2016:
Right now, it's crazy to me that I am writing this story and people will see it. For a long, long time, I promised myself I wouldn't ever let anyone hear it. Then after I started to share, I was told to keep my mouth shut about it. But God has given me a voice to speak up, and speak up for those who have also been told to keep quiet and keep their stories of abuse hidden and to sweep the affects under the rug.
My story is a very complicated one. I became friends with a guy I met at Bible camp. I was a very legalistic, conservative teenager in high school, which meant I wore three undershirts and Bermuda shorts and a cardigan everywhere I went and I thought that hugging boys was like, the sin of all sins. I was a little bit on the extreme side, and I'm happy to say I've mellowed out and I think I'm a fairly normal and sane human being now. But back in high school, I was thee rule follower. Especially at camp. I was awkward and weird and I had no idea how to properly apply eyeliner or fix my hair, so I was a little bit of a make-up covered, hair-spray overdose mess. The guy I had liked, previously to this summer at camp, was not into me at all and he really liked my best friend. So when I met this guy at camp who talked to me and flirted with me, I was all about the attention. I had actually met him at camp a couple of years before, and I never thought I would have a chance with him. He was way out of my league. I was shocked that guys even noticed my frizz-ball hair and messy make-up.
We became friends and started texting everyday. I figured he would get tired of me and move on, so I tried not to get my hopes up. But, as many 16 year olds do, I fell hard for him. I was a few weeks older than him, but he seemed so much more mature than me. It seemed like he had it together. And let me tell you, I did not. My friends liked him at first, but that didn't last for long. I prayed one day that if he was the one, God would jut give me a sign or something to let me know that this was it. [fool-proof 16 year old logic]. I found out the very next morning that the whole time we had been talking, he had been talking to another girl, one of my friends, and he told her he really liked her. She was starting a relationship with another guy, so the whole thing was a mess. I remember crying to myself the morning I found out. All day at school I was a mess. I was x-ing out all of my romantic doodles and I kept thinking, how could a guy like that actually be into you. He will never pick you. She's funny and pretty and cool, and you're you. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that this was the sign I asked for. From the very beginning, it was pretty clear. But the day after that, when he apologized and said that he picked me, I took him back instantly. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world.
We both didn't want to say that we were dating, mostly because his parents wouldn't let him date, so we just said we were "Special Friends", and we dated. He lived two hours away, so we really only had a relationship over the phone. We texted everyday and called each other all the time. I saw him at concerts and random youth group events, but other than that, we never really spent time together. We were the typical mushy 16 year old couple. He was there for me when my friends were leaving left and right. He was there for me when I was having a hard time at school. He was there when I had heart surgery. He became the focal point of everything in my life. I denied it and pretended like I was spiritual. But God wasn't the center of my life, this guy was. I thought I had a best friend forever. I was head over heels and I gave him my whole heart. I was so insecure about our relationship. I was always worried that he would leave for someone else, so I became the ultimate people pleaser. I never got mad at him. Whenever he got mad at me, I apologized profusely so he would take me back. I was always changing my hair and makeup so he wouldn't get bored with me. Whatever he said went. I had learned that in Christian marriages, the man is the head of the relationship and women are to submit to their husbands. And I misinterpreted that as, I need to do whatever my boyfriend tells me to do. I never really shared if I was upset. He said he didn't like dramatic girls, so I bottled every little thing up inside. I was going to make my messy self the perfect girlfriend. I thought he was the only one that would ever go for me, so I wanted to make sure I never gave him a reason to leave.
We went to a few dances and concerts together, we met each other's parents, it was a really normal, high school relationship for the first while. Then summer came around, and we were both counseling at camp. We had only really ever held hands like two times and hugged like once. So I didn't really think the physical thing would be an issue for us. I was still really uncomfortable with being physically affectionate. When we had the boundaries talk, I was SUPER strict and weirdly specific. The crazy part is, that it was his idea to set boundaries and to be super careful not to cross them. I was ridiculous about the rules. No hugging for more than 10 seconds, no touching my legs, no touching below my collar bone [I really thought that I had thought it all through], no sitting closer than an inch apart, and a million other random little things I thought of that you would think I was a psycho for thinking of. But I wanted to do everything the right way. He was really respectful at first. He was very careful to follow the rules. A few times I felt weird and uncomfortable, but he wasn't doing anything that crossed my boundaries I had set. And then summer was over and school started. I started going on trips to his house and he started visiting me. Our parents were weary at first about us hanging out alone together, but they trusted us and let us go really wherever.
