Editor’s Note: Today is Denim Day, an annual campaign observed worldwide to highlight misconceptions surrounding sexual violence. It began twenty-plus years ago, after the Italian Supreme Court justices ruled that a rape victim’s tight jeans were evidence of her consenting to the sex. The following day, women in the Italian Parliament came to work wearing jeans in solidarity with the victim.
The story below was submitted anonymously. Unlike standard military briefings on sexual assault capturing statistics and legalities, this story captures the victim’s perspective. We publish this piece on Denim Day in honor of those suffering silently. It may contain content unsuitable for some readers.
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It takes 7 years for all the cells in your body to completely regenerate. In 570 days he will have never touched this body of mine.
The craziest thing about being raped is time continues onward. You make new friends, get married, and even contemplate having children. Eventually you wonder, would it be safe for my child to join the Army?
Am I safe?
I go running. I love to run. I am one of the fastest runners in my formation. My breath starts to quicken as I pick up the pace. Suddenly, I feel his hands on my neck strangling me. I can’t breathe. Will I ever feel free again? But, just like my pace, years continue onwards.
The funny thing about time is while certain moments dull other details sharpen.
We are in another mandatory sexual assault response training. A Soldier asks why someone would ever choose a restricted report. Suddenly I’m sitting in my Dad’s car. The taste of vomit is palpable. He tells me our family is going to court. My autistic 6 year-old sister was sexually assaulted by a neighbor. They caught him trying to sell the video he took online. How can I break my parents’ hearts by putting them through that again?
I filed a restricted report. Now I swallow my words and vomit back down.
This year I went to talk to my brigade executive officer. I had one question. Will you please not hire my rapist? My last words of the conversation: “Don’t tell anyone else. I don’t want to be a burden.” Shame slithered up my spine, a coiled snake always waiting to pounce.
He looked me in the eyes and said you are not a burden. You are an enormous asset.
Today, I am writing these words, reminding myself he can no longer hold me down, physically or mentally. He is a real person not just an imaginary assailant in your SHARP scenario. But I am not afraid. I think about signing this writing. Yet, you already know me. Just look around your formation.
Soon, I will be a commander. I remember how not one person in my chain of command asked, “Are you okay?” I will never be okay, but I will continue forward. I will be the commander I needed 1,965 days ago.
