People I had known for years saw me crying and would say, "It's your fault."

I still have nightmares. I was 14 when it happened. I had hardly even kissed a boy. It started out like any normal day. I went to school. I remember being in a really good mood. After school, I walked to the park with my "best friend," who was a guy. It was his birthday. We weren't the kind of friends to give each other presents, but what I didn't know is that he expected one. We got to the park and sat at a picnic table near some trees. People passing by couldn't see us unless they looked really hard. But I didn't think about it . He was my best friend . I trusted him. So I went to the park with him alone. For that, I was "asking for it." Then he surprised me: he kissed me. I didn't run away, I didn't stop him. It was only a kiss. He wanted something I wasn't willing to give him. "I'm your best friend, don't you trust me?" He pressured me over and over. I didn't get up and run away. I trusted him. For that, it was "my fault." I said no. Over and over I said no. I was getting ready to go home. I should have gone sooner. And for that, you guessed it. "It was my fault." And so he raped me. Rape. For the longest time, I never used that word. I hated it. I still do. When he was finished, he went to track practice. He didn't understand or care what he had done to me. I walked home, locked myself in my room. The next day at school, nothing seemed different. I went to my classes like normal. I didn't notice people whispering or giving me dirty looks. Then I went to art class, 5th hour. I was trying so hard to not think about the day before. We were drawing animals that day, I think. I heard two girls at the next table fake coughing out the word "Whore." One of them I had known since kindergarten. I looked up and realized they were looking at me. This was the beginning. My "best friend" had told the whole school that I had willingly done a variety of sexual acts with him. And because he was such a nice guy, and well liked, they high-fived him. Patted him on the back. And believed him. But no one high-fived me for what they THOUGHT I had done. I spent the rest of the year being called a whore, slut, anything you can think of. I was the star of half the rumors in that school. I had nightmares, I got anxiety. I finally got up the courage to tell someone. It was my brother, at the same school. He told me it was my fault. I was so relieved when school let out for the summer, because it would all go away and I could move on. But it followed me, online. Anytime someone saw me. There was no escape. I tried to kill myself. It never went away. When I came back for school the next year it was still happening. People I had known for years saw me crying and would say, "It's your fault." Finally, I switched schools. At first, it followed me there. I was hopeless. Then slowly, it went away. But what never went away is the nightmares. The anxiety. Almost every night I see his face in my sleep. I'm about to graduate high school and I sleep with a nightlight, because no matter how much anxiety medicine I take , he's still there. But he hasn't stolen my voice. This is my first time telling my full story. And not my last. The UnSlut Project has given me hope. It isn't my fault. And I am not what happened to me.