I don’t want to be just another statistic.

                I suppose I am, either way you cut it, but I can’t stand to live with the evidence of it.

The worst is this, I was never fully attacked.

                They call it assault, and I am deemed less victimized than someone who was raped, penetrated against their will.

My question is, if it wasn’t so bad, why do I still live with the memories on my skin? And in my mind, and in my body, the physical and mental scars I will always wear.

                Every 2 minutes, someone in the United States is sexually assaulted.

Every time I am alone in the dark, the memories haunt me.

                2/3 of sexual assault victims know their attackers.

2/3 of the people I’ve kissed or been in any way physically intimate with were not by choice.

                Why was I chosen to live with this experience? To learn to shy away from human touch and affection, even when it isn’t meant to harm me?

                Why was I the one forced to relearn how to be intimate with someone? The one who had to deal with the pain of a failed suicide attempt and a bout with alcoholism at 14 years old? Why do I sound like every other teenage rape story?

                I don’t want to be another statistic. But I guess I don’t have a choice.

I guess it’s just one more thing you stole from me.