SDS Womyn's Caucus Blog

By: Karen LaRocca

I might have to drop out of college.

My GPA is a .98; I had a 3.4 back in high school. I was a good student in high school, and I am one now that I am back in school.

According to the policies of college, this is no real excuse for failure in classes to a certain degree.

When college records are examined for maintaining scholarships, transferring schools, or getting an internship or job, GPA is what is seen and not the reason behind it.

I failed my classes because I didn’t do the required work. I wouldn’t go to class, too tired from the racing thoughts that haunted me at night. I wasn’t able to sleep, trapped in the thought of you and what happened in my own bed. I didn’t eat, dealing with the shock. I cut myself, unable to scream loud enough, unable to express the anger inside.

No one likes the depressed girl; the ‘Debbie Downer’ who ruins the vibe. Within a few weeks, I became increasingly alone; it seemed as though everyone had abandoned me. My only friends were Misery, Rage, and Silence.

Some friend of mine you were; telling me that it happens to everyone. Well, it doesn’t. It shouldn’t. If it happens to everyone, why is it never talked about? It seems as though rape is yet another word that is thrown around conversation with no particular meaning. “Ya, I was walking home in that sketchy neighborhood and almost got raped. Hahaha…”  Were you really? Is that what really happened? Why can’t I tell an experience that actually happened? Why does it hurt so much to even think about it?

The confusion; the shock; the self doubt; the disgust; the hate. Who could have seen this happening my freshman year, or any year for that matter? Am I just another statistic? Did I set myself up? If you all were really my friends, how could you just let things unfold the way they did? How could a person do this to me?

Who are you? The power you had over me as you held me against my will, you are aggression. The way you took advantage of me while my mind and body were under the influence, you are deception.

You were a stranger, only visiting friends for the night. I never spoke with you except to know your name. An ambiguous face that could be anyone, you haunt me every time I pass by another male. I wish I could seek you out. Tell you what you did to me then and still do to me now. Share with you the pain I have every day so you will always remember. Maybe you don’t even know what you did.

Trust, broken. Values, changed. Way of being, transformed. Life… somehow renewed.

You made me stumble, but I have picked myself back up. I picked up the memories of what happened that were scattered in the aftermath. I picked up my wounded mind and found a way to heal it. I picked up my torn spirit and made it whole; only a scar and the memories attached to it remain.

It has taken a long time to truely feel it, but I am not a victim of rape anymore; I am a survivor. I control my own destiny, and I refuse to have you control me any longer.

I might have to drop out of college because of you, but I refuse to go down without a fight.