Gillian’s Story

I was 16 years old on the weekend of Saint Patrick’s Day when my former best friend and I were invited to a party. We were both so excited for this night. I remember doing our makeup and hair together and picking out our outfits together. That night I wore a hoodie, jeans, and white converse. After my friend and I got dressed we started pre-gaming before leaving for the party. We each did easily four or five shots in under 15 minutes then we headed out in our uber to the party. Once we arrived at the party we were already pretty drunk but I had a 16 oz water bottle full of whiskey that I had brought with me and began chugging. I remember people cheering me on the chug as a downed half the bottle (8oz’s of whiskey) in under 2 minutes. I gave the other half to my friend. I remember the guy hosting the party offering me a beer in a red solo cup which I then chugged. The next thing I know the guy who was hosting the party and his best friend invited my best friend and me upstairs to go smoke with them. The four of us went upstairs and the guy hosting the party, his friend, and my friend started smoking, I did not. My vision started blurring and my breath began to shallow, as I realized I was pretty intoxicated. I leaned over to my friend that I had brought with me and told her I was feeling really drunk. She giggled and then left the room with the guy who was hosting the party's best friend. Now it was just the guy hosting the party and I, alone in his bedroom. I remember we were just listening to music and sitting on his bed. I began saying I felt really tired and he told me to lay down so I did. The next thing I knew he was taking off his clothes and laying on top of me on the bed. I remember him starting by taking off my sweatshirt and then unbuttoning my jeans and pulling them off my body. Tears began running down my face as I tried to scream out “No!!” but being so intoxicated that only whispers came out. I remember the weight of his body on top of me and his hands pressing down on my arms felt like a heaviness I had never felt. As he began to rape me I remember tears pouring from my eyes as I looked up at his blinds praying for God to come to save me from this. That’s the last part of it I can remember. The next thing I know I am putting my clothes back on as he leaves the room. I then proceeded to grab my friend and tell her we had to leave. We stood outside waiting for our ride as I told her what had happened. To be honest I was so confused as to what happened. She hugged me and advised me to go home and take a nice long hot shower and wash what happened to me off my body. The next day I remember waking up to bloody underwear and feeling very sore from head to toe. I told my sister that something bad had happened the night before and that I needed her to take me to the drugstore to get something. No questions asked, she said “okay.” I attempted to put on a pair of jeans and couldn’t understand why I freaked out and felt intensely uncomfortable in my jeans. I ended up just throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. On the way to the drugstore, I began telling my sister what had happened as tears filled her eyes and she explained that I should go to the police. I told her that I had already showered and I was too afraid of what my parents might say or think. When we got to the drugstore I explained that I needed a morning-after pill but didn't have the money, so she went in and bought me one. Later that night I remember breaking down and crying at dinner in front of my sister, mom, and dad. My mom and dad very much wanted to know what was wrong and what had happened but I just pushed it off as being overwhelmed with school and other things. I would then keep this trauma burden to myself for eight months. Finally, in fall of 2017, I just broke one day and I told my mom. She held me and told me it was not my fault and that it should’ve never happened to me. A couple of months later I had told my dad, he was frozen in anger towards the guy that did this to me and heartbroken that this had happened to me. I began seeing a therapist who later diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder. After time in therapy and medication, I began to slowly heal and was able to start living life again instead of just surviving it. I decided to rise above the “victim” status and call myself a survivor and a fighter. While I will always carry this trauma with me I no longer allow it to define me or drown me. I find myself just taking it day by day, hour by hour, and moment by moment.