It’s the small things that help you survive. Sometimes, life has to become a silly little game. Maybe you can’t imagine enduring a study-abroad semester with the man who assaulted you—but maybe you don’t have to. Maybe all you need is to hold out for your next cup of strawberry tea.
The worst part wasn’t sitting in class or at the dining hall with him, pretending I didn’t get sick in the morning from the pure dread of spending more time in his presence. It wasn’t even the whirlwind of inescapable thoughts.
I don’t remember everything that happened, but I know enough. No, shut up, I remember everything, I will never confront the unknown.
I’m pissing blood. Shut up. Not possible. Everything is fine.
Would my program coordinator do anything? I could take a picture of the bruising, but I don’t want to see it again. No one would believe you anyways—you liked him before you went back to his place. Everyone knew it. Just pretend everything is normal.
I want to shower again. Would anyone notice if I left? Stop being ridiculous, it’s a tiny class, sit down and wait.
He said he did nothing wrong and he wants to be friends. I would rather drink the bottle of detergent in the laundry room.
I can’t think of anything else. I want to leave. I can’t be here for another two months. Somebody GET ME OUT OF HERE.
No, the most excruciating piece was smiling, participating in the lecture, feigning happiness and normality. People didn’t know all the details, because even I still don’t admit them, but they knew enough. Most just didn’t care, or didn’t want to. He was charming, after all, and no one wanted to stir up drama or make waves. Some even told me it was my fault. They said I was giving “flirty no’s” instead of actual ones. That I should’ve expected it from someone three years older, someone with “desires.” I couldn’t have possibly been naive enough to expect anything else. I wasn’t dragged to his apartment, I was happy to go.
Silence was agonizing and judgment cut deeper. Maybe it was my fault, after all. I should apologize. I should beg forgiveness for the sin of looking so tempting, for giving him the impression that I wanted this even as I started blacking out, even as I said I didn’t want to. (I did apologize. His attorney used it against me. It’s an “admission of guilt.”) I should have yelled.
So I played along, smiling when I felt like screaming and pretending that everything was going to be okay. I just wanted to disappear, to numb myself to everything, to float outside my body and make-believe nothing had ever happened.
If happenstance was going to trap me in this charade, I figured I might as well make it more bearable. When the day finally ended, I always had the opportunity to drop the act away from my peers. I’d heat up some water—two minutes in the microwave—and steep some strawberry tea. If the day was really rough I’d have a piece of chocolate too. It was a small ritual, but it was mine—my brief escape, a moment of peace before stepping back into the fire.
He can take a lot from me, but he can’t take my strawberry tea.
I hadn’t yet decided to pursue a legal case when I found my next piece of solace. I was still operating on autopilot, when I came across a street vendor selling jewelry. My eyes landed on a snake ring. I remembered the story of Medusa—how she was punished for the violence done to her, but in the end found ways to protect herself. I wanted some protection too. The ring fit perfectly, and I rarely take it off now.
Eventually I left the program. While a huge weight was lifted off my chest, pursuing a case doesn’t make things easier emotionally. He might not ever be held accountable. Interview questions force me to relive everything, over and over and over again. I have no expectations that the evidence review will be anything but grueling. I constantly question whether I’m doing the right thing. Sure, I can play the “match the sex act to the crime” game. That doesn’t erase the blame shoved on me. I’ll probably always internalize it.
Then there’s the endless and suffocating spiral of being forced to constantly confront reality. I’m not allowed to not think about it. To get through the interviews, I convince myself it’s not a big deal. I’m just having a casual conversation with a nice lady about my summer. But then I do it so well I start to wonder why I’m even doing this. Why I’m ruining his life for nothing. Why anyone who reads the case transcripts won’t just think I’m being over-the-top (a self-inflicted horror I will never rationalize, because how can I show them to anyone?) And then I remind myself— I only lay down because I was too dizzy to stand. He changed the dosage of my drinks, he had just two beers that night, none of this was okay.
At a certain point, even strawberry tea couldn’t comfort me enough. But now, I have my ring too. It’s a small thing, but it comes with a reminder that I have the power to keep fighting.
I’ve started to realize the power in accepting the discomfort, and find this philosophy seeps into other parts of my life as well. Running became a great way to tune out the uncertainty of what happens next. When I ran my first marathon in October, the process was no different. Just one foot in front of the other. Make it to the next water station. Don’t look back. Keep going until the start line is so far back, you can’t see it anymore, and the only way out is forward.
Running didn’t just teach me persistence. As I ran the marathon with thousands of other people, it mirrored something else: in this quest for consequences, I am not as alone as I thought. Moving forward is not just a solo act. When I told a few close friends about my experience, I was met with compassion, not judgment. I don’t regret that they know, they’ve restored at least a small part of my faith in humanity. If you can, give yourself permission to let others in. They’re not the police, they won’t ask you the play-by-play.
To anyone else going through a legal battle or emotional turmoil, I pray you can find your own version of strawberry tea, a snake ring, and running shoes. May they give you the strength to keep going.
I wish you peace,
