I never had a boyfriend before Vic*. We were in the marching band together, and met in the summer of 2001. We became friends and soon started dating. Every day with him was a new experience for me. I fell in love. I was a girl who had chronic depression who finally met a feeling of love and acceptance. The poetry I wrote so normally took a dramatic turn. Out of it’s once somber and morbid verses, came words of love and dizzying happiness. It was a feeling that I would do anything to keep. I always told Vic that I would do anything for him. I told him I’d never stop loving him no matter what. I never thought he would take advantage of that.

For four months we dated, and for four months I had a knot in my stomach. Vic was controlling. He didn’t like me being with my close friends, and he was always telling me to grow out my short spiky hair. For four months, I spent every weekend of my life with him. We were always at his house tucked away in his room. The few times we went out, it was because I planned something. I was blind. I didn’t see the way I caved in for him. My friends vanished, and my hair started to grow. I just wanted Vic to be happy with me. I wanted that feeling of being loved. I was obsessed with that feeling, and it blinded me to everything else.

January 11, 2002 was a normal Friday. Midterms were to start the following Monday, so I was looking forward to a relaxing evening with my boyfriend before a weekend of cramming for exams. I was in between two medications for depression, and the combination was making me super-tired.
I asked Vic if I could lie down for a while. He was doing his homework, and he didn’t mind. I woke up with a start a little while later. The room was dark, except for the glow of the television screen. I realized I had woken up because Vic was kissing my neck. I playfully tickled him to make him stop, because that made me incredibly uncomfortable. He laughed a little, but he didn’t stop. Instead he grabbed my hands and climbed on top of me.
I laughed at first, but I stopped quickly when I saw that his pants were unbuckled. I looked down and realized that he was working to pull mine away from my body.

I pleaded with him to stop, but he told me that he was doing this for us, and I would thank him. I told him I didn’t want it, and he said that he could never fully love me unless he had all of me. I said no, and he told me to relax, and that everything would be all right.

I remember closing my eyes, and squirming beneath him. I could hear his heavy breathing, so I tried to close my ears too. His kisses felt like acid on my lips, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t avoid feeling the sharp pain in my lower body. I kept whispering to him that he didn’t need to do this, I didn’t want him to do this, but he never heard me. It never occurred to me to scream, or even push at him. I was frozen, and my mind went completely blank.

I remember him shaking me after he finished, because I had spaced out by then. All he said to me was “You really didn’t want that, did you?” I was silent. I said nothing, and when he kissed me goodnight at my doorstep, I flinched.

At the time, I didn’t understand the idea that rape in itself was unwanted sexual contact. I thought that because I didn’t try to fight my boyfriend, or scream that it could be called rape. It was rape the minute I said no.
At the time all I knew was that I didn’t like what had happened, and three days later I broke up with Vic. I went back into therapy, because after the break-up my depression level skyrocketed. When I finally explained to my therapist what had happened, she told me I had been raped. It took a while to sink in, but when it did, I got angry. When I saw Vic in class, I wouldn’t speak to him. I told him I never wanted to see him again. He didn’t understand why we couldn’t be friends. I filed a police report, and he got a warning, but nothing really happened.
Every day I would see him in band class and it was like torture. When summer band camp started, things were awkward, but I told him we would have to be civil with each other. I couldn’t do it. Every time I saw him, I felt myself die all over again. I felt like there was nothing I could do to make the pain go away. Vic took every opportunity to remind me of it. Whenever he was in close range of me, he would jokingly throw a drum mallet at my butt, or grab me by the shoulders. One time, he even touched the side of my face to tell me how pretty my earrings were. By September, I had simply had enough. I filed for a Protection From Abuse order. I knew if I got the order, he would have to leave the band, and then
I wouldn’t have to see him anymore. He perjured himself in court, telling the judge that he never raped me, and saying that he was completely innocent. His attorney stabbed me, and made accusations I never thought possible, but the judge saw through it. The judge saw through the lies and granted me the order. I felt alive again. I won some of my freedom back because someone believed me.
It hasn’t been an easy year. When I went back to school, every body knew what had happened, and the boys were afraid of me. No one believed me.

They started petitions to get me kicked out of the band, and they called me a slut when they saw me. They said that what ‘happened to Vic wasn’t fair and that I deserved to pay. It’s unbelievable how quick to judge people were. I told my story to my close friends, and let everyone else believe what they wanted to believe. I lost a lot of people, but an experience like mine shows you who your true friends really are. I stayed in the marching band, through games where the entire student section would chant obscene things at me. I couldn’t give up when I had come so far in my fight.

I’ve always seen myself as a fighter. I used my public speaking ability to give a speech entitled “Rape: Hidden Epidemic” at high school speech and debate tournaments. I told my friends how they could stay safe, and told them the most important thing I know: Always trust your intuition. Never do anything that makes you feel uneasy.

I have spent my entire senior year of high school fighting for the 1 in 4 women, and the 1 in 6 men who have experienced what I have experienced. I would not change the decisions I made, regardless of the people who now hate me. My respect for my beliefs and myself is far more important than my reputation. I urge you to follow your heart, and trust your gut. As cliché as those things sound, they may one day save you from something terrible.

Always believe in yourself, fight for your rights, and trust your heart.

(*name changed)