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- AnIn 2019 I was sexually assaulted by one of my exes. I remember after it happened in the drunken and spinning state I was in, but coherent enough to understand what had just transpired, I called one of my friends. I was crying and telling him how it was my fault and I let this happen, knowing full well it wasn't. I thought they were a close friend but instead they told me I wasn't raped. They told me because I opened that front door and let him in that it was my fault. I didn't ask to black out in a drunken haze and have that happen to me. I didn't ask for the last few shots to be forced into me before passing out. I opened the door but I didn't ask for what was done to me after. Someone I thought was a close friend said I was victimizing myself. He would later go on to call me "slut" and "whore" as a joke, like it didn't hurt my feelings. He would call that incident a "sex escapade." Constantly telling me it was my fault. What he didn't know is that I isolated myself for months after it had happened. Any physical contact with anyone even family members, a hug, you name it could send me into a full blown panic attack. And it wasn't just him but other friends of mine I thought I could tell. Friends. People that are supposed to support you, be there for you, love you, and care for you. About 4 of my friends completely invalidated what happened to me. Saying drunken consent was consent. "Drunk words are sober thoughts." Like I wanted that. I felt invalid. I felt like my body and emotions had been violated. My trust in any and everyone was gone. If I couldn't tell those who were closest to me, then I can't tell anyone else. It's not fair. I know what happened. I know what was done to me. Regardless of what anyone says, no one asks for something like that. Drunken consent is NOT consent. - Anonymous
I was raped when I was 15 years old by two boys from another high school. They roofied me. They not only vaginally raped me but anally, too. They bragged to all their friends that it was consensual.
I was unconscious. I remember waking up naked with my clothes thrown everywhere, feeling weird but not knowing what happened. When I got to school on the following Monday, I was "slut" shamed by everyone at my school. When asked, I denied everything. I continued to be "slut" shamed. I had no friends. I ate lunch by myself every day. I never reported the rape because that would have been admitting that I had sex. There was no sex education in my school to teach us what consent was. I didn’t realize what happened to me until I was 20 and learned about consent. Then I started having flashbacks to that night. My life has never been the same since I was raped. I have serious rage issues and I dream of murdering the men who did this to me. I went on to be abused by other men. I have a hard time trusting anyone. I have hardly ever made a female friend. "Slut" shaming ruins lives and sets rapists free. -- Anonymous I grew up in foster care, so when the time came to leave my abusive ex-husband, I was left with no resources or family support. I started dancing as a means to support myself, as my ex wasn’t paying child support and doing drugs with my bio parents; just to isolate me more. I was alone.
I was always apprehensive about meeting men from my job, but he insisted I could trust him since he knew my boss and played on the club's softball team. I was pretty burned out from being a single mom and took him up on his offer of Sunday night line dancing. Since I expected an older crowd I thought it would be safer. It’s almost like he knew, I had a feeling he couldn’t be trusted. He apparently paid the bartender's car payment for getting me drunk. I woke up the next morning in severe pain from the waist down. I couldn’t hold my urine and I was unable to go number two for 21 days because of the bruising and pain. He had raped me. The next day I called and asked, “WTH happened last night, I can’t even sit.” His response was, “you said you wanted it, who’s gonna believe you anyway, you’re the stripper with crack head parents, that was the tv that fell on you anyway.” I was shocked at the audacity and scared for some reason. Me and my therapist decided against reporting it as I was already suicidal and the public shaming I would have endured could have resulted in suicide. He was later fired from his tennis instructor job for being too aggressive with a married woman and busted for sleeping with a bunch of women and being inappropriate. He was shamed so badly for that, he has since moved away so I don’t have to worry about seeing him. This happened in June 2017 I still haven’t been out drinking and I live in constant fear of seeing him, not knowing what all he did to me that night. I don’t even want to imagine what all happened. I have guilt daily that I can’t report him. I fear he will hurt another woman, but I won’t survive what they will drag me though if I report him. I’ll always live with guilt now for not having the courage to speak out. -- Anonymous in Lafayette, Louisiana When I was 15, I lied to my parents and told them I was going to a party. At said party, I got extremely intoxicated and also had been smoking weed. I eventually blacked out and my best friend, for my safety, locked me in a bedroom in the basement to sleep since I was completely incoherent. A guy, who I was friends with, managed to pick the lock to that bedroom and began to rape me. I was too out of it to remember what was going on and to even try to stop it. I still don't remember a lot from that night, but I do remember the pain I felt from him forcing himself on me. It became extremely rough at one point as well, and I remember my head being slammed into the wall and another time slamming into the nightstand. Because everyone knew that I was sexually active at that point in my life, what came after that night was worse than the rape itself. Many people said that "she must've wanted it" and "a slut can't get raped, she'll always enjoy it." Some of this came from the people that I thought were my friends. I internalized a lot of what happened to me due to sexual bullying throughout high school and began to view myself as others were viewing me, a "slut." It has taken a major toll on my mental health and has led me into an emotionally abusive and manipulative relationship from 17 until I was 19. I also was never able to report anything that happened that night because my parents never knew I was there and I didn't want them to find out; I also just always believed that it was my fault for being too 'promiscuous' and getting too intoxicated. Thankfully, I have found a good relationship with a man that truly respects me for who I am and who I was. I am doing so much better now and have come to terms that, yes I do regret some things that I did, but there is no way to change it, so I choose to just accept it and keep it in the past. My sexuality does not define me as a person, and I will never let it define me again. -- Anonymous in Maryland
I have seen multiple confessions on my school's confessions page victim-blaming and slut-shaming women who have been sexually assaulted. These attacks are often 'justified' by the 'promiscuous clothing' the victims wore. Seeing these posts has made me incredibly disappointed in the people writing these confessions and the people liking them (some of which are my friends).
