This is What Happened to Me

I was raped at 15. 
It took me a long time to admit this. 
When it happened 
I was in denial. 
I spoke to my friends 
about my “first time,” 
still in denial. 
I stayed up at night, 
tears flooding my pillow, 
but I was in denial.

Denial, leading me to gaslight myself:
“It’s been too long for you to realize it was sexual assault.”
“You were “dating” him.”
“You had consensual sex with him after.”

Years passed, 
and I cringed at my younger 
I started to reflect on myself and instead looked at my past self with cringe.

I tried looking back with love.
Maybe I can call it sexual assault 
But it made me think about my life as a person who was raped. 

I ultimately rejected the identity. 
I don’t want to be a part of statistics or data. 
I didn’t want to be someone with PTSD. 
Someone who can’t have sexual relationships with anxiety. 
I can’t be that person who was raped. 

But I knew that everything I had been afraid of had happened. 
I do have trauma
and I do have PTSD 
I do have anxiety. 
But I am not broken.