I’ve thought about writing this many times before. I’ve tried using many different opening lines or writing it on the notes of my phone instead of a ‘formal’ document so it didn’t seem as real. I’ve started writing when I’m feeling angry or sad, but I’ve come to realise that the only thing that has allowed me to write this is time and healing.
I had just started university and I had never felt that my future was so promising; especially being bullied through school. I moved into halls and made the most amazing group of friends – connections I’d never had before and I actually finally felt like I belonged. To this day some of my best friends remain from then, and I cherish them.
I was 19. My halls were unusual as they were a collection of small houses where the girls lived on the upper floors for safety reasons and the boys were downstairs. The only way to get in was one generic key to the house and we all had our own individual room keys. As freshers do, we all went out to town one evening for a friend’s birthday, however, I’d decided I wasn’t really drinking as I was driving home the next day. A really close friend of mine was also not drinking, as he had a sports match the next day too and was on a sports scholarship. And so off we went to a friend’s flat for pre-drinks where I had one drink. The next thing I remember was being blind drunk in a club and my friends telling my other friends I needed to go home. Luckily, my friend who had a sports match the next day offered to take me home early and put me to bed. He lived in the same block and so had the same house key. I woke up the following morning and didn’t understand how I had gone from being completely sober to almost unconscious after one drink. I had no recollection of what had happened, when I’d come home or how I’d got home, and why I’d decided to get so drunk. What I did know is that I didn’t wake up in my own bed. When I asked my friend, it turned out that I couldn’t find my room key and was so drunk he kindly put me to bed in his room and slept on the sofa. The funny thing was, I woke up with my room key in my handbag; exactly where I’d left it.
From here I struggle to write as I’m really not sure ‘how’ this should be written. Two days later I had bruises on my wrists where hands had been. I’d lost my underwear I was wearing on the night and had no idea how this could happen. I’d been taken home by someone I trusted and I was confused. We went out a few weeks later and again, not being a huge drinker, I had a couple at pre-drinks. This time I felt strange – I didn’t finish my drink but can only describe it as my mind being present but my body collapsing. I had felt this before and I knew what was happening. The same ‘friend’ offered to take me back to our house and our flatmates let him. The thing is, this time I wasn’t as drugged as before and it was only now that I realise that. I remember fighting back and insisting I stay at the club before he put me into a taxi and threatened me with a knife. I complied, went home, felt the handcuffs go on and I’m not sure if my memory came back or if it filled in gaps that I thought had happened but never wanted to admit. I couldn’t get up, I couldn’t do anything about it. His friend joined and I was helpless. They took photos and threatened that if I ever told anyone, they’d share these with everyone. He used my fingerprint on my phone to create a conversation between himself and I; me asking if I wanted to go to his and manufacturing this relationship that never existed. I was stuck.
I plucked up the courage to tell a friend, but the boy who did this was in a position of responsibility and superiority to me, at a male-dominated university. I was laughed at.
Do I wish I’d gone to the police? No. I had been violated enough and didn’t want to relive the horror. Do I wish I had the courage to go to the police? Yes. Because although I was the first, I wasn’t the last. Over a year later another girl courageously reported him following a similar incident, and then 3 other girls came forward to tell their story. He was put under so much pressure with the police he left university and flew back to his home country and has never returned.
This happened 8 years ago and it was a good 5 years that I spent thinking “if I’d only have said something I could have saved those other girls”. I lived with this guilt every day. I took two years out, I chose a different path, I took my time to heal. Today, I am 4 months away from being a qualified doctor and although I hate my experience and I certainly wish it had never have happened, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without it. Rape is not a joke, it’s not uncommon and it’s certainly not acceptable. It happens far too often and can be life-threateningly dangerous.
If I could change that it happened to me I would, but I can’t. And so I chose, following an incredible amount of time and healing, to be a woman who is stronger because of a horrible experience. Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you respond to it. Not respond in the moment, or in a few months, but in however long it takes you. That 10% felt like 90% for an incredible long time, but each day it becomes less and less and my response becomes more and more.
I am strong. I am resilient. I am honest and brave. But most of all, I am a woman who wants to support other women. This is why I have finally written my story.
