To Be Loved

CW: Very confronting experiences and detailed descriptions of sexual assault and sexual harrassment that may be difficult to read. I’ve slept with a lot of people, and I don’t mean 10-20 – I mean I lost count two years ago when I was 18 and hit the count of 60. You may find yourself falling into the large collective that would either tell me I’m lying, slut-shame me or tell me that I’m trying to flex. I invite you to humour me and let me explain how this is far from a flex. I’m going to bring you back to 14-year-old me, losing her virginity in a park unconscious to three Sydney private school boys. I don’t share this from a stance of empowerment or to attempt to fight some hegemonic patriarchal narrative but simply to explain. I know I am a survivor, but barely. The first person I told didn’t believe me, and they quickly became the only person I ever told. To this day, much of my family and friends are still oblivious. To be told your story isn’t true when you’re already so fragile was nearly my breaking point. Nearly. I decided that my coping mechanism would be sex. I know that sounds stupid and counterintuitive but to sleep with a man on my own terms seemed like the only way of gaining my body back.

Once I slept with one man, it turned into many men. I didn’t do this because that was how I wanted to represent myself, or that I even particularly enjoyed the experiences. Sex in fact did not help me gain my body back, but I kept telling myself I had just not had the right sex yet. I went through boyfriends and flings, and as we all know from high school drama, reputations form and they do in fact stick, no matter how false they may be. I moved to Canberra for university three years ago, and I decided that chasing men and hook-ups was behind me. I knew the statistics coming to ANU surrounding assault, but who ever thinks they’re going to be part of those numbers? Well at least that’s what I thought until I was part of them.

In my first month at ANU I woke up to two boys from the military academy above me. It’s not because I don’t care, and definitely not because I’m some strong force, but this incident did not affect me as one may suspect - I just shut down any thought of it and continued to live my life like it never happened. That was until the April holidays came about and I went out with my childhood friends in Sydney, I was drugged at Sydney’s Sheaf and assaulted onsite. I hadn’t drunk much, I hadn’t done drugs, I was surrounded by my closest friends - and shitty things still managed to happen to me. This made me question a lot- what made men want to assault me? What made me a victim three times? What did I do wrong?

As I reflect now, my experiences are not my fault and not at all rare, and so many strong and amazing people have experienced similar incidents - and I acknowledge all of them. My coping mechanisms have undoubtedly been toxic and hazardous, and I am still always chasing that moment that my body will feel mine again. I know this detachment is felt amongst many victims, and my story is not unique, but I ask you to reflect on the toxicity and systematic issues of gender inequality. Issues that surround the sexual experiencesI have been continually subject to. Where women are still blamed for their own assaults. Where women are shamed for having sex and men are congratulated. Where victims are not believed.