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I haven’t written in so long, though I’ve had a million words to say. There’s something I’ve needed to write down for awhile now. Maybe just to see it in print and to let others know they’re not alone. I feel like it’s almost voodoo to talk about, but it happens all too often, with countless stories left untold. I’m talking about rape. Not just rape, but my rape. Just over three years ago I was faced with what has become my greatest trial in life. People try to have the right words to say but they don’t know. No one could even begin to know without unfortunately going through it themselves. Even then each case is different. One thing is certain, though. Rape is rape. Recently there have been several instances with politicians in the media trying to “define” what rape actually is. All this does for anyone who has experienced it is make them relive it all over again. Relive the shame, fear and worthlessness that we’ve all felt at one point or another. It is a constant battle. Every day I am faced with continuing to move forward or letting it get the best of me. This has forever changed me, but it does not define me. I am the only one who has the right to do that. I’ve chosen to make my rape into as positive of a situation as it can be. I have the ability to help others and be an advocate for the victims whose stories have gone unheard. We are survivors and we are a reason to rise.
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