Warning: Some of these stories are slightly graphic and may be triggering. Please keep in mind that these stories were shared and submitted in efforts to heal and bring healing and a sense of fortitude to others. DreamofBee is PROUD to be an outlet for those who need it, and it is in solidarity that we share the first installment of Damn, You Too? 

 

I met someone, through a dating app of course, and set up a night to meet up. I drove down 287 with excitement in my veins over not knowing what would happen. I found it a little odd when this person asked me to pick him up from class, but I figured, it could be anything. I sat in my car and played some feel-good music while I waited for him to come out, and when he did, my heart sank into my stomach. I recognized the face from the photos, but the face was not the same. The photos must have been old, because the person walking in the direction of my car was only similar enough to the point where I still knew that this was in fact who I had been talking to. He got in my car, and we headed to a casual bar/restaurant to eat. We ordered food, and the conversation was fine, but a little awkward. He didn’t seem like he was all there, and by this I mean that he seemed like he may have been high on something. The way he looked at me like I was a meal still makes my stomach flip.

When we were done with our food, he asked me to come over to his apartment so we could keep talking, and watch something on Netflix. Of course I knew that sex was on his mind, and at this point, I couldn’t figure out how to get out of it. I know that there were a good handful of options in this case. But in that moment, when there was a guy that was much bigger than I was and seemed as if he was under the influence of something that I couldn’t even imagine, shoving his hand down my pants and his tongue in my mouth, the fear that overcame me was crippling. And I DID say NO. I told him to stop. But in a matter of moments I was stuck between his bed and his heavy body, begging God for the next few minutes to fly by so fast that maybe I wouldn’t remember much. But I do, still. And I remember getting dressed, and saying, “Sorry, I have to go, I have work early” when he asked for “round two”. I remember getting in my car, and backing out of the driveway so fast in the pouring rain without paying attention to see if anyone was behind me.

I drove home and sobbed the entire way. This was the night that everything I thought I knew came to a screeching halt. I didn’t even make it into my room before I felt the vomit in my throat. I puked for what felt like hours, but it was probably only 15 minutes. I sat in bed with the lights on for the rest of that night after blocking every form of communication I had with that person, and blocking the entire night from my mind. I thought that I was fine, because in the next day and the next few weeks, that’s exactly how I felt: fine. I didn’t talk or think about it, I just went about my normal routines. I went to work, I did my job, and I surrounded myself with my friends. I had blocked the situation from my memory for at least a month until I couldn't any more.

~Anonymous 

 

I wasn't raped. But I didn't want it, I was just afraid to say no. I was a senior in high school and one of the last of my friend group to still have their virginity. It was prom weekend and me and this guy were fooling around, as to be expected during that messy ass weekend. I wasn't ready for sex but I had done other things. So, I was cool with doing other things but he was so damn adamant on trying to have sex. He tried to coax me into just letting him "put the tip in". And I didn't know how to say no. So I said "fine" knowing that I wasn't ready and didn't really want it.

I didn't love him, we weren't even dating, he was just someone that I had a history of messing around with. I was to him, clearly a conquest that he had to say that he got. That's so clear now, but I was so young and naïve at the time. Anyways, he put a condom on and didn't care to ease me into anything, no regard for how I would feel, if I was comfortable, he just started to insert. And it hurt so bad. My whole body screamed no. In my head, I wanted to say no and stop so bad but I didn't want him to say anything to our friend group (which he ended up doing anyways ... they made a joke about it in front of me.) Before things got even further than they should have, we got interrupted (Thank God).

There's a myth that you bleed the first time and I didn't want to consider that my first time because there was so much regret behind it; he wasn't the guy and it wasn't the moment. But I bled afterwards. All because I didn't know how to say no knowing that I never wanted it. This isn't a story about rape but I feel like as women, we end up in these situations way too often. Giving our bodies away to men that don't deserve them out of fear and shame. It fucking sucks.

I don't really think about it and I never really told anyone but my bestfriend. But there still remains so much regret and til this day, I don't acknowledge it as the moment I lost my virginity. In my mind and memory, it happened 3 years after with a guy who was in my eyes deserving and he made me feel so comfortable despite not knowing it was my first time. And for that memory, I'm so grateful

~Anonymous

 

Rape is a truly powerful word. It stings for me to say, therefore I rarely do. I’ve always ran away from the acceptance of the idea. “Nah, it wasn’t that.. maybe I didn’t try enough to stop it.” For years I’ve subconsciously punished myself for these experiences, blocking any ability to actually heal from them. Even as I write this, I feel my heart race, adrenaline pumping through my veins like I shouldn’t be this vulnerable. The first time, I was young. Maybe 17.. not long out of my first heartbreak. I was trying to fill some voids, just wanted someone to really love me like that again so I knew it was something possible. A boy who I knew through a few mutual friends started to give me extra attention on MySpace. (Cringe.... I know) He was so kind to me, I thought maybe this could go somewhere.