When I was 14 I met a guy in my class that I ended up liking. A shared friend of ours told me that he wanted to hang out with me more and gave me his number. We talked for a while and we were planning on smoking weed together (my first time) and I suggested going to a park. He was insistent on going to my house, and eventually, I said okay. I was just so desperate to like him. I accidentally fell asleep and woke up to sixteen missed calls from him, but he angrily agreed to still meet. When he got to my house, he claimed that he already smoked an entire joint and told me to smoke the one he handed me. I had never gotten high before and trusted him when I smoked the entire thing. I had stolen some of my parent's liquor and I had my very first sip of alcohol. It was disgusting and I told him that I didn't want to have anymore but he kept egging me on. I don't recall how much I had, but I don't remember him having any. I heard my dad wake up and told him to leave and he did. I was completely crossed and remember flashes of him asking if he should come back and me saying yes. The next thing I remember is he and I making out and it tasting like a fucking microwave burrito. After that, all I remember is A LOT of pain *down there* and then him leaving when he accidentally turned a light on. He told all of his friends and random people that I didn't know that we had had sex. My parents eventually found out and blamed me for it. I know I shouldn't have invited a boy over when they didn't know, but the slut-shaming didn't cease for several months. I started wearing more revealing clothes as a way to try to change who I was. When I came here, I've had my FAIR share of hookups and my friends, the guys especially, have repeatedly teased me about this. I always thought that my school was an accepting place, and while I love a lot of the people I've met here, those comments really hurt. Those same friends like posts similar to the ones I mentioned above. To this day, I physically can't have penetrative sex and I can't help but feel broken, especially when I tell the guys that and see the reaction on their faces. I'm not sure if it has to do with that night, but I just wanted to say it sucks. It sucks that assault still happens and it sucks that women have to deal with derogatory comments and it sucks that people are more focused on "what she was wearing." I'm just tired. While being in this support group has helped me process the incident, I’d be lying if I said I’ve completely processed it. Part of me still blames myself and believes I should have known better. Between what that boy told everyone in school, my parent’s values, and the posts that I saw, I can't help but feel disgusted. -- Anonymous in Berkeley, California When I was 14 years old, a boy I trusted and cared for took advantage of me. We had drinks, then he brought me to his room, before getting touchy with me. He raped me. But because of the fact I was wearing shorts for pyjamas and had drinks with him, people blame me. Because I was able to walk to my best friend's house the next morning, what he did to me wasn't "bad". Because he was "creepy" and "weird", I should've known better. Everyone finds themselves able to blame me before they can even find themselves condemning him. That night, I feel like I lost a part of myself. I isolated myself and some friends dropped me because I was too depressed after what happened. But him? Even after I reported him to school, he's still top of the class, he's still dating girls, he's even assaulted some from what I've heard. He's friends with my ex-friends who know what he did to me. To this day I'm too scared to even speak about what happened because people might not believe me. People have so many misconceptions about rape, about what it's like, that the fact I didn't become pregnant, or that I didn't scream or fight back makes people think I wanted it. No. I said no, I told him no several times and he still forcefully penetrated me. The fact that I dissociated doesn't devalue what he did to me. It sickens me that the only people I can "breathe" around, who believe me and condemn him, are rape victims themselves. If all the stigma about rape and victim-blaming and rape culture was erased from our society, maybe others like me wouldn't go through what I did all those years ago. So god bless this project, society needs this more than it'll ever know.
The first time I was raped, it was when I lost my virginity. I was coerced into doing it with a guy who I thought was my best friend. He was no friend. He was manipulative and cruel. I was told that your first time always hurts, you always bleed. It did hurt, and I did bleed - for two days in fact. I know now that that is a lie. Your first time doesn't have to hurt. If it does, you are probably not ready and willing. You are scared. And I was scared. I didn't want to do it. Looking back, I so wish I had said no. The second time I was assaulted, a guy at a party pushed me to the ground and forced oral sex on me. My crime? I was wearing a bikini and "let" him forcibly touch me in a hot tub. The third time, I was in college. I needed stitches after this encounter. And that is all I will say. The fourth time, I was drugged and remember none of it. I feel blessed that this time, this time I was at least spared the shame of remembering. Each time it happened, I shut off. I checked out. I day dreamed while it happened and cried in the shower after it was over. I have always repressed these memories. I did anything I could to convince myself this was all my fault. And I punished myself for it. I starved myself. I cut myself. I burned myself. I suffered crippling anxiety, to the point where I would rip out my hair and nails. It was only when I started reading this blog, and taking classes on feminist theory, that I realized it was not me. I was not the problem. We live in a culture where men see us as objects, where they feel entitled to our bodies. I was not assaulted multiple times because I was a slut or a freak or anything else. I have been assaulted multiple times because our culture said that was okay. And it's time for that to end.
Hello, I was a victim of rape when I was 19 and I was molested as a child. Growing up, I was happy go lucky. Then in high school, my junior year, I was so depressed and wanted to kill myself. I had a suicide attempt. I was talking to a guy I met online. Because I never met a guy in my small town that I liked. (I would never recommend meeting someone online, you don't know.) At the time, being 17, I was so lonely and I never felt worthy of a man's love. So I was always looking for it in the wrong places. Anyways, junior year was going great, I just won court warming princess at school and I was talking to a "great" guy. He kept asking me to take a picture without a shirt on. He kept threatening me that he would kill my family. Well I took one with my bra on. He sold it to a porn site, and he was not the age he said he was. I was cat fished. Sent me in a depressed spiral, I had so much anxiety. I wanted to disappear. I went to counseling after that and got help. Then when I was 19, I was going down a dangerous road. I met another guy on a dating site. He seemed harmless. So I thought. I went to his house, where I thought we were just going to watch a movie. Instead he violently raped me. I was so emotional and hurt physically and mentally. I went to the police 3 days later, and I didn't have enough evidence against the prick so they could not press charges. I felt like the legal system let me down. I got help though for that. I don't let rape define who I am. I am not a victim anymore, I am a survivor. I was called a lying slut by people after it happened. He told many people and so did my so called friends. No one ever deserves to get raped! I don't care what you do for work, what type of person you are, where you come from. NO means NO. I now let the negative people that called me those names out of my life. Through many months of counseling, I learned I am a strong women. And I could battle anything that comes my way. I am now in a healthy relationship and I turned my life around. I talk about what happened to me so people learn from my mistakes. And I explain about cyber bullying. I would love to talk to larger groups one day. No one is a slut. It's a disgusting, meaningless word. Until you walk a mile in someone's shoes, you can't judge them or give them a label. Everyone can battle what they have been through. - Survivor.Not.A.Victim.
When I was younger I felt like the only reason I ever got anybody's attention was because I was "active", (Obviously that's what was happening). No matter how promiscuous someone is, no means no. One night during freshman year my best friend and I had gotten drunk and walked to the high school to watch another friend of ours play volleyball. My phone had been vibrating off the hook with texts from my mom who was pissed I wasn't at home babysitting like I was supposed to be. Eventually I turned to my best friend and told her I needed to go home before I got in huge trouble, and since she wanted to stay and watch, I started to walk home. A little down the street I got a text from this guy I had been crushing on for YEARS. He said he was driving by and asked if I needed a ride home. I said yes. Mostly for my sake, I try not to remember how that night went down, and I ALWAYS remind myself how stupid it was to invite him over. But I honestly did just want to hang out with him. He was a popular guy, and I thought maybe if I could hang with him, I could hang with the others. Except he had other plans. And I spent the next week in the counsellors office, missing all my classes and talking to a certain police officer (I never got to thank him, I certainly would have). But I didn't want to have sex with him, and even though I can't remember everything that happened, I do remember saying no. And I do remember trying to push him off me. And it shouldn't matter that I invited him into my home, because I said no. A few weeks later I found out I was not the only girl it had happened to, and because I came out and told, so did a few others. About the same time as his trial (he was found guilty on all counts) a friend of his messaged me and told me that I was just an ugly slut who got mad when he didn't want anything more than sex. My inbox was bombarded with messages from his friends calling me all sorts of things. So when I showed the police officer, he told me to ignore it, because I knew it wasn't true, and they knew it wasn't true but were in denial. But I still carved 'ugly' into my thigh because that's the only part that stuck with me. And every couple of months I still go over it with a razor because it feels right. Though it's been almost 6 years, I see him around town and I'm instantly taken back to that 13 year old year and I can't help but feel helpless and weak.
