#MeToo

In light of recent events, I've hesitated time and time again in writing this.

I've told myself more than once that I haven't had it as bad as other people. That I'm doing just fine on my own. That I don't need help. The thoughts keep coming back, but I force them away, or at least to the back of my mind so that I don't bring forth the pain and the hurt once again. But because of some beautiful posts that have been shared by some people I hold dear to my heart, I choose to stay silent no longer.

It isn't easy, but somehow I manage. I hate that the memories associated with such a terrible thing don't just "go away."

I hate that the guy involved just walked away, not knowing the damage he caused me, emotionally. I hate that I struggle to make emotional connections with members of the opposite gender, because of the hurt that pretty much always follows. I hate that my recently new relationship ended, in part because of my fear of commitment. Of struggling to make an emotional connection because of a lack of communication.

In the midst my "trial of faith" so to speak, I realized that maybe I'm not okay. But you know, the beauty of not being okay, is that it is okay to not be okay.

The past year of my life has taught me more about just that.

Allow me to be a little vulnerable with my readers here. And if I end up being the only one to read this, no one said being vulnerable with myself was ever a bad thing.

Last summer, I was having a particularly decent summer. I was living in Logan, almost all of my friends had left Logan for summer jobs and internships, and I was still here. Working, going back and forth between Burley and Logan, and simply choosing to enjoy life.

One particular evening, a friend invited me to a game night with one of his friends, and a bunch of other people I wasn't sure I would know. Come to find out, one of the girls was my coworker, and another was a friend of mine. As the Sunday night life died down, and most everyone else had left, a small portion of the group decided to go to Beto's at midnight.

Being the only girl, I turned on the flirt just a little bit with the other guys. Harmless, clean fun was all I thought of the particular experience. As I got home that night, I exchanged snapchat usernames with one of the guys I grew to be particularly fond of in the short interchange of meeting him that night. I somehow admitted to being home alone, and in need of some company, so I invited him over for a movie. It was already pretty late, but I knew better than to not let my guard down. I thought it harmless to watch a movie, and then slip upstairs to my own room, leaving him with the spare bedroom to himself. It felt nice to have some company in my big, empty apartment.

When the movie ended, I knew the guy was half asleep. I thought it would be easy to slip away quietly to my own room, undisturbing his slumber. I was wrong. He kept me pretty close to him, in a tight cuddly position. I struggled to break free. I'll save the details because you don't need to know, but as an immature young woman, I was dealing with my own kind of sexual assault. He kept trying to get me to get close to him, to touch him in places I didn't want to touch. I didn't know what to do.

I finally broke free and he eventually fell deeper into sleep, while I remained awake, alert and frightened. I took the opportunity to book it out of the room as soon as he loosened his grip and up the stairs I went, locking my bedroom and bathroom door behind me,falling into a heap on my bathroom floor, wondering what had just happened. What had I done? I barely knew this guy. Why had I allowed him into my apartment, let alone think that he would become my protector from the darkness of being alone in a scary apartment?

Nothing happened that night, besides the minor details I have already expressed. I still felt dirty. Guilty. Unclean. Broken.

I definitely did anything but sleep that night. You could say I pulled the covers over my head and prayed the most sincere prayer I've ever prayed that I would be safe that night. All night long. It took everything I had inside to leave the comforts of my bedroom several hours after the sun rays peeked through the blinds. I hoped he would just leave on his own. That I could send him on his way and never talk to him again.

Out of the kindness of my heart I spent a little more time with him, attempting to get to know him. I struggled to find the words of hate and fear that wanted to spill out of me. Instead, those nasty words faded into the thin air, and a Christ-like love replaced them.

Whether it was a blessing in disguise or a heavenward signal of someone looking out for me, he is long gone from my memories, and from my life.

But still, I struggle. I've struggled since that very day. It's something I've kept very hidden from the rest of the world. As I mentioned earlier, I tried to keep it hidden from myself. But I don't want it to stay hidden any longer. I want to bring these things to light, in order to learn from my experience, and to help others through theirs.

The #MeToo campaign that has taken the world by storm has had me in my own kind of emotional turmoil. I attend a university that is plagued with cases of sexual assault left and right, and is learning how to deal with those cases for the protection of their students and for the future. My heart aches for those who have dealt with sexual assault on a more personal level, and for those who have come out of it as a broken, yet new person. Beautiful and strong.I know it isn't easy. I know you have had it worse than I do.

I may be free and clear from the guy who bruised me and hurt my pride emotionally. I have days where I'm pushed to my limits and wonder if it's worth fighting for every breath, choosing to climb out of the hole I find myself in time and time again. But somehow, I keep fighting, and I have continued to climb. As the Anna Kendrick song from the "Trolls" movie suggests, "I will get back up again."

The effects of sexual assault and sexual violence are different for each and every person. The journey of their experiences is one of strength, love, peace and understanding. Of finding themselves again. Each individual story is a journey. Each journey is an individual story. No two stories are the same.

After a conversation with my good friend Taylor, I have found a strength and peace in the words she shared with me earlier this month, that bring home the message I wanted to convey:

"This is important. You are important. This matters, and so do you."

Please don't feel like I did a year ago. Lost, hopeless, broken, alone.

You are strong, independent, beautiful, loved. You are NEVER alone. I am here for you.

Much love,
Kortni <3