As a rape victim, I feel compelled to share my story. One of my favorite quotes has been laid heavily upon my heart, "You did not come this far to just come this far." This quote spoke to me, telling me my story could make a difference. I am only sharing my story in order to make a greater awareness of sexual assault.

As a rape victim, I was asked many victim blaming questions:

"Well weren't you two dating?"
"Why didn't you fight back?"
"Why didn't you get out of the car, run, and call 911?"
"Why didn't you speak up sooner?"

The answers? Yes, we were dating. No, I didn't fight back or get out of the car. I spoke up as soon as I could.

You see, the fact that two people are dating/engaged/married doesn't matter; consent isn't assumed-- consent is given or it's not. People can be cruel. Some people will learn your weaknesses, just in order to allow your own weaknesses to cripple you without him/her having to do much themselves. For example, I have anxiety, chronic pain, chronic migraines, vertigo, and more. After a day out with friends, my body is easily overstimulated and disoriented. I am, at best, somewhat functional.

So on that freezing, February night, why didn't you just take me home? We had a dinner I couldn't stomach as always, danced all night, been surrounded by bright flashing lights and loud music, and you knew.... You knew I wasn't doing so well; you knew I wasn't myself.

"Tate, you feeling okay? Want me to take you home?"

How considerate of you to take my desperate hope to leave into consideration. What would have been more considerate of you, would have been you just taking me home like I asked.

Instead, after getting in the car and buckling up, you didn't drive for long. We made it to the back of the expansive school parking lot... and you stopped.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

I noticed a change in motive. I also noticed how vulnerable of a mental/physical state I was in.

How didn't you notice how unlike myself I was? How desperate was I to get home, take my medications, and rest? Or did you fully notice, and decided to disregard my state of well-being for your benefit.

Because me, I, I think you knew all too well... I think you knew that it would be easy...

You wouldn't even have to force yourself upon me. All you had to do was lift me and move me as you wished. I wouldn't do much more than matter because I could barely say full words. I wouldn't storm out, because not only were you the one driving and it was freezing out, but once you had gotten me out of my clothes I couldn't get them on quick enough if I tried.

So that's what you did. And I tried... I said no... I muttered and whimpered while my eyes rolled back at times... I nodded out, between reality and out-of-body experiences. I'd catch sight of one of the bright lampposts amid the parking lot, and wonder if maybe I pretended I was somewhere else, I mentally could be. It worked for a few seconds or so, but the interruption of your penetrative thrusts forced me to face reality.

I think you got off to me saying you were hurting me. No, that was no compliment to your male complex. It was me trying to say please stop, since saying "no" wasn't enough.

You continued.

In retrospect, I know that the churning feeling in my stomach that haunted me, was my physical embodiment of the truth: you were raping me.

I began to feel really, really sick. Then worse... Really, really worse.

All I was able to see was a piercing fluorescent light. At that point, I honestly thought I was hallucinating. I kept turning over the idea of this all just being one big, bad dream in my mind.

In a voice as frantic as I was feeling inside, you yelled, "FUCK!"

Everything that followed was the biggest blur of my life.

I remember hearing someone telling you to get out of the car immediately over a loudspeaker. I remember a big SUV. I remember you getting in the car in a hurry, forgetting I was helpless in the back. I remember you having to wake me up from a sleep I had fallen into. You told me, "Tatum. Tatum... Tatum! Hey, we're at your house" The last thing I remember from that night was me falling out of the car, you pathetically helping me only to the front steps of my house for me to have to walk in alone without explanation.

I took my medications that night. I saw pills. I told myself, "You will not try to kill yourself again. You will not. You will sleep. You will gather what you can in your mind to remember what all occurred that night. You will get help. Help is the answer, not suicide." I took my medications and slept.

The weekend passed. I didn't act like anything was wrong towards him. I was struggling very hard to collect my thoughts. I kept asking myself if I could've done more to prevent the situation from having happened, and my anxiety led me to believe I am responsible for any and every bad thing that happens to me. I kept telling myself that I didn't do enough to get myself out of the situation.

But then I realized that I was doubting the power of the LAW. If I said no, even once, that means I am not giving sexual consent.

I went to school that following Monday. I was pulled out of my third-hour class. The walk to the office was nothing short of awkward. I sat down with one of the principals. She asked me, "You know why you're being brought down here today, right?"