I forgive the people who were unkind to me. I forgive the people who judged and still judge me.10/21/2019
12th May 2013. The day I woke up naked in an unfamiliar bed with a cut on my forehead and an unfamiliar pain in between my thighs. I feel weird sharing this story because no one has never believed me before and I have always held myself accountable for what happened to me. I was in year 13, an outstanding student, a prefect and a virgin. I did live a secret life and that was the fact that I was drinking a lot. To the extent of me blacking out. But I never ever let people know just how dependent I was and still am with alcohol. Because I was done with my A level History exam, I thought it was a good idea to go hang out with my friend from school. All I remember from that evening is getting tipsy and laying my head down "for a minute to rest". I remember him laughing saying he was the better drinker. I woke up naked. And my whole body hurt. I wore my clothes and walked out of the room to find my "friend" sprawled out on the couch in his pair of blue boxers. I had a sense of strong foreboding. I had had sex. Unconsensual sex. He had had sex with me while I was passed out or close to. I was disgusted. I remember asking him what the hell had happened and he said nothing. I asked why I was naked. He told me he had tried to sober me up by putting me in the shower. I left it at that and went home but noticing that I was bleeding, went to the pharmacy and bought the morning after pill. I was ashamed of myself. I didn't know who to tell. I thought I had brought it on myself by drinking beyond my limit. But again, he was my friend. I should have been able to trust him, right? Nevertheless I didn't go to school the next day because I was in pain and full of self loathing. I wish I had because I doubt he would have shamed me the way he did that day. My best friend called and told me that he was going around telling people that "he hit it first" and that I was screaming for him and that I was tight and all other vulgarities. I remember telling her he had raped me but her brushing it off like it was nothing. It turns out that as I was passed out and naked he had called up his best friend to come over. His best friend was telling everyone what I looked like naked. It was all too much for me. I lost friends and the boys all slut shamed me. No one believed me. I remember retreating into myself and hating myself because I felt that that precious part of me was stolen. I had brought it on myself, or so everyone seemed to think. I had gone to his house with the intention of having sex. It's two years now but the pain of being alone in this has never left. I recently told my mom and she's been helping me through it. I have gone to counseling but it still doesn't remove the fact that because I was raped by definition, due to lack of valid consent (drunken consent is not consent). I have had a problem taking sex seriously. I started having more sex after the pain never left because I felt I was worthless and my body was nothing. After all everyone believed I was a slut and that I had brought it on myself. It is only recently that I met a guy who even though is not in my life that way anymore, showed me that I should not drink to be intimate, and he is the first guy I have been with sober and it felt alright. I am consciously working towards respecting my body more and seeing that even though I was raped and slut shamed for it, I do not help myself any more by shaming myself, too. I have forgiven that boy. I have forgiven myself. I forgive the people who were unkind to me. I forgive the people who judged and still judge me. And I am kind to those who are slut shamed because I know how one misgiving on your part as a girl can lead to everyone being nasty to you. - Mutesi
When I came back from being in the hospital to high school, I was not welcomed with opened arms.10/21/2019
It all started when I was 5 years old. I was in kindergarten. Kids would tease me because I was so different, calling me retard, stupid, I would just lash out and hit one of one the bullies because I did not know how to control my anger. So I was put in a private school. The school could not handle bad behavior so I was kicked out. I was a loner and did not have many friends! My dad abused me as a child with a belt at age 5 on up until I was 11, and with no dinner. As I was growing up I was out of the one private school and put back in regular school when I was in 4th grade to 5th grade and I was 11 and 12 yrs old. My next door neighbor molested me at the age of 11 for about 6 months and was never convicted of it. I never told anyone about it until years later. While that was going on I would mutilate myself with a razor blade. When I was 13 years old I was molested by my stepfather from 13 to 16. He never was convicted. While that was going on I tried to kill myself with a knife. I was kicked out of 6th grade because I beat up the bully and I tried to kill myself! When I was 14 years old I was date raped by two guys. One guy I knew of, the other guy I never knew at all. The one guy hit my head in the back seat and knocked me out and that is all I could remember. They both were not convicted! I was 18 years old when my ex boy friend abused me. He was a lot older than me by 13 years. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me across the floor, and took his head and split my lip, and took out his 37 and put it to my head and said, "You're mine." To this day I have a restraining order on him for life. In the same year I was going back to regular school (when I was 17, that is when I went back). I was doing okay, did not make friends well, I was a loner! I went to my junior prom in 1991. So in 1991 to 1992 as I was in my senior year, I just lost it. I was put in a mental facility for teenagers because I was still going to school. I just one day snapped, as I was out of control of what happened to me in the past and what was current at the time. When I came back from being in the hospital to high school, I was not welcomed with opened arms. I was bullied so badly I came home just in tears. It was so bad, sexually and other things, they called me Hotdog Girl: "I heard when she stuck it up there it broke off and she had to be rushed to the hospital to have it surgically removed," over and over again during my high school senior year in 1992. I had to be home schooled from November to May until I was at my senior prom. After that I went back to high school but that did not last long. Mind you, I was petite. I was skinny with big breasts. I was 109 lbs. On June 18th, 1992 as my name was called as I was getting my high school diploma, some guy called out and said, "Hey Hotdog Girl!" and everyone just clapped and cheered. I was so embarrassed, humiliated, and upset about it that I just decided that I will never go to a high school reunion. And I am now 41 years old! Only 3 people said they were sorry but the rest, no! On July 28th, 2010 I was getting bullied by a 30 year old female. Calling me all kinds of names, she struck me on the side of my neck with a closed fist and damaged my neck (called a brachial plexus injury). I will wear a splint on my left side of my wrist for the rest of my life. All because I was sticking up for myself and I was avoiding a fight to walk away! And justice was never served. - Jen
Let me start by divulging my age. I am 60 soon to be 61. I saw your story on The Doctors and it struck a chord. I suffered from the damages of the "slut" label while growing up in a southern California resort town, with little supervision, really no supervision. I was pinned down on the beach and groped by boys multiple times; I was 12. My crime was developing too fast, and my other crime was befriending a severely psychologically damaged, obviously sexually abused 12 yr old girl who was gang raped by older boys or as it was called pull the train. I was actually on a boat with her and my 12 yr old boyfriend when it happened. I panicked and one of the older boys took the two of us back to shore but left my friend behind. I have know idea how many times this scenario played out but it was many. What a sad creature with the dead look in her eyes. It was rumored she committed suicide. This event as well as the sexual abuse inflicted upon me by my father from age 6 to 9 shaped my self image and my behavior. I've never really recovered and have had many disastrous relationships but now at this age I am finally free, I don't need sex, I don't want sex, I'm free to never tolerate abusive behaviors that I used to tolerate because I was searching for love in all the wrong places. Now after raising five children and just starting grad school in marriage and family counseling, I'm not only taking control of my own life but reaching out in the hopes of making a difference in women's lives who have been there and are struggling to get back into life again. Being labeled a slut in middle school when girls are at their most vulnerable is a devastating thing to happen, even more so in today's digital world. I hope my story puts a different perspective on the topic. This is not a new phenomenon. - Allison Greer
