I am a student, affiliated with a “prestigious” higher education institution. I am a female, a sister of a sorority; a tour guide, a loyal ambassador to my school; and a rape victim.
Approximately two months ago I was raped. Not only was I raped, and by no means do I aim to diminish any form of rape, but merely distinguish my own; I was raped by a co-worker.
After spending copious amounts of time in the hospital, being completely dehumanized; I found myself looking in the mirror at a stranger to myself. Everything that I had once known for 19 years was severely skewed. I felt as no longer myself, but as society had tattooed me with the term “victim.”
Later, after suffering the minor loss of having my precious necklace stolen off of my person, I was summoned into Student Affairs to discuss the further progression of my Title XI Investigation and my rape case. I was “sat down” like an innocent babe and was told that the best way to go about attaining “justice” for the “complaint” was to go through a “SET UP.”
The way this “set up” process worked was that I was handed a worksheet with a timeline on it. On this timeline were quotes from my personal statement to the police, chronologically organized. I was then told, “Now, I want you to go through each of these moments and think of an excuse as to why it could not have happened.” To say I was extraordinarily upset would be an understatement; my reply was, “So you’re asking me to come up with excuses for why I was raped?”
The reply to my anger-filled statement was then, “Well, we don’t like to phrase it that way, but yes.” I rose from the chair I was sitting in, gazed upon the walls ladened with bedazzled laminated pieces of paper known to the general public as degrees, and I left.
I walked across the seemingly flawless campus that I used to deem “perfect” and “home,” steaming with hate and distrust. I received a phone call, to which I was then told so casually by a police officer from the school police, that there was nothing they could do about my attack and stolen necklace that had occurred previously, and of course, that they were “sorry”.
Newsflash, this doesn’t make it ok.
Absolutely infuriated at this point, I independently marched over to this police department and quickly opened the door to the main office, and what I saw utterly astonished me. Everyone in the office of the school’s police department was eating donuts.
Now at this point, my rage had woken me up, which was surprising considering the amount of Xanax I must take on a daily basis. Does this surprise you? After all I was diagnosed with PTSD and anorexia, but the general public simply cannot know so I must hide it via strong doses of antidepressants and Xanax. I instantly knew I must write about my experience. It is time that the veil of prestige and happy fiction be pulled from campus.
Recently I was told by my university’s police department that there was not enough evidence to prove my case. And once again I was told that, “they were sorry”. Since receiving this information I have chosen to carve my own path, I am going to parkour through this politically semantic scum that has been strategically placed in front of me, and achieve the justice that I want. I will not partake in the “set up.” I am not a victim, and I will continue to fight.