemed to stand still. “Tell me when to stop.” A call back to reality and a return to control. “Ugh….stop.” He stopped and finished. Confused, I got up and went to the bathroom. A burning sting and blood. I gathered my clothes while attempting to shamefully cover myself. I didn’t have time to process. I dressed and acted like nothing happened, and I wasn’t traumatized. I fixed my hair and straightened my dress, attempting to erase any evidence. I didn’t want grandpa to be worried as it would break his heart. I painfully drove home and acted like everything was fine. I prepared to shower, but not before taking a picture of myself at that moment. It didn’t seem real, and I needed proof for myself that it was. I showered, and I didn’t report, but I bled for 3 days. It would be weeks before I went to the doctor and admitted what happened, only to endure a series of painful tests. All clear.My biggest fear was to be sexually assaulted as I had maintained my purity. My therapist knew that, so he became exceedingly concerned and serious when I told him what had happened. Having shared all the information, I asked, “Does this count?” “Count as what?” I had avoided calling it what it was, and him being the clever asshole he was, knew the importance of speaking it aloud. “Sexual assault.” “Yes. Will it stand up in court? Most likely not.”I do continue to question, “Was it my fault?” Though the lines are blurred, the answer is no. I did not want it, and that is enough. Another perspective is if my niece and nephew ever approach me with questions about sex because they are too weirded out to ask their parents. “How did it happen for you?” What am I supposed to say, “Funny story…..” I’ve spoken with others, and some have said, “Maybe you can have a do-over?” There is no do-over. What’s taken is taken, and that is more than just my virginity. It is my modesty, sense of security, ability to connect, trust, and feel. The impact of trauma lingers long after it has happened. Trauma manifests as the inability to trust, sleep plagued with recurring nightmares and sweat-soaked sheets, guilt that it happened, shame that they are somehow at fault, intrusive and vivid flashbacks even in a safe environment, flinching at the touch of a loved one, disconnecting from oneself, an exaggerated startle response to the faintest sound and slightest movement, the avoidance of emotions, sensations, or activities relating to the trauma. I have struggled to share my story as I attempt to find the words, someone to listen without judgment or shaming, and be heard. There is no ideal or opportune moment to disclose one has been shamed, humiliated, victimized, assaulted, abused, or raped. However, the opportunity to speak the truth in vulnerability should always be available, and most importantly, heard. I will not get justice for the things that have happened to me, but I do have the power to break the silence and speak, paving the way for others. You are not alone. I somehow started communicating with Tim Bradshaw after seeing the image of a girl with a hand over her mouth. I saw an opportunity to convey a message, a time to process, and the potential to heal. The images you see are the result of our collaboration. The walk of shame and being at the hands of others. My story extends beyond sexual assault into child abuse, domestic violence, and medical trauma. My body has never been my own. It is adorned with harsh words, tallies of survival, healed bones, and bruises long faded. To call me a survivor is an insult as it indicates something happened that never should.I want to say thank you to all the photographers I got to work with. I was very hesitant to trust anyone, but specifically men. All were respectful, patient, and assured my comfort and safety. I am forever grateful for this unique opportunity, and it was a relief to finally experience something good. My hope is to return stronger and more myself. I have big ideas and some in progress. With that being said, I intend to portray Medusa, a Gorgon raped by Poseidon. Medusa was cursed by Athena with a head of snakes, and any man who looked upon her turned to stone. Her curse was also her protection. “Touch has a memory.” – John Keats
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stormborns
