To not report Jordan left me feeling helpless but in most cases of college rape reported by women, the boy typically gets a slap on the wrist.

That wasn’t the main reason I didn’t report Jordan. The main reason was that I had zero recollection of the event that changed my life. I felt it after and I was told about it after, even by Jordan, but I didn’t know exactly what happened. All I know is that I was too drunk and high to consent.

Two days after my rape, Jordan came up to me at a day party. He came up to me with his once warm smile and scent. He hugged me and I felt like dying. He said how the other night was so much “fun” and how I’m wild. I asked why he did that to me and he said “I wanted it.” I told him that was the complete opposite of the truth and I had a bruise on my lip that was a reminder of how much I didn’t want him. He laughed and said I “bit his tongue,” coincidentally a place that no one could visibly see. I got away from him but he showed no remorse and made me feel crazy.

He gaslit me. This is a term I learned in therapy from my doctor. She told me that there is a movie called Gaslight, where the character’s reality is skewed based on what someone else is telling them, making them feel crazy and that their reality is actually false. This struck a nerve with me.

I had been gaslit. I let him take so much from me and I was not about to let him take away my sanity. Jordan was wrong. He knew I was drunk and on drugs and continued to have sex with me. He did not care because he is a selfish coward.

To everyone else that knows him, he is an ironically innocent drug dealer who is friends with everyone. He is in a popular fraternity and gets with girls all the time. Why would he rape me? That is still a question I have yet to be answered but to everyone else he wouldn’t do this. That’s why I didn’t report it.
Jordan would have taken me to court and won. Who would want to testify for me when the only two people in the room were Jordan and myself? No one, that’s who.

A few weeks later, I found out he had sex with another girl who had no memory of this encounter. The guilt of not reporting him was killing me. I had no evidence he raped me regardless of whether I knew my truth or not. Now this girl will have no evidence either.

Sometimes I wish my rape had been violent. I wish I had to be hospitalized and that it was broadcast on television. I wish I could remember even the slightest detail because maybe I could put Jordan away, feeling hopeless in jail. I wish I had visible evidence, because who believes a girl who only has emotional evidence? No one still.


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