Once I visited him so we could go to a concert together. The whole day he was acting weird. We planned a date to the mall and went out to lunch before the concert. He was being really touchy and kept slowly inching past my boundaries. I kept moving his hands away and didn't really give it a lot of thought. I still couldn't believe I was the luckiest girl in the world and he was in a relationship with me. We went to the concert and had a great night. He drove me home afterwards to one of his friend's houses so I could spend the night there, and on the way there I fell asleep. I woke up in a parked car in an apartment complex to him all over me. I opened my eyes hoping he would notice I was awake, and stop. He didn't, and I was mortified, so I just kept my mouth shut and waited until it was over. I was a disaster the next day. I cried and cried and was a complete wreck. He apologized and apologized and I apologized and apologized for not saying anything. I figured I was as much to blame because I didn't say anything after I woke up. The next visit was just as bad. I blamed myself and told no one. I loved him and I figured that over time, this weird behavior would stop. But it never stopped. The relationship started becoming a lot more one sided. I was waiting for him to pay attention to me, and he was not as into me as I was into him. I always played by his rules, I let him make all of my decisions, I bought him things he wanted. Whatever he said was it. I felt like I signed myself over to him.
We both graduated early and headed to a tiny, 200 person Bible college in a tiny, 300 person town in Wyoming. We came half-way through the semester, so it was awkward to make friends, and he became my only friend. The touchiness continued. We were having the boundaries conversation like three times a week. It only got worse. One night during what was supposed to be a fun Star Wars marathon with our friends, he sexually assaulted me. And this time, I fought back. Hard. For almost four hours, I fought him and fought him to get him off and away from me. I was too terrified to yell. I didn't want anyone to know what was going on. I kept fighting and fighting. I wanted to yell, but I didn't want anyone to find me like that. The movies finally ended and I ran to my room. I didn't cry or move or speak, I just sat in shock. I didn't understand how the guy I was so lucky to have, the Bible camp counselor, the mature, spiritual guy I was in love with, had just assaulted me. We talked about it for days. He apologized and apologized and reminded me over and over that it wasn't my fault. I was sick for days over it. He told the dean of students that "we" had just gone to far, and nothing really happened. He got a slap on the hand, but was told that no one would hear about it. I told one of my friends a few of the minor, extremely vague details, but that was it. I didn't want anyone to EVER know the whole story. I was ashamed. I knew it wasn't really my fault, but I felt so broken. I felt worthless. I felt like trash. I was just an object. He had taken my innocence away. He apologized and started to be respectful of my boundaries for a while, and then it only got worse. I ended up in the hospital one day from the stress, and on the way home while I was drugged out on medicine and dosed off, he did it again. And then another car ride and another time. And again and again.
A few weeks later, our parents found out that "something inappropriate" had happened. He told them a story that was far from true, and I nodded and kept my mouth shut. I wanted to save the relationship. I was willing to do anything. He was my world, and I was determined to keep what we had, whatever the cost. But he was not. He was over it. My relationship with God was crumbling. I was so mad that God had let this happen. I felt like God was taking everything from me. And then I was faced with a choice: Hold on to this crappy, abusive relationship and be miserable, or truly let God have the steering wheel. I fought God so hard. I wanted to be in control. But it came to a point where I had to choose. And I finally gave everything up. I let God be in control. It felt like jumping out of a plane with no parachute. God knew what he was doing. I did not. This guy started to avoid me and conversation with me, and three weeks after the chat with our parents, he ended our relationship. So then I was left alone with secrets and stories, and I told myself I would never really tell. I talked someone at the college very vaguely and allusively, so she wouldn't really know what the story really was, and I was shut down immediately. I was wearing a long sleeve shirt that day that was "too tight in the arms and waist" and skinny jeans that showed off too much, so whatever had happened to me, was probably because of the way I dressed. I wasn't as stand up of a student as he was, so it was assumed that whatever had gone on, was because of me. I lost eight pounds in two weeks just from stress. I only liked to go outside to go on walks by myself. I started hanging out with another guy who was actually a gentleman and not a trash bag of a person to me, and I thought that maybe this other guy could help me bury the pain and the secrets. But I ended up breaking it off with that guy after a few weeks. After what happened to me, I thought I didn't deserve him. I was depressed and barely eating and either always crying, or irritated and angry at everyone in my way. I trusted God. He was in full control now, but I was drowning in the side effects of what happened. This guy and I had sort of stayed friends. I still didn't want to loose him, and I knew if I told the truth, I would.
