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Sometimes I feel like I made the whole thing up. I think this is partly because I don't want to believe this happened to me and partly because no one believed me, or if they did they didn't seem to care. It wasn't a "violent" rape, it's as di*k head Robin Thick says a matter of "blurred lines." But now I know the lines were clear. I said no to multiple advances, to the point where my friends were telling him to leave me alone. All night he wanted me to drink more, and when I thought he was leaving me alone, he was really waiting for me to be drunk enough to not realize where I was.
After my first blog post where I sequentially and in detail wrote down what had happened to me, I had what I can recall as my first true flashback. I had never spoke the specific to the events to anyone before. For years I suffered with replaying my assault in my head, over and over. I always thought that these were "flashbacks," but I was wrong. That night after my first post, as I was lying in bed trying to sleep, I was there. With the lights off, I could see his pale skin reflecting the moon and feel him behind me, like I was waiting for him to touch me. I could even feel his breath
**Detailed Story** It feels as though one moment changed my entire identity, stripping away any of my remaining naivety and innocence. But when that mystified encapsulation of fear, anxiety, and anger finally managed to dissipate, I was left with only the framework of who I use to be. I was replicating a girl who disappeared into womanhood without the chance to say goodbye. Inside, this woman is still filled with the fear, anxiety, and anger, but now the remaining cracks are filled with regret. I find myself asking "why did I go out that night?" "why did no one care?" "why didn't