When I was in high school I was called a slut because I told my boyfriend at the time "no." That Monday, I was a "slut" and had slept with the entire football team. I was a virgin at the time. A guy I went to school with found out where I lived and broke into my house and raped me when I was 15 years old. After that, I would carve the word "slut" into my arm. My family also calls me a slut because I want to wear short skirts, swim suits, or shorts. I try to laugh it off but it is impossible. I have such self esteem issues it's not funny. I cut myself because my own family calls me a slut and a whore. They have gone so far as to ask what corner I was working. I am 21 years old with a son and I am still getting called a slut. - Candace Stoneking
I lost my best friend at a very early age due to slut shaming. My best friend was raped while drunk at my house and I had to move that year. The boys then bullied my best friend behind my back until she killed herself. To Nancy Meogeout, I am so sorry I had to move at 13 and abandon you. I will never forgive them or myself. Not only did the boy get away with it, he thrives now. What do you suggest to honor this woman who was only 20 at her death? - Jaye
It started freshman year of high school. I was fourteen at the time and like most fourteen year olds I was a little bit naive. So when a boy in my class started talking to me and wanted to hang out and maybe fool around a little bit, I thought it seemed like a great idea. In my mind fooling around meant kissing and maybe him going under my shirt. To him it meant something completely different. He also persuaded me to send him nude pictures. We ended up hanging out and it escalated quickly. He told me I should give him oral sex (he didn't call it that), and when I said "no, I've never done that before and I'm not ready to do that" he thought what he wanted was more important than what I wanted. He guided me to the ground (as I was saying no), put me on my knees and pushed my head on to his penis and held it there. I couldn't breathe. I started to cry, he told me I was horrible at it. Then he pushed me against the wall as he fingered me while I cried and said no. It was incredibly painful. A few days later people at my small high school found out we had "hooked up". Overnight I had become the school slut. People were coming up to me in the hallways, freshman through seniors alike, saying how much of a slut I was, or that they heard I had done this, that, and the other thing, and if I could do it for them too. Horrible rumors were spread about me. It wasn't just at school either---it continued online even after the school day was over. Before I knew it kids from other local schools were saying things as well. Guys would start talking to me and I thought they liked me...after a few friendly texts back and forth, they stopped trying and flat out said "so are you gonna send me a picture of your tits now or what?" This happened over and over again. It deflated my self esteem----and fourteen year old girls typically don't have the highest self esteem to begin with. I doubted my own self worth. I blamed myself constantly for what happened. How could I not when every single day I received comment after comment about how much of a slut I was and how no one will ever want me. The only reason guys talked to me was to get pictures. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and didn't have the energy to fight back or to try to prove any of them wrong. They believed what they wanted to believe anyway, so I didn't see how I could change that. Why would they want to believe what actually happened when the story they heard was way more interesting and scandalous. I started sending guys pictures whenever they asked.
I didn't really hook up with another guy until two years later. I was extremely uncomfortable and didn't have enough self confidence to say no to things that I didn't want to happen. The first guy didn't listen so why would this guy? I wasn't into what we were doing. I wasn't even mentally in the room. My mind was somewhere else. It was an out of body experience. I was watching him hold my head forward as he put his penis in my mouth, and as he fingered me while he had his hand tightly around my throat. The the next time I hung out with a guy, at 16, I thought we were friends. I didn't think he was ONLY after me for sexual things. But once again I was proved wrong. We had texted about some things we wanted to do to each other, but we had also texted a lot about non sexual things. So when we hung out he expected we were going to do what we talked about, and when I said I realized I wasn't comfortable with it and I really did not want to do it, he told me "sluts can't change their minds." He pushed me on the bed, took his pants off and took my clothes off. I kept saying no and trying to change the subject. He put a condom on, told me I would like it. I protested a few more times, started crying and then just laid there like a dead fish staring blankly at the ceiling while he went inside me. I didn't move my body at all. This frustrated him and he put his hand under me and started to move my body into his. He finished and threw my clothes at me. I left as quickly as I could. A year or so later I met a guy and we started dating. It was a real relationship. A month or two in I told him a little about my past and he still wanted to be with me. Eventually I told him everything, and that was the first time I STARTED to see that it wasn't my fault what happened to me. I still was not ready to face it all though. Things were great with him. We fell in love and were in a relationship for three years, mutually ending things when we realized we were on two completely different paths. But there was a major problem in our relationship, although we both tried our best to pretend it wasn't there and that we could overcome it: anything related to sex. Sometimes I was completely okay with things and 100 percent into it. Other times I wasn't but I never said no. I didn't know how to say no. I didn't think I deserved to say no. So it became a constant fight because he could tell when I wasn't into it. He told me I needed to say no if I didn't want to do something. So I started to...and I felt empowered for the first time. So I started saying no more than I was saying yes. At the time I didn't really understand why I was doing that...but upon further self reflection and maturity...I now know that I was so deeply uncomfortable and squeamish about anything related to sex, that it was easier for me to avoid it altogether. I didn't want to pretend that I was enjoying something and I was tired of feeling uncomfortable. It was extremely frustrating for me to be turned on and to want to enjoy being intimate with my boyfriend, but somehow I always ended up going back to being fourteen and being the school slut. Certain things were better than others, and I preferred to do things to him rather than risk having him do something to me and losing any sense of control. It wasn't until shortly before our break up this past year that I started to understand and was emotionally ready to reflect on what happened to me. I realized that I was sexually assaulted, that it was not my fault, and that even though I didn't physically fight them off of me and after a while I stopped saying "no", I never said or SHOWED any signs of saying yes. Crying, turning away, passively lying there, not kissing them back, not looking at them, not helping in any way.....those all say no. They had no right to do the things they did to me. The things they did and the backlash I received all four years of high school and occasionally still today--- it all deeply affected me and my life. I still feel shame talking about or doing anything related to sex. I'm still afraid thats the only reason a guy is talking to me. I'm scared to show that I'm interested in something sexual because I don't want people to think I'm a "slut". My reputation was destroyed because of things I did not even want to happen. I have recently started working through this with a counselor and it has helped immensely. But I'm still constantly afraid I'm going to be uncomfortable in sexual situations for the rest of my life. I am just starting to talk to guys again after my break up, I spent the past 5 months focusing completely on myself and finally confronting the trauma I