The lies were eating me alive. Everyone knew something happened, but didn't know what. I ended up speaking up about it, and the unthinkable happened. He lied. He lied about all of it. He refused to speak to me. I became more depressed and it got worse and worse. I thought telling the truth would make me feel great, that it would set me free and that this was the end, but the response was devastating. When I told the college about it, I was immediately treated as the one to blame. I was told that what happened, happened because I was naive, that's the exact word they used. Naive. I just was a dumb teenage girl who thought to highly of this guy, so it was my fault. I dressed "inappropriately" so I was asking for it. I was the one who put myself in the position for him to attack me. I didn't break it off, so it was my fault. Those are all real things they actually said to me. And I believed it. The dean said she was so disappointed in me. The school said that if I returned, I would be on probation. I would have to meet with the dean of students every week, and I was not allowed to share anything or talk about any of the situation with anyone. No exceptions. It's hard because these people all meant so well. They aren't/weren't monsters. They weren't out to get me. They were truly trying to do their very best. They cared, but they also wanted this to go away. They wanted to do the right thing. but unfortunately, what happened wasn't right. My ex was temporarily suspended, so he wasn't at school that semester. I got so sick from anxiety and stress that I was puking every day. I tried so hard to eat, but being at the place where those things had happened, destroyed me piece by piece. I was depressed, and I couldn't handle it. Everyone thought that because I was getting so sick, I was anorexic and bulimic. I burned my neck accidentally one day, straightening my hair, and a rumor started that I was harming myself on purpose. I had talked to a few people about what was happening, and that was the final straw. I couldn't keep my mouth shut, and I was becoming a problem for the school. I was sent home because I was "becoming a distraction". It ruined me. But I motivated myself to keep going. I was going to go back the next semester and prove them wrong. In December, I was ready to go back, but a week before the semester started, I was told, via letter from the college, that my ex was also returning. The school sent a statement saying his suspension was up because they hadn't found any real fault in him and there was no evidence to say he had really been abusive. I was given a list of rules to follow if I wanted to return. I couldn't sit next to guys, be in cars with guys, be alone with guys, or date. The rules were a list of things mocking me because of what happened. I knew God had a plan, but I couldn't understand how it could be used for anything good. I trusted him, but it stung in my heart. I didn't go back, and the pain grew and grew because the friends that had once hated him, all suddenly seemed to become his best friends. Some of my friends were cautious, but many were careless. I blamed myself more and more everyday. I regretted so deeply that I had ever told anyone the truth. I wished that I had just kept it to myself, because that pain couldn't have been worse than what I was feeling after telling. The nightmares got worse. I was afraid to sleep. I had panic attacks almost every day. I was inconsolable if I saw his picture and cried when I heard his name. The fear was paralyzing. I felt like what he did was my fault. If I had been prettier. If I was smarter. If I was beautiful and not awkward and ugly and weird, he would have valued me. If I was worth anything, he wouldn't have hurt me. The semester ended and I decided I wanted to go back for one more semester. I thought I could prove everyone wrong. I was going to show them who I really was. And I was not going to let him control my life. I couldn't let him own me anymore. So against almost everyone's advice, I packed up my car and headed back to the college where I had the least support and most people who wanted me gone. The semester was miserable. There were some good times and some supportive friend, and God really worked on me there, but overall it was just miserable. I saw him everyday and for the first month, I didn't leave my room besides classes. I went to class, ran back to my room, cried in the closet where no one would see me, and then I didn't leave the dorms for the rest of the day. I ate there, did homework there, and left campus as much as I could. I would look out my window and wish I could go outside. I usually slept three or four hours a night because of the nightmares, and I was sick almost every week. I started getting braver and leaving more, but the fear was crippling. The school pulled every card they had on me to get me to leave. They were still trying to do "the right thing", but I was a mess and the situation was a mess, and they didn't want a mess. God was literally what was keeping me alive. As miserable as I was, I knew that He knew the truth. Jesus knew