I wasn’t black and blue; I hadn’t clawed my way out of the situation. My throat was not raw from screaming for help. My clothes not torn, my body not dumped on the side of a riverbank.
I looked completely normal to the outside world. Three men chose to have sex with a woman whose only consent was to cry into the pillow. Her lifeless body passed around like a joint, calmly and without question.
This my friends, is the problem.
I had been through something extremely traumatic, but because I didn’t act immediately, I found it more and more difficult to do anything about it. I hated myself for not rolling over, punching them in the face, running outside naked and begging for help. I hated myself for drinking too much tequila. I hated myself, with every inch of my being that morning.
In the hours that followed, I hated myself for not being able to comprehend what happened. I lay on the…