It happened to me.

It happened a year and a half ago.

I rarely talk about it. I feel guilty for not being torn apart by it like most girls who experience it do. I feel like I should be distraught, but I am not going to be defined by it or better yet, let it define me. There are only a few people who know the details of what happened that night and there are even fewer people who know that I even went through this.

I still think about it every week. It pops up. I am constantly reminded. It is talked about in the media, amongst friends, and it is even joked about. This is the only time I get a twinge in my stomach, when it's joked about. It pains me because there is nothing funny or slightly humorous about my experience.

I don't think I have an issue with it. It is just another scar on my heart, another chapter in my story called life. I don't know how I am supposed to act. I mean, there were certain activities I avoided. I couldn't handle bars or clubs (and I still have a hard time going to those places, unless in large groups with a bunch of friends). I stayed away from alcohol (I was intoxicated at the time of the incident). I don't like being alone for extended periods of time either.

I went to a counselor, but it didn't do too much for me. She wanted me to rehash things, which was the last thing I wanted to do. I got really drunk, made a stupid decision, trusted people I didn't know and they violated me. I didn't ask for it, I didn't lead them on, I made a stupid decision. I told her I couldn't keep dwelling on this nonsense, there was no good that would come from me talking about how it felt, what they did; I have to face what happened and move on. I don't know how you can process it. I have accepted it and kept on trucking. I didn't want to be a victim and I wasn't in denial. I know what happened. I am aware that it did happen.

Where I feel I got lucky in this whole situation, if you can even chalk it up to that. The two bastards that did this admitted their actions. All I had to do was make a statement, which was made over and over and over again the morning after the assault took place. It's all maddening when I think about it. The whole event plays in my head like a movie, but there are parts that slow down and are blurred and pieces missing.

I think what confuses me is my lack of emotional response. I am highly emotional. I mean, if I really sit down and think about it, I can cry and get angry, but there isn't a point to that. It gives them power. It keeps me reliving it, which is the last thing I want to do. I am even surprised I am writing about this. Maybe someone else has gone through this or something similar and has had the same emotional hang-ups that I have experienced, too. I don't know. It just shocks me that I have handled this situation so, so calmly.

Anyway, I have been thinking a lot about this whole situation lately. The before and the after and I don't feel like droning on and on about it. It is what it is; I think I needed to let it out for it not to be a secret anymore.

I was raped.