how betrayal felt. How it felt to have friends who didn't care, how it stung to try to forgive people who had seemingly ruined my life. Without Christ, I have no doubt that I wouldn't have survived. I left after that semester and moved to California, where God has been re-building me. I feel like I have a reason to care again. He's opening incredible doors to things I never would have imagined. I know that even though this sex offender is out there and he's choosing to lie everyday, that I have the victory in Christ. I have the victory in the truth. What happened to me and is still happening, makes God's heart break and ache and it's horrible. Most of my friends don't understand, a lot of people don't. They hang out with him, they spend time with him, they are friends with him. They pretend like it never happened. It breaks my heart. The nightmares and the panic attacks and the pain are all still very real. But I know that God wants me to use my story and the heart that I have for sexual abuse victims to help them, to make a difference, as small as it may be. There are a lot of people who are tired of it, they're annoyed that I'm not over it. But there are also a lot of people that have been there to comfort and support me. I have an amazing family and an amazing few friends that I know will always be there for me. I have an incredible boyfriend who can read a story like that and still be there for me each and every day. I have a voice, and even though countless people and church leaders and pastors and friends have told me to shut up about this, I know that God is telling me to share my story to help others heal and be empowered and to forgive. My eyes have been opened to the way that the church is handling this. We're doing it wrong. The body of Christ needs to be there to help victims heal and to show them the true love of Christ, not blame and shame for something that someone took from them. Shuffling something like this under the rug and pretending it didn't happen, is lying. Not sharing the truth, is lying. And I'm tired of lying. Victims don't have to be victims when they have the power of Christ. The victory I have in Christ gives freedom and dignity and rejoices in the truth.
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Right now, it's crazy to me that I am writing this story and people will see it. For a long, long time, I promised myself I wouldn't ever let anyone hear it. Then after I started to share, I was told to keep my mouth shut about it. But God has given me a voice to speak up, and speak up for those who have also been told to keep quiet and keep their stories of abuse hidden and to sweep the affects under the rug.
My story is a very complicated one. I became friends with a guy I met at Bible camp. I was a very legalistic, conservative teenager in high school, which meant I wore three undershirts and Bermuda shorts and a cardigan everywhere I went and I thought that hugging boys was like, the sin of all sins. I was a little bit on the extreme side, and I'm happy to say I've mellowed out and I think I'm a fairly normal and sane human being now. But back in high school, I was thee rule follower. Especially at camp. I was awkward and weird and I had no idea how to properly apply eyeliner or fix my hair, so I was a little bit of a make-up covered, hair-spray overdose mess. The guy I had liked, previously to this summer at camp, was not into me at all and he really liked my best friend. So when I met this guy at camp who talked to me and flirted with me, I was all about the attention. I had actually met him at camp a couple of years before, and I never thought I would have a chance with him. He was way out of my league. I was shocked that guys even noticed my frizz-ball hair and messy make-up.
We became friends and started texting everyday. I figured he would get tired of me and move on, so I tried not to get my hopes up. But, as many 16 year olds do, I fell hard for him. I was a few weeks older than him, but he seemed so much more mature than me. It seemed like he had it together. And let me tell you, I did not. My friends liked him at first, but that didn't last for long. I prayed one day that if he was the one, God would jut give me a sign or something to let me know that this was it. [fool-proof 16 year old logic]. I found out the very next morning that the whole time we had been talking, he had been talking to another girl, one of my friends, and he told her he really liked her. She was starting a relationship with another guy, so the whole thing was a mess. I remember crying to myself the morning I found out. All day at school I was a mess. I was x-ing out all of my romantic doodles and I kept thinking, how could a guy like that actually be into you. He will never pick you. She's funny and pretty and cool, and you're you. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that this was the sign I asked for. From the very beginning, it was pretty clear. But the day after that, when he apologized and said that he picked me, I took him back instantly. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world.