On our first “date,” I went to his house. We watched TV and got to know each other. At this point, I was comfortable. I didn’t feel anything was off, or any prohibitions about being in his house alone with him. I sat on his bed as their were no other chairs in his room besides the one computer chair he was seated. He soon joined me. He began kissing me for a few moment and then decided to reach in his drawer for a condom. Instantly, I knew things were going too fast for me. I had no interest or intention to have sex with him..

I pushed his hand away saying “Nah, you’re good. We don’t need that. Not having sex.” He smiled but continued to reach for it. Still kissing me.. “I thought, does he think I’m playing hard to get?” I continued to  say “No” and “Stop” as he continued to try to penetrate me. Eventually giving up on putting a condom on all together, because I kept trying to stop him. At this point, everything felt like it was going in slow motion for a second, I don’t remember if I continued to say no after awhile, aware that it meant nothing. I laid there crying just hoping it’d be over soon. Eventually, I couldn’t take anymore. I pushed him off and ran downstairs to shower.  I tried to scrub him off of me. I don’t know if I ever really did.

In processing the event afterwards I talked about it with a few friends. One of my male friends (at the time) sucked his teeth and told me I was being dramatic. “You didn’t fight hard enough. You must’ve wanted it” so I believed that for awhile. I blamed myself for being naive. Our other mutual friends laughed the whole thing off. Just thought it was a date gone bad. Still hung out with him often. At best, sometimes they would just throw a hint that he might be at the same party as me. I pushed down my feelings and never spoke much about the incident again. 

The years that followed I couldn’t help but feel used by sexual partners.. even when that was not the case. Sex could either go good or bad, sometimes triggering depressive episodes with partners. 

Unfortunately, 3 years later, it happened again.

~Anonymous

 

Back in 2011, I was only a sophomore in high school. Well, one day I took the 5:30 bus home, so probably around 6 when I actually got to my street. I remember it was still light out, my hair was straightened, I had my headphones in. I didn’t feel weird or anything until I was halfway up my block and felt like someone was really close. But, I had my music playing. I whip my head around and just so happens a man is really arm’s length away. At any second he could’ve just grabbed me. I crossed the street as fast as I can, not even looking to check if a car was coming. I jetted. Just so happens, my mother stepped out of the house as I was crossing the street and because of that very reason, he didn’t try and follow me or do anything further. But, he watched me and made signals at me like “I see you.” Nothing fucked me up more than that. I was only fourteen.

For a long time, I tried to downplay what happened to me. I always said, “what happened to me doesn’t compare to what happens to other girls,” or “he didn’t hurt me. So, I’m okay.” And because of that, I let my story and my healing get pushed aside.

Now, i’m 22. Recently, I realized how bad my anxiety is when I walk home alone, no matter the hour. How I struggle to breathe, my hearing heightens where it’s like I can hear my steps. I, instinctively, take off my headphones, put my keys in between my fingers and literally speed walk. Every few steps, I need to look back, look across the street, look far ahead. And I can’t breathe until I am, safely, locked into my house. It’s shit like that where it traces back to when I was followed home by this stranger.

I realized that, even though, he didn’t touch me, I’m scarred. That my story is still on the spectrum of being sexualized and in a way, harmed. I am not the only woman who has dealt with this and I can imagine how many women feel like their situation is, somewhat, invalid. But, it’s not.

~ Anonymous

 

I was at a summer luau party with my best friend. I drunkenly met some boy who I thought was attractive. Throughout the night he flirted with me and told me to come inside the house with him. He brought me into the bathroom and tried to have sex with me. When I told him no, he left and said that “I was playing” and proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the night. I was upset and felt stupid so I went on the porch to drunk cry by myself. Another boy came to me to ask me what was wrong. I cried to him that I felt like people only wanted me for sex and no one actually cared about me (Stupid, I know).

He comforted me, complimenting me saying he would never treat me like that. At this point it was around midnight. My best friend had a strict mother who was threatening her to get home now. She asked if I was coming and the boy answered for me, he said “No, she’s upset I’ll take her home. Stupidly, I agreed. Stupidly, so did she. We talked a few minutes once she left. I said “Never mind, I want to go home now.” He begged me to stay... “Come on, let’s go upstairs and watch a movie then I’ll take you home (it was his house).” I knew something was off, but I didn’t have another way home (years before Uber) so I agreed. In his room I laid down and began watching a movie. Not long after he attempted to kiss me, I pulled away and said “can we just watch the movie?” He responded “sure” but continued kissing me.

He began to reach for a condom and I began to have flashbacks to a previous experience, knowing what was about to happen. My no’s and stop’s were unheard or rather, ignored. I felt numb and overwhelmingly sad all at once. I shut down and just lied there, crying, retracing all the wrong steps I made. When he was done, he looked at me, sobbing, and froze. He quickly said “I didn’t rape you.” I just begged him to take me home. He spoke the whole way home about how this was different, it wasn’t rape.. he promised to take me out the next day and prove he really cared about me. I was silent. I never heard or saw him again. The next morning my best friend called me asking how the rest of the party went. I, without too much detail, explained the events of the night. She offered a “damn, are you okay?” I said “yeah.” We never spoke of it again. 