I didn't have any words. I cried. All I could do was cry. Maybe my tears made me look like I felt guilty and was full of regret, but the tears were my way of expressing that I myself was still trying to recall the night that had led me to that very meeting. I didn't know who saw what, or how much/little that person saw. I had no idea, frankly.

She said she would call my mother, tell her what happened, and how long I will be suspended for, or I could call and explain. I said I would. I called my mom's work phone. I listened to each ring of the phone, being struck with pang after pang in my gut, until she answered.

Given my tone of voice, and the shakiness of it, she knew something was wrong. I told her I was in the principal's office, that I was going to be suspended for three days, and then tried to explain why. I told her that I didn't know what they saw or thought they saw, but I was kissing my date and some clothing had been removed. I had no idea how much, again, I was being put on the spot for. The principal returned, recapping why I'm punished and for how long.

I was being suspended for three days due to having [non-consensual] sex. However, the question of whether it was sex or rape was never asked. He was my date, so it was sex, right? Wrong.

I had way too much time on my hands during my out of school suspension. On the second day, I gave in and sent a letter via email to one of the principals. It was a letter of apology, yet somewhere along the lines I mentioned, "Maybe if I said no more than once, or was more aggressive than I wouldn't be in this position."

On Thursday, my first day back from suspension, I was called into a meeting. Some of the adults informed of my letter were concerned and some weren't. They needed to know more because those that were concerned felt as if something more was to the situation.

"Did you tell him no?" one of the counselors asked.

I shook my head and began to cry. Someone finally saw through me. Someone addressed me about a topic I was dreading discussing, yet hoping someone would pick up on without me having to be the first one to speak up.

The counselor told me that I didn't have to feel any blame or guilt for what happened. I had said no, and according to the law, the law was broken once he continued.

A simple shake of my head, confirming that I had said no, opened myself up to retaliation.

I spoke up. Someone who is guilty needs you to remain quiet. Someone who is guilty wants things to go away, and if the problem doesn't just go away, they will make it sure that their side of the story becomes most known.

The next day, Friday, I had an interrogation with eight other adults in the same room. In order to begin the process of getting myself help, I had to share what happened that night of the rape. One adult is intense enough, but I had an officer, both principals, mental health counselor, and my own parents sitting around me at a large table as I talked about the most difficult thing I had endured.

The victim blaming questions broke me inside. I will never be the same. In fact, the traumas of what followed were worse than the rape itself. The traumas that followed reminded me that it would be a long time before I could "forget" the rape.

Things questioned in the interrogation that stood out to me were: who removed which pieces of clothing, if I had had sex before, if I was just making all of this up out of retaliation or to get out of trouble, why I didn't run from the car, how I could be incoherent but sober at the same time, and much more.

I felt like I wasn't taken seriously. All the questions. All the different people's voices. All the misconceptions. I started balling. I honestly felt so small in the world. I managed to push through more and more questions.

The officer finally confirmed that what occurred that night was a rape.

I was told I had to make a decision that day as to whether my family and I wanted to press charges or not. My family couldn't come to an agreement in such an instant. The paperwork was therefor filed with a message that our wishes were to not press charges.

A victim of a rape without DNA proof has roughly six years to make a decision on pressing charges or not.

I had one day as far as I was told at the time.

Had I been given even a month, I would've been ready to make a clear decision.

I didn't get that opportunity.

I continued to go to school for a month after the rape. School, which I once loved, became a battleground. I walked the hallways, passing people who had heard his version of the story, leading them to believe I had cried rape for my reputation's sake and that I'm actually a whore.

The harassment, explicit messages, victim blaming, rape jokes, and slurs that were thrown my way are disgusting. Being told by people I've never even shared a class with or spoken to were going around saying that I had already been brought to court and was apparently in trouble for claiming to be raped. He had built such a bullshitted story, that only young, curious minds would believe.

Nothing was getting better at school. I was given the option to finish the last two months of my senior year of high school at home. I was quick to say yes, knowing that would give me time for all my appointments and away from all the constant reminders and harassment that took place at school.

I graduate in just over a week. I will say, "I made it". I will share my story. I will hold some people accountable for the way my rape and mistreatment was handled. I will not forgive my rapist, nor will I ever forget what he did.

Reporting my rape did nothing for me. The only hope that I had when reporting my rape, was that it would prevent others from being raped as well.