I’ve been sexually assaulted twice. The first time was by strangers the summer before my freshman year of high school, and the second time was by someone I was dating towards the end of my sophomore year. For the sake of my sanity, I’m going to spare the unnecessary details. The first time, I waited a few days before I told my parents, who contacted the police. They did a routine investigation, but nothing ever came of it. I wanted to forget and move on, and I tried my damnedest. The second time, I kept it to myself for over a year and then told only my closest friends. Again, I wanted to forget and move on--not because I wasn’t really fucking angry or completely terrified or debilitatingly sad, because I was all of those things and more--but because I’ve learned that when something like sexual assault happens, you cease being a complex and layered individual and become either a Statistic, a Survivor, or a Slut.
I’m not claiming to have any deep psychological or even cultural knowledge of sexual assault. I can write only from a personal perspective and I have no desire to speak on anyone’s behalf. That said, the nature of the ‘confessions’ on the Emerson Confessional Facebook account have started a dialogue about these issues, which is encouraging, but needs to be handled with a great deal of care and caution. These confessions are different than hearing a report on the local news or a rumor in a high school hallway. These stories are those of your roommate, the guy sitting behind you in class, the girl down the hall, or the person on your commute. Bringing an international issue down to such a personal level, especially at Emerson--where , for better or for worse, we love a good open dialogue--is going to make waves, and we have to be aware of how this will affect those that chose to share their story as well as those that remain silent.
The Statistic/Survivor/Slut phenomenon is an issue that concerns me. The responses I’ve gotten when I've decided to share my experiences encompass one of those ideas. My favorite is the Slut Response. Multiple people have felt the need to tell me that I must’ve been asking for it in some way. They attribute what is essentially a violent crime to my appearance, or my decision to walk alone at night through the city in which I was born, or that I must simply have wanted it and then regretted it later. These are obviously all, in their own special way, complete bullshit. I believe that I have a very healthy view of sexuality. I was raised to understand that sex is not inherently dirty or bad, rather it is something powerful and beautiful and must be treated with respect on all sides. I still believe that. I think I truly understand how powerful sex is because I’ve experienced it as both a violent weapon and as an expression of love. My sexuality is--like anyone else’s--an undeniable part of me, but it has absolutely nothing to do with my worth as a person.
I completely understand the appeal of anonymously sharing a story with one's entire school; it’s therapeutic and removes the fear of stigma or judgment. I know that most Emersonians are enlightened enough to understand this, but I feel like it needs to be reiterated until the end of time: It doesn’t matter if it was a stranger or your boyfriend or your best friend, if you’re male or female, if you were stone-cold sober or blacked out. If you didn’t clearly give consent, it is rape. One of the hardest parts of going public with these things is having people debate and question something so intensely personal and traumatic. It can absolutely destroy a person. The last thing that needs to happen is dorm room debates over the validity of anyone’s pain.
While not as infuriating as the Slut Response, the Survivor Response can also be very frustrating. Although most people are well-intentioned, it’s difficult to know how to treat someone after an assault, and walking on eggshells can seem to be the best reaction. Once again, I can’t speak for anyone else, but when people treated me like I was irrevocably broken, it did nothing for me. Yes, I was damaged and I suppose I still am to a certain extent, but I had to believe that this eventually wouldn’t define me. If I wanted to keep on living like the strong, open, adventurous person I was before, I simply had no choice but to hope. Those who wrote to the Confessional account should know that while it definitely changes your life, it is not who you are. You will have setbacks, you will have some really shitty days, and you will need time. You don’t have
to be strong every day. I fought like hell when I was assaulted and I’m still fighting to move past it. You have to fight, because you are not just a Survivor Of Sexual Assault, you are still you. Don’t let them take everything.
The Statistic Response is the one that worries me the most. When I told the police what happened, they sent a guy out to drive around for a few hours in the area where I was assaulted a few days prior. When nothing turned up, I got a business card with my case number on it. To the Seattle Police Department, I’m that number. To the media, I’m the one in "1 in 6" or "1 in 4" or whatever it is today. In my triple room, I’m actually two out of three, which is horrifying. What scares me is that I will become just a number, that what happened to me won’t matter, that the mental and physical pain that still leaves me with flash backs and nightmares will be for nothing. People like me, my roommate, those who've written to EC Confessional and those who haven’t yet shared their stories-- we have to know that we aren’t just another tally mark or a problem to be
solved. To treat us like we are nothing more than the crimes committed against us is to ensure that we are never given the chance to become more.
Amelia Elizalde is a 19-year old Emerson College student from Seattle, so she is required by city law to love coffee, rain and independent music. She is a Marketing Communications major which means she wants to write puns for a living and may or may not have a human soul. She is a fan of books and movies and boys with James Dean complexes.