For years I’ve harbored animosity towards men in the form of trust issues. I still do. I still get anxious sometimes after sex, sometimes completely emotionally detaching during the act. It was until years later when I spoke of it to a friend, that looked at me mortified, and expressed how sorry she was that this happened to me - that I realized “wow, it was rape.” For years I blamed myself for trusting men. Being naive to think that maybe they just wanted to cuddle.. or kiss. I felt that I was weak and buried all my feelings for the night only for them to haunt me when I least expected. I sought validation through my friends, trust their own opinions of my experiences more than my own.

I hope for anyone who has experienced something similar, you free yourself of blame and figure out how to find peace from the hands that never should’ve touched you. To all the women who had parts of them stolen and broken by men who pretended to not hear their objections.. I’m sorry. & I’m so sorry for all of the times where their stories have fallen on deaf ears. I hear you, I’m listening, I believe you & I love you.

~Anonymous

 

I was sexually assaulted two days before I turned 19. I was living in on-campus apartments, and threw a little birthday party. Only three of my friends could make it. But we drank and played games and had a really good night. Everyone ended up passing out in the living room. I was heavily intoxicated and half asleep when I felt an arm go around my waist. I remember being paralyzed. As his hands wandered, I kept screaming “No” and “stop” in my head, but the words weren’t coming out of my mouth. I was frozen in partly intoxication, and partly fear. Long story short— because even 4 years later its hard for me to think about the fine details— my “friend” held down my wrists when I tried to push him away, fingered me, and then rubbed off against me.

I thought twice, thrice, twenty times about whether or not I want to submit my story. Even when the #MeToo movement was at its peak, I felt hesitant to say Me Too. I just felt like my story wasn’t “bad enough”. A therapist helped me process what had happened to me. She told me that, legally, in our state, any kind of nonconsensual penetration is rape. Raped? Me? Nah. So many people have endured worse. If I try to apply the word “rape” to my experience, I feel like I’m being dramatic. It sounds like an exaggeration. But I know if my story happened to another person, I would call it what it is.

It took me a long time to process what had happened. I walked around with guilt and the unprecedented burden of responsibility for many months after that. My friend once said that “everything happens for a reason” and that the pain I went through made me who I am today. But I’ll be damned if I attribute any of the beautiful things in my life— my successes, my relationships, my personality— to this asshole. I’m still working on calling my assault what it was. This seems like a step in  acknowledging that, even if it wasn’t “bad enough,” it was still bad, and my experience, the ugliness and trauma that followed, was valid. If anyone has a story like mine, in which they are hesitant to call their experience was it was: you are not alone.

~Anonymous

 

It started off when I was 7, we use to always play hide and seek. He would always want to be my partner & he told me I was good at hiding. In those dark secluded hiding spots is where it all began. The touching, the feel of his hands grasping my breast, his thumbs touching my privates. It made me uncomfortable, I wasn’t sure of what was going on or if what he was doing to me was normal. He was my older cousin, so whatever he said I followed because that’s what I was taught growing up. Listen to your elders, we just want to protect you. Protection my ass.

This continued to happen here and there up until I turned 13. By that time I had already learned about my body and how important it was for me to defend myself at all cost. One day I was in my room, I heard him coming
down the stairs & I pretended to be asleep. My heart was pounding because I knew it was time again, I knew he was going to touch me & the minute he got inside my room that’s exactly what he did. I tried so hard to continue to pretend to be asleep because I was so scared & afraid of what can happen if i screamed or even dared to try and stop him. I was such a fragile little girl & he was almost 18. This time? He tried to go further, he tried to penetrate me, tugging so hard at my pants & underwear. Using his strength to get my shirt up & put his filthy hands all over me.

At that point I couldn’t take it, I pushed him off of me & I stopped him. I asked what he was doing & he told said “Oh nothing, it’s raining outside I’m just looking for an umbrella”. The very next morning I went to school & I ran to my favorite teacher and told her what’s been happening to me. This time I knew what he was trying to do, this time i understood why he kept choosing me as his hide and seek partner. After my school found out & the news was brought to my family? You would think it would get better for me right? Here I am now, age 23, battling with a Mental Illness & anxiety. One day I will be able to let go & flourish. Speak up & Be heard, Seek Help, We’re all in this together ladies.

~Anonymous

 

To anyone that needs to hear this: It wasn't your fault. No matter what you did or didn't do or said or didn't say, it wasn't your fault. No means no, means no, means NO. And even if you couldn't fix your mouth to say it, you never said "yes". I hope that the darkest parts of you can one day see the light. From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry and I stand with you. Always.