Suffocated

*Content Warning topics like Sexual Assault are talked about in this story*

It is easy to get wrapped up in good looks and niceness. By doing so, you don’t see the red flags that pop up like bread in a toaster. I should have seen them sooner and left. Instead, I got wrapped up in his chocolate brown eyes, silky soft hair, and prince charming smile. I almost hate myself for how attracted I was to him. He was nice to me, and now because of him,I can’t be fooled by every nice person that walks into my life.

I never thought I could hate a single day so much. March 10th, 2020. He didn’t listen to consent. I said yes to coming over to watch a movie, I never said yes to being violated the way no one should ever have to be violated. Yet, I was still to blame. He left with nothing more than a smack to the hand and I came out with trauma-riddled days. Still, nobody believes the victim, isn’t that screwed up? People were asking what I wore that night as if it was any of their business nor should it have any effect on what happened. I wore a pink long-sleeve button-up shirt, ripped jeans, and white vans. I didn’t think an outfit like that was deemed inappropriate.

That night haunts me every day.

His chocolate brown eyes turned black and his prince charming smile turned evil. I was frozen with fear and confusion. Clothes were being taken off, mine without consent. I fought hard but all efforts failed. He was much stronger than I was. His hands were everywhere on my body. Around my neck, private areas, torso and legs. He left faint bruises on me, enough to barely be noticeable but enough to hurt. I kept saying no but, in his mind, apparently no meant yes. After many fails, I got away. I still can’t remember how I got enough strength to get away, but I thank God every day for instilling the strength to get out. I grabbed my clothes and ran as fast as I could to my car. Tears spilling out of my eyes like Niagara Falls.

I couldn’t and still can’t explain to you the trauma that I went through, still am going through. The clothes I wore that night sat in my closet for the longest time. I like putting new meanings to things, you know. But in this situation, I couldn’t bring myself to give those clothes a new meaning. I was hurt in a way that I hope to never be hurt like that again. I even tried putting the clothes back on thinking it would help me, mentally. If anything, it made things worse. I had my mom throw them away.

Nobody ever warned me the mental trauma you go through and how long you go through it. The days were hard but not as hard as the nights, you know. The days, weeks and months after were grueling. There were times where I didn’t move out of the comfort of my own bed. I felt safe there, nobody could harm me there. The nights were even harder than the days. Nightmares flooded my mind, causing me restless sleep or no sleep at all. I was too afraid of him. He haunted me like a ghost on Halloween. No matter how hard I tried to rid the feeling of his hands on my body, his handprints are permanently imprinted into my brain.

I spent the whole summer feeling like I wasn’t fully in the moment. My brain was always somewhere else, thinking about that night. That night that makes me cautious of every man that walks past me.

I have spent every moment since that night thinking of ways to let go, thinking of ways to forget what happened. Nothing will ever allow me to forget, that moment is stuck in my brain forever. Since then I have come to terms with what happened to me. I have learned that, that night wasn’t my fault. It has helped me gain more respect for myself and other women around me. It has taught me body image positivity. I will never let him have the satisfaction of thinking he broke me. I picked up my own pieces and put myself back together. I struggle every single day, but I know that he will never hurt me again. He will never lay another finger on me. He will never make me feel the way that he made me feel, hopeless and unloved.

I am cautious of every man that walks past me, looks at me, talks to me and touches me. But, I will not let a man control my life and control the way I feel when coming in contact with another man.

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We as survivors are strong, worthy, loved and strong.

A year later and I still struggle, but I’ve had a year of time to reflect. A year to grow as an individual, as a woman. A year to say goodbye.