Guys were giving me sly grins and girls I had never talked to gave me dirty looks.

I have survived. It has been hard. Let me start at the beginning: I was a happy child of high school sweetheart parents with a happy childhood. I started developing quickly at 11, completely bypassing the training-bra stage and about a foot taller than my classmates. I had frizzy hair, glasses, and a body I didn't know what to do with. I covered myself in baggy T-shirts and pants as much as I could. Partying wasn't in my mind, I did my homework, went to dance class and enjoyed time with my family. School was a torment, teachers loved me, but classmates despised me. One boy, Preston - ugh it still shakes me to this day - filled his sweet time in our math class by slipping his hands across my thighs and 'accidentally' getting good handfuls of my chest all while lowly chanting, "You like that, don't you?" I quietly told him to stop, but I wasn't the type to make a scene and he fully took advantage of that. He liked to whisper about it in the halls to his equally scummy friends when I would walk by.
I did not date until later in high school, the first being a new boy from Arizona who, frankly, I was equally attracted to and scared of, mostly because I had never dated before. He pursued me for an entire school year. I fended off his advances, but his charm finally stuck. He was supposedly a "nice Christian boy," so I after I got my drivers license that summer I went to see him. He told me his parents were home. As he rushed me through his house into his room, I didn't get a chance to see if his parents were absent but I figured they were. I was already feeling put-off. Once in his room he awkwardly sat me on the bed and pushed me down, kissing me. I did want him to like me but I was so disconnected, the innocent kissing quickly turned into his hands down the front of my jeans, which he didn't even bother to unbutton. I lay there completely frozen for what seemed like hours, but it was probably more like 10 minutes. I shot up and out of his house, hopped in my car and went back home, not sure what to do with myself. I was inundated with many angry calls and texts from him telling me to get back there. I finally answered him and said, "No, I'm not comfortable." I cried all night, not sure if what I did was good or bad, maybe I should have stayed, is that what other girls did? It didn't matter. He managed to tell everyone in our circle of friends I was "easy." It escalated from there. Guys were giving me sly grins and girls I had never talked to gave me dirty looks. AIM and MySpace were just beginning and my inbox was full of comments that I deleted left and right. Then and there I chose to never date anyone from my school, quickly changing their harsh comments from "slut" to "tease." Even though it seemed like a lesser term, it still stung. How was I teasing anyone? I started dating an older guy from across town who had already graduated.
The slut shaming didn't stop after high school. I went off to college still dating my high school sweetie, but getting restless. I spent my first semester holed up in my dorm room working on art projects. I didn't drink, but I was the unhappy DD most nights for my friends. They berated me and after hearing it for so long I finally said, "Okay." My boyfriend didn't like the fact I was away at college doing God knows what, which ironically wasn't anything at all. So finally I called it quits after 3 years with him during my second semester, and decided to finally have my crazy-college-time. Generally I would wake up in my bed, the sorority couch, or in my car, but there were occasions of waking up next to a male collegiate without his name and my pants either missing or undone and no recollection. This, I assumed, was the "college experience," and for the most part I didn't find it troubling. I had a couple of flings here and there, nothing crazy. One instance, though, will forever haunt me more than the rest. Our annual sorority formal was coming up and I was date-less so the sisters decided to set me up. I knew I could have plenty of fun with just the girls, but they insisted. I met up with him a few days prior to the formal. He picked me up and we went for a drive in his truck and talked for a bit. He seemed cool, but I wasn't really into him. He was quite a bit older, about 33 at the time, back in college after his stint in the military, with thinning hair and a crooked grin. I'm not about stringing guys along but since he seemed genuinely excited to go to the formal, I kept the date. He picked me up in a good mood, from what I could tell. We got there and several of the sisters were already a few drinks in, so they felt I needed to catch up. The night wore on and I didn't manage to drink more than a drink and a half at most, but I was feeling light-headed. We headed to an after party at a frat house and that's where things get hazy. I only mildly recall getting there and nothing about leaving. I woke up in a room I didn't recognize, completely naked, and there he was in the nude lying next to me. I couldn't move for several minutes but when I did, I realized every muscle was sore. I tip-toed to the bathroom in search of my clothes and tried to dress in between getting sick into his toilet. I got out as quietly as I could. It was still in the early morning hours. I went home and quickly tried to put it out of my mind.
My grades started slipping, I was drinking every night, slept through most of my classes, and couldn't sleep - pretty much every opposite trait of myself. Finally that summer, I called my parents. I wanted to come home. I hopped around in junior college, still struggling. I also hopped therapists. My first therapist sat me down with my parents and told them about my "alleged rape" and all I could do was cry. I found my third therapist and she completely opened up my thought process. She deals in PDT therapy and works with those dealing with traumatic experiences and she completely helped me save myself. I am now in a successful career as an esthetician, engaged to the most loving and thankful man I have ever met, and I have a bulldog pup that is the light of my life. I still battle demons, but I can tell you IT DOES GET BETTER. - Beth Brasher