We both didn't want to say that we were dating, mostly because his parents wouldn't let him date, so we just said we were "Special Friends", and we dated. He lived two hours away, so we really only had a relationship over the phone. We texted everyday and called each other all the time. I saw him at concerts and random youth group events, but other than that, we never really spent time together. We were the typical mushy 16 year old couple. He was there for me when my friends were leaving left and right. He was there for me when I was having a hard time at school. He was there when I had heart surgery. He became the focal point of everything in my life. I denied it and pretended like I was spiritual. But God wasn't the center of my life, this guy was. I thought I had a best friend forever. I was head over heels and I gave him my whole heart. I was so insecure about our relationship. I was always worried that he would leave for someone else, so I became the ultimate people pleaser. I never got mad at him. Whenever he got mad at me, I apologized profusely so he would take me back. I was always changing my hair and makeup so he wouldn't get bored with me. Whatever he said went. I had learned that in Christian marriages, the man is the head of the relationship and women are to submit to their husbands. And I misinterpreted that as, I need to do whatever my boyfriend tells me to do. I never really shared if I was upset. He said he didn't like dramatic girls, so I bottled every little thing up inside. I was going to make my messy self the perfect girlfriend. I thought he was the only one that would ever go for me, so I wanted to make sure I never gave him a reason to leave.
We went to a few dances and concerts together, we met each other's parents, it was a really normal, high school relationship for the first while. Then summer came around, and we were both counseling at camp. We had only really ever held hands like two times and hugged like once. So I didn't really think the physical thing would be an issue for us. I was still really uncomfortable with being physically affectionate. When we had the boundaries talk, I was SUPER strict and weirdly specific. The crazy part is, that it was his idea to set boundaries and to be super careful not to cross them. I was ridiculous about the rules. No hugging for more than 10 seconds, no touching my legs, no touching below my collar bone [I really thought that I had thought it all through], no sitting closer than an inch apart, and a million other random little things I thought of that you would think I was a psycho for thinking of. But I wanted to do everything the right way. He was really respectful at first. He was very careful to follow the rules. A few times I felt weird and uncomfortable, but he wasn't doing anything that crossed my boundaries I had set. And then summer was over and school started. I started going on trips to his house and he started visiting me. Our parents were weary at first about us hanging out alone together, but they trusted us and let us go really wherever.
Once I visited him so we could go to a concert together. The whole day he was acting weird. We planned a date to the mall and went out to lunch before the concert. He was being really touchy and kept slowly inching past my boundaries. I kept moving his hands away and didn't really give it a lot of thought. I still couldn't believe I was the luckiest girl in the world and he was in a relationship with me. We went to the concert and had a great night. He drove me home afterwards to one of his friend's houses so I could spend the night there, and on the way there I fell asleep. I woke up in a parked car in an apartment complex to him all over me. I opened my eyes hoping he would notice I was awake, and stop. He didn't, and I was mortified, so I just kept my mouth shut and waited until it was over. I was a disaster the next day. I cried and cried and was a complete wreck. He apologized and apologized and I apologized and apologized for not saying anything. I figured I was as much to blame because I didn't say anything after I woke up. The next visit was just as bad. I blamed myself and told no one. I loved him and I figured that over time, this weird behavior would stop. But it never stopped. The relationship started becoming a lot more one sided. I was waiting for him to pay attention to me, and he was not as into me as I was into him. I always played by his rules, I let him make all of my decisions, I bought him things he wanted. Whatever he said was it. I felt like I signed myself over to him.