experienced. And as far as I have come in the past 5 months, I know I still have a great deal of work to do to get to the point where this is truly a part of my past and not a part of my everyday thoughts. To those boys who took my innocence and made my first sexual encounters deeply traumatizing and to the hundreds of people who made comments about how much of a dirty slut I was; I want you to know I forgive you. Even though you probably have no idea what you did wrong (gotta love rape culture), I forgive you. And I want you to know that you didn't BREAK me. You cracked a few pieces of me, but you never broke me. And you never will. I am a million times stronger because of the horrible things you did to me. I am a kind, compassionate, genuine, smart, considerate beautiful person. You can't ever take those things away from me. You never did, and you sure as hell never will. My name is Amy. I am a survivor of many forms of sexual assault, but the one I'm going to talk about today involves slut-shaming, and still to this day rattles me whenever I overhear a certain movie. My co-workers at the time, who I'll refer to as J and A, decided to invite me to hang out with them and their good friend, G. We were going to watch movies and relax after a long, busy day at work. I agreed since I'd been stressed out that day. We got to G's house and decided to watch The Crow and The Crow 2 since it was all we could agree on. We started the movie and J realized she needed to go home to feed her animals. A decided to go with her. We were about halfway through the first movie when G decided to move closer to me so we could talk. "So you're a lesbian?" he asked. I nodded and said "My partner C and I have been together for about three years and are pretty happy." He moved closer and asked if I'd ever been with men. I didn't realize it at the time but now know it was a red flag and I should have tried to get away from him. Then he pushed me down into the couch and pinned my wrists over my head. I tried to push him up off of me. He smirked and said "I'm going to make you never want women again, I'm going to turn you straight." Then he pushed up my skirt and pulled my underwear down, and I disassociated, and didn't really remember what happened next until recently. (I knew I'd been raped, just didn't remember details.) I ran outside sobbing, and waited for my friends to return. They showed up within ten minutes, but it felt like I waited forever. A asked if I was alright. I told her I wasn't and whispered "He raped me." She told told me she'd take me to the hospital right away. J looked as if she wanted to laugh. "Oh, like it was rape, you've told us you haven't gotten any from C in ages, I bet you really enjoyed it." I wanted to punch her but I didn't have the strength, instead A and I got in her car, and I decided not to go to the hospital. I got home and immediately hopped in the shower, scrubbing my body so hard that my skin felt almost raw. I knew that now I couldn't report it, but I didn't care. I'd felt so dirty and had to wash any traces of him away. Sometimes I wish I'd reported him, and I know I still can but I most likely never will. Since it was late, I decided I would wait until the next morning to call C since we both had to work the next day. Since I'd decided to take the day off and I knew she went in around noon, I called her. The conversation went like this: "Hey babe I need to talk to you about something important." "Okay, go ahead." "Uhm, I don't really know how to say this, but... uhm I was raped last night." She began to laugh, "Right you were raped, I'm sure of it. Even though you and I haven't had sex in ages, you have a high sex drive, I bet you begged for it." I hung up and immediately felt ashamed and like a slut. It felt like that night all over again. We broke up shortly after that conversation. For a long time after that, I constantly questioned my sexuality. I was a lesbian who liked it when someone used a strap-on, so did that mean I had wanted it that night? Since I'd been denied sex, didn't that mean I had wanted it? I felt like a slut, even though I logically knew I wasn't one. I'd been slut-shamed. I want those reading this to know that your sexual orientation doesn't matter when it comes to sexual assault. Neither does having a partner or being single. Just because someone doesn't believe you, I do, no matter what your story is. These days, I've reclaimed who I am, and no longer question my sexuality. I'm proud to be a lesbian, and proud to be a survivor. It's been a long, hard road but thanks to people like my survivor sister Nicole, good friends, and an amazing former therapist, I feel good about who I am. I'm hoping that by writing this, I can help others and finally put this completely behind me. - Amy M
I went to enrollment for a community college and sat next to a table of white boys wearing black jackets. None of these boys had ever met; they were all from different cities and even states. I instantly felt uncomfortable to be anywhere near them and didn't understand why. As we were going through the student handbook, the presenter lectured about rape and how 'no' means no. She informed us that a university here in Kansas is currently investigating over 40 rape allegations. When she asked the group if a short skirt meant 'yes', the round table of white boys immediately said yes and joked about it amongst themselves. Even if they were kidding, it was completely disgusting and very unnerving. I thought my prejudgment was silly; I didn't know these boys and I'm not one to expect the worst of people. This is not acceptable, even as a joke. - Dominique
Once when I was 17, I used to be really into drugs. I would take any offer to do them no matter how sketch the situation seemed. One thing I never did do, nor will ever do, is sexual favors for drugs, but back to my story. I got a call at 3:00 am from one of my guy friends who told me he was at the end of my street and to come down to smoke a bowl of weed. I woke up and went down the street when I got there he handed me a bong and some weed and then I took a couple rips then he took the bong away. He asked if I wanted to have sex. I said no and that I was just here to smoke. He said that the weed wasn't for free and I had to return the favor, and I didn't have a choice. Then proceeded to grab me and push my body over and rip off my dress, literally rip my dress off. I tried to get up and scream for help and he pushed me back down over a brick wall so I hit my head on the bricks. I got scared that I was going to start to bleed out of my head, and because I have a bleeding disorder I could bleed out very quickly if I got too bad of a gash. So I just laid bent over and took it. He anally raped me for what felt like forever. When I felt like his grasp had loosened, I jumped up. It startled him, causing him to push back. I ran as fast as I could back home, leaving my ripped dress behind but pulling the shirt I had over it all the way down. I was in shock for the next too weeks. He had torn my rectum and I bled for three days after the incident. I convinced myself that it was my fault and I had asked for it. It got to the point that I was even trying to convince myself I wanted it. Then one day I learned about a thing called feminism, and that it's not okay to do that to humans. We need to be treated equal and it doesn't matter what I wore or did, if I said, "no," then I meant no. There's no pressuring me into saying yes. There's no threatening or bribing me to say yes. Three no's and one yes doesn't make consent. I've realized that we should teach others not to rape instead of teaching people to not victimize themselves so they get raped. It has been four years since the event. I am in a drug program. I attend NA meetings, I go to college and am studying to be a school psychologist, and I have a job at TERI Inc. which is a center for developmentally disabled adults and children. I go to therapy once a week and work out my sexual assault a little every time. I do suffer from PTSD, but I live a better life now. I don't let my rape hold me back today. Stay strong everyone! - Katie
