I Will No Longer Be Silent By: Anonymous

After over a year of staying silent about what ______ _______ _______ did to me, I am done being afraid of him. I’m done hiding my truth. My story will no longer stay in the dark—it will be heard, so people can know who he truly is and what he is capable of. A monster.

On July 4th, 2023, ______—my boyfriend at the time—suggested we celebrate the holiday together. I had just graduated high school and wasn’t old enough to drink. He was 28. His idea was to get alcohol and stay in a hotel for a few hours to watch the fireworks. I agreed, on the condition that I wouldn’t drink—I had promised my sister.

But once we were at the hotel, he begged me to have just one drink. I finally gave in, thinking one drink wouldn’t hurt—I’d built up a tolerance by then. After I finished the drink, I felt okay at first. That’s when he asked me if I wanted to sleep with him. I didn’t. I had told him no many times before. I was a virgin and saving myself for marriage. He responded with, “You don’t think I love you? That I don’t want to marry you or have kids with you?” He seemed angry, and I felt scared. He had a history of road rage, a temper, and he was much bigger than me—6'0" Over 170 pounds. I was just 4’9” and 85 pounds. He had told me before that I was “lucky” he had changed, because in the past, he wouldn’t have cared if I said no. I was scared. I agreed. I wish I hadn’t. My one condition was that he wear a condom. He was upset—he said he wanted kids and felt “too old” to wait. But I stood firm. I wasn’t ready to be a mom.

Afterward, I was quiet, not really in the mood to talk. To “lighten the mood,” he offered me molly. I said no—multiple times. I was in the process of enlisting in the military and couldn’t risk it. He then asked if I would at least have another drink. I agreed, just to get him to stop pushing the drugs. As he was pouring the drink, he mentioned he had “lost” the molly anyway. I didn’t even finish that second drink before I started to feel disoriented. Out of it.

That’s when it happened. He was on top of me. I was pinned down—he was choking me, I was too disoriented to fight him off. I told him no. He didn’t stop. He wasn’t wearing a condom. He kept talking about how all his friends were getting married and having kids, and he was the last one without either.
I told him I felt like throwing up. He finally got off me. What felt like a few minutes of vomiting was actually hours of me sitting on the floor, completely out of it. Later, he came in and told me to calm down. He said I needed to shower. I said no—I just wanted to sleep.

He undressed me anyway, forced me into the shower, and turned the water to the coldest setting. I begged to get out. I told him I was freezing. He didn’t let me. He stayed in there with me. After a while, he finally let me out. I dried off, got dressed, and laid down. When I woke up, I was fully naked again. But I was past curfew. I didn’t question it—I just got dressed and left.

That night—and another night after—destroyed me.

I didn’t leave him right away. I didn’t want to believe my first time had been rape. I didn’t want to admit what had happened. I was scared of my family finding out. I didn’t want to be seen differently.

A few months later, he asked me if what had happened was consensual. I was terrified—his tone, his rage. I hesitated, but then I said yes. Not because it was true—but because I wanted to avoid a confrontation. I wanted to believe it myself. But it wasn’t true. None of it was okay. I still live with the aftermath. The nightmares. The sweating. The crying. The vomiting. The fear of bumping into him. I’m in a healthy relationship now, but that trauma still lives in my body. It’s not something you just “move on” from.
I never pursued legal action. I had no proof. It would have been my word against his. And my father passed away not long after the relationship ended—I was too broken, too tired. I decided to live with it.

But now I’m speaking. Even if I stay anonymous. Even if there’s no courtroom. This is still a kind of justice. This is me reclaiming my voice. I’m no longer letting him have power over me—not even in my silence.
He lives without fear, knowing he got away with it. But not anymore.

I am not silent.