We both graduated early and headed to a tiny, 200 person Bible college in a tiny, 300 person town in Wyoming. We came half-way through the semester, so it was awkward to make friends, and he became my only friend. The touchiness continued. We were having the boundaries conversation like three times a week. It only got worse. One night during what was supposed to be a fun Star Wars marathon with our friends, he sexually assaulted me. And this time, I fought back. Hard. For almost four hours, I fought him and fought him to get him off and away from me. I was too terrified to yell. I didn't want anyone to know what was going on. I kept fighting and fighting. I wanted to yell, but I didn't want anyone to find me like that. The movies finally ended and I ran to my room. I didn't cry or move or speak, I just sat in shock. I didn't understand how the guy I was so lucky to have, the Bible camp counselor, the mature, spiritual guy I was in love with, had just assaulted me. We talked about it for days. He apologized and apologized and reminded me over and over that it wasn't my fault. I was sick for days over it. He told the dean of students that "we" had just gone to far, and nothing really happened. He got a slap on the hand, but was told that no one would hear about it. I told one of my friends a few of the minor, extremely vague details, but that was it. I didn't want anyone to EVER know the whole story. I was ashamed. I knew it wasn't really my fault, but I felt so broken. I felt worthless. I felt like trash. I was just an object. He had taken my innocence away. He apologized and started to be respectful of my boundaries for a while, and then it only got worse. I ended up in the hospital one day from the stress, and on the way home while I was drugged out on medicine and dosed off, he did it again. And then another car ride and another time. And again and again.
A few weeks later, our parents found out that "something inappropriate" had happened. He told them a story that was far from true, and I nodded and kept my mouth shut. I wanted to save the relationship. I was willing to do anything. He was my world, and I was determined to keep what we had, whatever the cost. But he was not. He was over it. My relationship with God was crumbling. I was so mad that God had let this happen. I felt like God was taking everything from me. And then I was faced with a choice: Hold on to this crappy, abusive relationship and be miserable, or truly let God have the steering wheel. I fought God so hard. I wanted to be in control. But it came to a point where I had to choose. And I finally gave everything up. I let God be in control. It felt like jumping out of a plane with no parachute. God knew what he was doing. I did not. This guy started to avoid me and conversation with me, and three weeks after the chat with our parents, he ended our relationship. So then I was left alone with secrets and stories, and I told myself I would never really tell. I talked someone at the college very vaguely and allusively, so she wouldn't really know what the story really was, and I was shut down immediately. I was wearing a long sleeve shirt that day that was "too tight in the arms and waist" and skinny jeans that showed off too much, so whatever had happened to me, was probably because of the way I dressed. I wasn't as stand up of a student as he was, so it was assumed that whatever had gone on, was because of me. I lost eight pounds in two weeks just from stress. I only liked to go outside to go on walks by myself. I started hanging out with another guy who was actually a gentleman and not a trash bag of a person to me, and I thought that maybe this other guy could help me bury the pain and the secrets. But I ended up breaking it off with that guy after a few weeks. After what happened to me, I thought I didn't deserve him. I was depressed and barely eating and either always crying, or irritated and angry at everyone in my way. I trusted God. He was in full control now, but I was drowning in the side effects of what happened. This guy and I had sort of stayed friends. I still didn't want to loose him, and I knew if I told the truth, I would.
The lies were eating me alive. Everyone knew something happened, but didn't know what. I ended up speaking up about it, and the unthinkable happened. He lied. He lied about all of it. He refused to speak to me. I became more depressed and it got worse and worse. I thought telling the truth would make me feel great, that it would set me free and that this was the end, but the response was devastating. When I told the college about it, I was immediately treated as the one to blame. I was told that what happened, happened because I was naive, that's the exact word they used. Naive. I just was a dumb teenage girl who thought to highly of this guy, so it was my fault. I dressed "inappropriately" so I was asking for it. I was the one who put myself in the position for him to attack me. I didn't break it off, so it was my fault. Those are all real things they actually said to me. And I believed it. The dean said she was so disappointed in me. The school said that if I returned, I would be on probation. I would have to meet with the dean of students every week, and I was not allowed to share anything or talk about any of the situation with anyone. No exceptions. It's hard because these people all meant so well. They aren't/weren't monsters. They weren't out to get me. They were truly trying to do their very best. They cared, but they also wanted this to go away. They wanted to do the right thing. but unfortunately, what happened wasn't right. My ex was temporarily suspended, so he wasn't at school that semester. I got so sick from anxiety and stress that I was puking every day. I tried so hard