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“I love you.” “Why don’t you love me?” “Why don’t you talk?” Every five minutes Alex continued as I tried to focus on the biology lesson. It was seventh grade, and I was accustomed to constant teasing from the boys in my classes. I was a quiet, unpopular kid in middle school, and that apparently made me fodder for their entertainment. And Alex especially loved to harass me, out of boredom or who knows what.
Prior to fourth grade and moving schools, I never thought of myself as a girl. I was just a kid who liked to balance on fallen tree logs in my pink tutu and watch Lawrence Welk on weekends. At this new school, I needed to shave my legs and wear a training bra and care about what other people thought, so I could be a girl and have friends. I also had to be vigilant of old men who liked to snatch little girls in the middle of the night. All because I was growing breasts that I didn’t want.
Through Survivors To Superheroes I have been able to process my trauma of sexual violence that I experienced in my youth. Having this platform is a privilege and I recognize that. My first article I wrote was the first time I openly admitted I was a rape survivor. I felt silenced by the media and comments I would see under news articles blaming survivors for coming forward years after it happened and calling them derogatory names. I felt that if I told my story questions would soon follow.
Healing and finding peace was difficult and I am still on my journey trying to find it. Along the way, I have learned what it means to be a survivor. I was taught as a child that those who have been assaulted have some sort of blame, no matter what the circumstance is. My mother always heckled me whenever I would walk out the door in a crop top or mini skirt saying, “You’re just asking for it.” After I was assaulted, I did blame myself. In fact, I put all the blame on myself.