BY VERONICA*
TRIGGER WARNING: This article contains descriptions of sexual violence.
I am graduating this year, and it’s around that time of year when people start congratulating you for such an accomplishment. It has forced me to start thinking about what this means to me.
Among those walking across the stage and getting their diploma in a few weeks, there is me and then there is the person who assaulted me. Should I be more proud of the fact that I made it so far despite that trauma? Maybe. Yet personally, I know that his presence will somehow invalidate mine.
After June, we will be equals in one way – both UCLA graduates, tainting what I used to think was an honor. And somehow, it just doesn’t seem fair, since he is the person responsible for hurting me physically and mentally, putting my academic career in jeopardy and essentially turning me into a statistic.
Research shows that 1 in 4 college women will be assaulted during their time at school. Three percent of college men report having survived rape or attempted rape as a child or adult. We are your classmates, student leaders, roommates, friends and significant others.
We are Bruins. And unfortunately, many of us have been hurt by other Bruins.
It happened my sophomore year here at UCLA. He was my best friend and I suppose, worst of all, he was the first person I ever loved. He didn’t feel the same way about me, but he had no problem exploiting my feelings.
While we were both intoxicated one night, he led me to a room in the dorms and pulled out a condom. My first thought was it must be a joke. I said no. I must have said it a dozen times. Still, one by one, my clothes came off until there was nothing left but my underwear.
I will never forget the scent of the musty carpet or the fluorescent light under the crack of the door. I even remember thinking over and over again, “I can leave if I want to. I can leave if I want to.” But I didn’t leave and that is something that has haunted me – not just because of my own guilt as a survivor, but also in the form of hollow words from my loved ones.
“Why didn’t you leave? Why didn’t you scream? Why didn’t you fight?”
It’s simple, really. I trusted him. He told me to trust him. It was fight or flight and I don’t know about you, but I was never taught to fight my friend. I was told to fight the stranger in the alley or the creep in the bushes.
So I chose flight, and for me that meant mental vacancy. I somehow mentally detached myself from the whole experience – so much so that in the following days when I discovered soreness and bruises, I had to remind myself why.
When we were done, he said, “Thank you. I know that took a lot of courage.” It made me feel disgusting, as if I was a prostitute. As if I had a choice.
I spent the rest of my sophomore year not really feeling like a person, more like body parts barely stitched together. I relapsed into self-harm. I went on medication for my depression. I paid more visits to Counseling and Psychological Services.
In the aftermath, I was also abandoned by those I thought were my friends. Some feigned ignorance. Some told me to report it and to get “revenge.” Some argued that it wasn’t bad enough for me to try to get him kicked out of school.
Even among those who tried to stick by me, there always seemed to be an expiration date on their compassion. They asked, why couldn’t I just get over it? I still ask myself that.
What happened will follow me after graduation, just as it has for the remainder of my UCLA career. Even now, as I have been through bouts of depression and countless therapy sessions, as the anniversary of my assault draws near, it still hurts.
I know that some of you reading this may discount my story and my actions. I know this brand of invalidation happens, and moreover that it happens a lot to survivors like me with stories like mine.
I guess I’m asking you to look beyond the specifics of what happened (something that is hard for me to do) and I want you to just know about the consequence: pain. That is something you cannot minimize for me.
You cannot tell me that I did not feel sorrow, hurt, anger, depression and everything else in between. Because I did, and I’m almost certain that I will feel this pain for the rest of my life.
*This article was published under a pseudonym in order to protect the identity of the survivor. It is the Daily Bruin’s policy not to publish the names of the survivors of rape or sexual assault unless specifically instructed otherwise by the survivor.