I have always been a very sexual person, ever since my mom first told me about sex (when I was in kindergarten). My mom's one of those spiritual, earthy, I guess you could say hippie moms. She protested the Vietnam war and all that jazz. So she was very open when it came to sex. It was a natural, beautiful thing that should be done all the time. I was raised that it was healthy to have sex a lot, as long as you were protected. So when I was 14 I experienced foreplay for the first time. Rumors started to go all around town, I live in a small town by the way, about how "Katie got fisted!" Or "He stuck his entire fist up her!" I cried and cried, but didn't want to tell my mom because, well, I was 14 and I was shy and embarrassed. Now the rumors weren't true, but as I gradually progressed so did they. I had experienced lust and I wanted more. I lost my virginity when I turned 15. The big time word for slut in our town at the time was, "trout," and of course since my last name started with a 'T,' I had the nickname, "Katie trout." Still to this day (I am almost 21 now) people will ask me if my last name is trout. I started to dabble in drugs. First marijuana, then ecstasy, followed by cocaine. When I turned 16 I went to a rehab/behavioral center called Provo Canyon School for 10 months. Every time I got to go on a visit with my family I would text this guy that I had a crush on. Now, having just turned 17, and having been locked in an all girls facility for 10 months, I was dying for some male attention but I had a bad feeling. I get a phone call from this kid at 3am saying, "Hey I'm right down the street, wanna smoke a bowl?" So I walked down there and he was belligerently drunk. He asked if I wanted to have sex and only having had sex a few times, I declined. So he grabbed me and threw me in a bent over position. I tried to get up but he kept throwing my head down and it kept hitting a concrete brick. So I gave up. I got anal raped that night. After that my drug use spiraled out of control. I began to smoke methamphetamines daily just to forget what had happened. How I was violated. At this point I was 18. I went to another rehab/mental hospital. What they call dual diagnosis programs. I have bipolar and severe PTSD, and was self medicating with the crystal meth. Eventually I got out and ended up going to an amazing high school called North County Academy, which is basically a school for kids on probation or with severe mood problems or drug programs. I graduated in 2013, ASB president, a peer mentor, prom queen, and I established the first ever prom at the school. One day I decided, since I was doing so well and I was so stable, to contact my rapist and confront him. He told me that I was a dirty slut and I had wanted it and, "Go back to the mental hospital, Katie trout." That night I relapsed. I went to one more rehab, who referred me to my therapist whom I have now. She is truly my lifesaver. Now I am 20 years old in a stable relationship with the man I am absolutely in love with, I go to a outpatient drug program, I go to college, and I work at a residential drug rehab as an intern so that I can get my drug and alcohol counseling certificate. I don't believe in calling women sluts. Because we just don't know what goes on behind closed doors. We can't experience their lives, their pain, their pleasure. So might as well let them live the way they are going to, all judgment aside. - Katie Traugh
It was Valentine's day 2 years ago and I had lost my keys, my friend kindly let me stay at his place. I was pretty drunk but we stayed up for a bit talking and watching videos. When I tried to go to sleep he started kissing me. I pushed away and told him "no". He kept asking why and telling me how he'd always wanted to. I kept coming out with excuses like "I like someone" "I only see us as friends" etc. He told me that no one would find out and he did let me stay at his house, after that he kept kissing me and I just said yes because I knew he would do it anyway. During it, I'd tell him to stop but he wouldn't listen. The next day I was sober and realised my "friend" of 4 years did not listen to me. My "friend" betrayed my trust. I reached out to a couple friends about it and asked if it was rape, a couple said yes. I started to slowly accept it a few months later and stopped having panic attacks, but someone told him I said he raped me. He was incredibly rude whenever he saw me and glared at me and barged into me. That's when I decided to go to therapy, after my friends had stopped speaking to me. Since I was sleeping around, people thought I lied because I "was a slut". I was suicidal and began leading a reckless life of drinking and sleeping around even more. Two years on, my friends have apologised and I do feel better, I have my bad days but I have a good life now. I still panic when I see him but I can put it behind me and just use my experience to try and help others going through the same or to at least take away a little bit of the stigma.
I grew up in a very small town in Arkansas. In high school I was always well liked. I was a cheerleader and a very advanced student. I always did my schoolwork, maintained a near perfect grade point average, participated in cheer, choir, and several other clubs, served on the prom committee, etc. I never got into trouble and I followed my parents' rules. I had a serious boyfriend from age 14 to age 16 and he was my first love. We did a lot of "making out" in those two years, and while some of my friends were already having sex, the Christian based morals and values I'd been raised with kept me from giving into the pressure. After my boyfriend and I broke up I was devastated. I spiraled into a pretty severe depression. I developed an eating disorder and became extremely underweight (72 lbs was my lowest weight at age 16). That's when my next boyfriend entered the picture. He was tall, smart, funny....and he did and said all the right things. Told me I was special and beautiful and bought me flowers and expensive jewelry. One night he picked me up to go watch movies with him at his house. My parents asked if his parents were home and he said they were. When we got to his house, I discovered his parents weren't home and would be gone overnight. I expressed my discomfort with the issue but he convinced me to stay and watch a movie with him. As it tends to do with teenagers, watching a movie led to a heavy make out session. He kept asking me to take my underwear off and was trying to convince me to have sex but I kept telling him no I don't think I'm ready for that. At one point he excused himself to the bathroom (I later discovered this was to put a condom on). When he came back he jumped on top of me, ripped my underwear off, and forced himself inside of me. All the while I kept saying, "Please stop. I'm not sure I'm ready for this!" And his response as he entered me was "Well you're sure now." My self esteem was so low at this point in life that I convinced myself nothing wrong had happened and I stayed with him for several months after this. He became very controlling and abusive...pulling my hair out, burning me with cigarettes, calling me a slut or whore if I dressed nice at school or anytime I wore my cheerleading uniform. I never told anyone about the rape or abuse...I suffered in silence. Somehow, I finally found the courage to leave him but his abuse and the rape left its mark. I went wild partying and dating several boys that summer. The relationships I had with men after that were all centered around sex and by the time I came back from summer break for my senior year of high school, everyone in school was talking about me and what a SLUT I was. In reality, most of them had had many more sexual experiences than I had, but the fact that I had gone wild and partied and started dressing and acting different made them think differently of me. The rape and abuse were bad enough, but now I was being sexually bullied by my classmates. I will never forget what happened to me as a teenager. I worked through it and attended therapy as an adult to keep it from affecting my sexual relationship with my husband once I got married. I feel that it has shaped me into who I am and made me a stronger woman, but if I could spare any girl from going through what I went through, I would. You don't have to suffer in silence. You don't have to be ashamed. My hope is that, someday, women and men will be treated equally when it comes to sex. That we will no longer be shamed for the same things men are glorified for. Sadly, we still have a long way to go. - Erin
I was raped and brutally assaulted the summer going into my senior year of high school. For weeks after the incident I kept it a secret for fear of judgement, but eventually the fear of pregnancy or disease was too great that I told my mother and was taken to the hospital for a rape kit. I chose not to press charges because I didn't want it to get in the way of my senior year and college application process, but more so because in the back of my mind, I thought it was my fault. Society had taught me that no matter how many bruises and cuts I had to prove the assault, that because I was intoxicated it was just as much my fault. For anyone considering pressing charges, please do, it is my biggest regret. Rape is the only crime where the victim can be blamed, don't let this continue. Rape is rape and we need justice. - Megan K.