to eat, but being at the place where those things had happened, destroyed me piece by piece. I was depressed, and I couldn't handle it. Everyone thought that because I was getting so sick, I was anorexic and bulimic. I burned my neck accidentally one day, straightening my hair, and a rumor started that I was harming myself on purpose. I had talked to a few people about what was happening, and that was the final straw. I couldn't keep my mouth shut, and I was becoming a problem for the school. I was sent home because I was "becoming a distraction". It ruined me. But I motivated myself to keep going. I was going to go back the next semester and prove them wrong. In December, I was ready to go back, but a week before the semester started, I was told, via letter from the college, that my ex was also returning. The school sent a statement saying his suspension was up because they hadn't found any real fault in him and there was no evidence to say he had really been abusive. I was given a list of rules to follow if I wanted to return. I couldn't sit next to guys, be in cars with guys, be alone with guys, or date. The rules were a list of things mocking me because of what happened. I knew God had a plan, but I couldn't understand how it could be used for anything good. I trusted him, but it stung in my heart. I didn't go back, and the pain grew and grew because the friends that had once hated him, all suddenly seemed to become his best friends. Some of my friends were cautious, but many were careless. I blamed myself more and more everyday. I regretted so deeply that I had ever told anyone the truth. I wished that I had just kept it to myself, because that pain couldn't have been worse than what I was feeling after telling. The nightmares got worse. I was afraid to sleep. I had panic attacks almost every day. I was inconsolable if I saw his picture and cried when I heard his name. The fear was paralyzing. I felt like what he did was my fault. If I had been prettier. If I was smarter. If I was beautiful and not awkward and ugly and weird, he would have valued me. If I was worth anything, he wouldn't have hurt me. The semester ended and I decided I wanted to go back for one more semester. I thought I could prove everyone wrong. I was going to show them who I really was. And I was not going to let him control my life. I couldn't let him own me anymore. So against almost everyone's advice, I packed up my car and headed back to the college where I had the least support and most people who wanted me gone. The semester was miserable. There were some good times and some supportive friend, and God really worked on me there, but overall it was just miserable. I saw him everyday and for the first month, I didn't leave my room besides classes. I went to class, ran back to my room, cried in the closet where no one would see me, and then I didn't leave the dorms for the rest of the day. I ate there, did homework there, and left campus as much as I could. I would look out my window and wish I could go outside. I usually slept three or four hours a night because of the nightmares, and I was sick almost every week. I started getting braver and leaving more, but the fear was crippling. The school pulled every card they had on me to get me to leave. They were still trying to do "the right thing", but I was a mess and the situation was a mess, and they didn't want a mess. God was literally what was keeping me alive. As miserable as I was, I knew that He knew the truth. Jesus knew how betrayal felt. How it felt to have friends who didn't care, how it stung to try to forgive people who had seemingly ruined my life. Without Christ, I have no doubt that I wouldn't have survived. I left after that semester and moved to California, where God has been re-building me. I feel like I have a reason to care again. He's opening incredible doors to things I never would have imagined. I know that even though this sex offender is out there and he's choosing to lie everyday, that I have the victory in Christ. I have the victory in the truth. What happened to me and is still happening, makes God's heart break and ache and it's horrible. Most of my friends don't understand, a lot of people don't. They hang out with him, they spend time with him, they are friends with him. They pretend like it never happened. It breaks my heart. The nightmares and the panic attacks and the pain are all still very real. But I know that God wants me to use my story and the heart that I have for sexual abuse victims to help them, to make a difference, as small as it may be. There are a lot of people who are tired of it, they're annoyed that I'm not over it. But there are also a lot of people that have been there to comfort and support me. I have an amazing family and an amazing few friends that I know will always be there for me. I have an incredible boyfriend who can read a story like that and still be there for me each and every day. I have a voice, and even though countless people and church leaders and pastors and friends have told me to shut up about this, I know that God is telling me to share my story to help others heal and be empowered and to forgive. My eyes have been opened to the way that the church is handling this. We're doing it wrong. The body of Christ needs to be there to help victims heal and to show them the true love of Christ, not blame and shame for something that someone took from them. Shuffling something like this under the rug and pretending it didn't happen, is lying. Not sharing the truth, is lying. And I'm tired of lying. Victims don't have to be victims when they have the power of Christ. The victory I have in Christ gives freedom and dignity and rejoices in the truth.
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