Dear mother, who thought that the incident was a fault of her poor parenting skills, because I should have known better.
Dear my so called friends, who sat by and let the incident happen, because who doesn't love to lose their virginity their first time getting drunk.
Dear same friends, who he following morning said "welcome to the slut club", because that's an award you should get in high school.
Dear friends of his, who told everyone at school the next day, because he needed another notch in his belt.
Dear girls at school, that tattooed "SLUT" across my forehead, because they didn't understand.
Dear girls, who taped "Slut" to my back, because they wouldn't say it to my face.
Dear teachers at school, who heard the rumors and did nothing but judge me, because at fifteen, I probably wanted it anyway.
Dear friend, who told me pills and booze would make the pain go away, because talking about it wasn't an option.
Dear rapist.
I. Am. A. Person.
I am not a plaything for you to exert your will upon. There was nothing that I 'should have known' to prevent the incident.
I didn't take you to court because I didn't think it would do anything. I assumed that the judge would find my basketball shorts and over-sized T-shirt to be considered "asking for it." If that had been the case, why didn't all of your friends try to rape me?
I didn't take you to court because I was scared of what people would think.
How could such a young promising girl let such a terrible thing happen to her?
How did such a young beautiful girl put herself in that position?
Blind trust and faith in humanity. That's my response.
I never asked to be "shushed" into submission and taken advantage of when I couldn't move.
I asked to get drunk for the first time with friends I had known for ages along with boys I'd known for years.
I was fifteen. In what world does a drunk fifteen year old signify sexual intercourse?
Oh right.
It doesn't.