During the first week of my Freshman year of high school, I got my first boyfriend. We went to the free movie night that the city park held every weekend during the summer, and neither one of us could tell you what the movie even was because we were making out in the grass, a tangle of arms and legs and lips all mashed together. It was terribly romantic. In retrospect, I feel bad for the horde of friends that were sitting near us having to listen to our sloppy make-out session for two hours. After the movie, he and I went off to find somewhere more private because I wanted him to touch my boobs without people looking at us. He told me that his parents were out of town, so we went to his house. When we got there, we were making out some more, and I let him touch my boobs, and then he asked if we could have sex, and I said that I guessed it was okay, as long as we used condoms because I was way too young to be getting pregnant. He didn't have any, and couldn't find where his parents stashed theirs, so I told him no way. That's when things started to go downhill. He held me down and rubbed his crotch on mine and begged me to let him have sex with me. I kept saying no, and asking him to let me up but he wouldn't. After awhile, it became apparent to me that he had no intention of letting me go until we had sex, so I finally gave in. I knew that what he was doing was rape because he didn't stop when I said to stop, and that I hadn't really consented because he forced me, but unfortunately, many high-schoolers are not so enlightened, including him.
After it happened, I asked him to please not tell anyone what we did, and he agreed. The next day at school, I walked into the classroom where we shared a class with a lot of our mutual friends, and he was already there talking to a huge crowd of male friends. They were pressing him to find out how far he'd gone with me, and he said, "She made me promise not to tell." They said, "THAT MEANS YOU DID IT! You had SEX!!!" and then he said, "Yeah, we had sex!" Right then, my fate was sealed, and I'd be known as a slut for the rest of the time I went to that school. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die because now he'd told everyone who saw us sucking face all night that we'd had sex, and there was no chance anyone would believe me if I told them I hadn't wanted it. It was then that I resolved that, since "no" couldn't stop a guy from taking advantage, then I just wouldn't say "no" anymore. You can't rape the willing, right? That philosophy of mine tainted every sexual partner I had from then until I was 18, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our relationship was a rocky one, constantly on and off. When we were "on," he treated me like an afterthought. I was pretty much a warm hole for him to put his dick in. When we were "off," he'd tell all of our friends that I was crazy, slutty, overemotional, and a bitch. Only one or two ever saw through all that bullshit, although they still didn't believe me when I told them that he had raped me. They didn't think that I'd want to get back together with him over and over again if that were true. In reality, his forcibly taking my virginity made me feel like he owned me, or at least a part of me, and I wasn't complete without that part that he had, so I had to be with him so I could be whole. Towards the end of Freshman year, I started dating a senior. Red flag 1: He wanted us to be a "secret." Red flag 2: He didn't like me hanging out with my friends because "they're so immature and I don't like them and you're better than them." Red flag 3: If I got a text message while I was out with him, he would take my cell phone and read it and if it was from someone he didn't like, he'd keep my cell phone until he dropped me back off at my house. A bajillion red flags to top it off: Even though he told me I was "too good" to hang out with MY friends, when we hung out with his friends, I was "the little slut" and the "dick-sucking whore." I laughed along with them when he and they would refer to me as such, and when his friends would ask to touch or see my boobs, HE was the one who gave permission. I wasn't even asked. I went along with it, though, because I thought if I don't say "no" then it's okay, but if I DO say "no" then they'll just ignore me and it will be bad. (Terrible mindset.) After 3 months, he broke it off with me because I was "too clingy." (Of course I was too clingy. He isolated me from all my friends and made it so he was the only person I felt safe around. Ironic, since he was the person who was making me unsafe to begin with.) My sophomore year was marked by another on-off relationship, but that relationship was actually pretty good. While we were together, he always respected my wishes, and while we were apart, he refrained from trash-talking me or trying to turn my friends against me. The REAL problem in my sophomore year was with the on-again-off-again-boyfriend of my friend, let's call her "Trish," who, during what I THOUGHT was one of their "off" phases, (and during one of my off phases with my Sophomore on-off boyfriend) Trish's boyfriend expressed interest in me. It turned out that they were officially "on," but Trish wasn't putting out because every time she did, they broke up, so she was holding out so that he would respect her more. (LOL riiight.) So, he asked me if I wanted to go for a ride in his car, and I agreed. While he was driving, he asked if I would give him road head, and I didn't see the harm in that (MORON! Talk about distracting the driver!!) so I did. When we got out to.... the middle of freaking nowhere... He asked if I'd ever done anal, which I hadn't. He asked if I wanted to, and I said no. Then he asked if I would. That's when my can't-rape-the-willing-so-always-be-willing mindset kicked in, and I said yes. It hurt REALLY BAD because 1) I'd never done it before. 2) His dick was HUGE. 3) Neither one of us knew enough about anal sex to have any LUBE!!! I started crying almost right away, and he asked if I was okay, and I said "It just hurts," and he asked if I wanted him to stop, and I didn't say anything, so he kept going. The next day at school, Trish slapped me across the face and called me a slut, whore, bitch, etc. Every name in the book. She told me that she new I had cheated with her boyfriend and that I'd let him have anal sex with me and that made me a dirty skank. I tried explaining that I'd thought they were broken up. He TOLD me they were broken up! She told me that they weren't broken up, but even if they were, I knew that Trish loved him, so how could I even think of doing anything with him??? Of course, she forgave him, but she never, ever forgave me. I lost a couple of other friends over that, too, because they agreed with her: You DON'T EVER sleep with a friend's ex. Trish's boyfriend still talked to me. But from then on, that's all we did. We actually got to be quite close friends. Whenever Trish was mad at him, we'd talk about what a bitch she was. My junior year of high school, I moved back to my hometown to live with my Dad. My reputation didn't travel that far. I kept a low profile there, and didn't have too many boyfriends. My senior year, I got together with a very kind boy in my own grade. I am ashamed to admit it, but I was pretty cruel to him. I like to blame it on the fact that I was so abused in many of my relationships prior, and that was just how I knew to be IN a relationship, but it's also partly because I just didn't respect him. He was taking 11th grade English in one of his elective slots because he'd failed it the previous year. I was a straight-A student without even trying. I never saw him as my equal, but in