In which I realize how bad my assault was.

In which I realize how bad my assault was.

Trig­ger warn­ing: descrip­tion of sex­u­al assault.

Some­times I down­play my col­lege assault, because even in my life being pulled back­wards into a man’s lap while he uses my breasts as han­dles and smells my hair and kiss­es my jaw isn’t near­ly as bad as oth­er expe­ri­ences I and oth­ers have had.

But then a Twit­ter friend was talk­ing about Ceci­ly McMil­lan, who was just found guilty of 2nd degree assault for fight­ing back when a police offi­cer sex­u­al­ly assault­ed her and left a hand-shaped bruise on her breast. As my friend said, “Think about how hard you’d have to grab someone’s breast to leave a bruise.”

And all my breath left me and I just kind of went, “Oh.”

When my col­lege attack­er grabbed me, I couldn’t fight out of his grip. And when I got home that night and undressed for bed…one of my breasts was black and blue. I couldn’t sleep on my stom­ach for a few nights. But I still told myself that it wasn’t a big deal, that I was being dra­mat­ic.

Oh.

Maybe I should stop gaslight­ing myself.

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