kindness, heart, and compassion, he outstripped me BY FAR. Anyway, I spent Spring Break back where all the trouble happened. I texted Trish's boyfriend to see what he was up to, and he told me that he and Trish had broken up again and he thought it was for good that time and all he wanted was to have sex with someone else and forget all about her. He wanted me to have sex with him. I told him that I couldn't because I was in a relationship and wouldn't cheat. He kept on asking and asking over and over, just like my Freshman boyfriend, but this time, it was over text messages. He couldn't hurt me, or so I thought. I believed I had the power. Finally he gave up and asked if I would just come hang out with him. It was around 2 A.M., so I had to sneak out to meet him. I got into his car, he drove out to the middle of nowhere, and he raped me. There wasn't even the illusion of consent that time. Of course, he told me that if I told anyone, he'd tell them I was lying, and nobody would believe me because we'd done it before, I was KNOWN for being a slut, and I snuck out of my house to meet him in the middle of the night of my own free will. I got back to my hometown, and my boyfriend, I couldn't even let him touch me. I felt so awful. I felt used, abused, and I hated what had been done to me, but I also felt GUILTY for letting it happen. What did I expect, sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet someone who I KNEW wanted to have sex with me? I got into his car on my own. I should have known what would happen. My boyfriend found the text messages, which included things from Trish's Boyfriend like, "You liked it last time," and "Come on, we're great together, and nobody has to know." And things from me like, "You know I'm sexually attracted to you, but you also know I have a BOYFRIEND," and "If I were single, it would be different. I would fuck you in a heartbeat." So he drew the only conclusion that made sense to him: I'd cheated. He confronted me. At first, I was just angry that he went through my phone. It was a violation of privacy, and he should have trusted me enough to not do that. When he countered by saying that I wouldn't have a problem with it if I didn't have something to hide, and who was this guy anyway, and was he better than (senior boyfriend) and was that why I hadn't wanted him touching me, because this other guy was so much better than (senior boyfriend)?? That's when I broke down crying and told him the whole story. Before that, he hadn't even known about my freshman year. I never claimed to be a virgin, but I hadn't told him that I wasn't, either. He was SO kind, and SO understanding. He told me OF COURSE a "yes" under coercion didn't count as consent. OF COURSE I had the right to trust a long-time friend, and OF COURSE it was not my fault that my trust, and my body, had been violated. We ended up breaking up after senior year when I went off and joined the military, and he flunked BOTH his English classes, and a history class, and had to repeat senior year. He did help me tremendously, though, in taking back my ability to say "no." Hearing confirmation of what I'd always thought to be true, but still doubted because nobody, not even my own mother, believed me, and FROM a sexual partner, made me realize that I was allowed to say no. And that anyone who ignored the "no" and forced a "yes" was a rapist. I did not deserve to be raped. I did not deserve to be called a slut because I was raped. Nobody deserves to be called a slut. Unfortunately I have several stories of sexual harassment, abuse and assault. I was sexualized as a young girl, where people would comment on how cute my figure was, even before puberty, before any development. In Jr. high I was constantly referred to as "the wall" for not having developed larger breasts, by one particular boy. I am sure there were others as well. I will never forget him or his name. On Halloween in his neighborhood he cornered me and sprayed shaving cream up my skirt. I was bullied by two eighth grade girls because I wore high heeled shoes and threatened with beating me up. In 8th grade I went from being popular to being an outcast for becoming friends with a boy who broke up with his girlfriend and began paying attention to me. I had never been kissed. All of my friends turned against me, calling me a slut. I was threatened again with beating me up. I turned to alcohol and drugs, partying. I was assaulted many times while too intoxicated to physically stop what was happening to me or not knowing what I was doing. Photographs were taken while I was held down, too drunk to resist. This was before cell phones or the internet, thank goodness. I attempted suicide twice. I got sober, got help, got better - but this is when I began to remember all the assaults. I didn't even know that is what they were until years later. Now, I am a counselor. We must share our stories with young women, to know they are not alone. We can make a difference in the world and help one another. No one should have to be pushed to end their lives by bullies or perpetrators. Thank you for this project, for your courage and allowing me to share my story. - Kate G.
My story is the ironic counterpart of slut shaming. When I was a teenager through my early twenties, I was heavily involved in a drinking lifestyle. One of the quirks I developed was a tendency to enjoy kissing boys, but I never wanted more. My friends nicknamed me the kissing bandit because I would just kiss the boys and run away. It all seemed very innocent to me. Very quickly, I became a bit of a game for my friends. They would make bets about when I would have sex. Soon, I was called a "tease" on a regular basis. Even one of my closest friends (who was a little more promiscuous) told me she would hate me if she was a guy because I'm such a dick tease. I handled it playfully for the most part, knowing it just wasn't I wanted. It was fun to be affectionate with boys, but I knew my limits. I felt "why shouldn't I be able to just kiss boys?" It didn't seem so bad to me. I would even tell them ahead of time that I didn't plan on sleeping with them, just so they couldn't call me a "tease" and act like I led them on. I was a virgin until I was raped at 21. By this time, I felt like it was my own fault because I was such a tease. It was a man I was dating and he insisted he "had to" after I said no countless times during an up-till-that-point enjoyable make out session. Just the night before I had told him I was a virgin and didn't want to have sex with him. He said it was fine and he understood. I went into the date feeling confident and safe because he knew my limits and respected my boundaries. I drank too much and couldn't defend myself. I never called the police because I felt like I deserved it, like no one would care or believe me because everyone knew what a tease I was. Within a few months of this incident, I checked myself into rehab after falling into a devastating spiral of depression and drowning myself in alcohol. But, I couldn't drink away the memories. Not of the bets, the names, the constant outside interest in whether or not I had sex yet. Now, in my 30's, it still hurts to look back on. You are a slut if you do, a tease if you don't. We need to stop paying so much attention to each other's sex lives. I guess I don't understand when it became anyone else's business whether I'm having sex, much less how often. Or why people feel it's their job to tell you what they think about your sexual decisions. One thing is for sure. It never had anything to do with my sex life. It had everything to do with other people being judgmental assholes. - Anna D.
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