Indelible in my hippocampus. This photo was taken when I was thirteen, a year after I was sexually assaulted for the first time. I went to the home of a boy I liked, he was fourteen, I was twelve. At some point one of his friends came over which I was not expecting. I became uncomfortable and wanted to go home and when I expressed this I was told I could do so only after performing oral sex on him. When I protested his friend blocked the door and I was told that “only” ten seconds of oral sex would earn me my freedom. I was terrified so I did it. He kept his hand on my head the whole time and counted the ten seconds out loud before letting me leave. I told no one because I believed I had “consented” since I technically “agreed” to the ten seconds; I was sure I would be branded a slut by my entire school. When I finally did tell a couple of people years later they were confused by my distress because I hadn’t “really tried to get away.” I didn’t tell anyone else. The following year I was sexually assaulted again; I was thirteen. I had a few friends over to my house and someone had invited a guy I’d never met; he was nineteen. At some point that afternoon he quietly followed me into my bedroom and told me, matter-of-factly, that if I didn’t perform oral sex on him to completion he would come back one night and rape me. He could not have appeared more serious and as he knew where I lived, I believed him. So again, I did it. Believing I had “consented” for a second time I again told no one. The shame that I had somehow allowed this to happen twice was unbearable so I pushed it away for years, buried it. It was over a decade before I spoke of these assaults again and when I finally did I dismissed them as partially my fault. Like Dr. Ford, it took me years to tell anyone, my assaults have come up in therapy decades later and like her, I remember only specific sounds and images that make up the outlines of the events. I can no longer tell you what I was wearing, what day it was or even what time of year. But it happened. No matter how many more details fade over the course of my life, it happened. #ibelievechristineblaseyford #metoo

rachellelefevreさん(@rachellelefevre)が投稿した動画 -

レイチェル・レフィブレのインスタグラム(rachellelefevre) - 10月1日 07時03分


Indelible in my hippocampus.

This photo was taken when I was thirteen, a year after I was sexually assaulted for the first time. I went to the home of a boy I liked, he was fourteen, I was twelve. At some point one of his friends came over which I was not expecting. I became uncomfortable and wanted to go home and when I expressed this I was told I could do so only after performing oral sex on him. When I protested his friend blocked the door and I was told that “only” ten seconds of oral sex would earn me my freedom. I was terrified so I did it. He kept his hand on my head the whole time and counted the ten seconds out loud before letting me leave. I told no one because I believed I had “consented” since I technically “agreed” to the ten seconds; I was sure I would be branded a slut by my entire school. When I finally did tell a couple of people years later they were confused by my distress because I hadn’t “really tried to get away.” I didn’t tell anyone else.
The following year I was sexually assaulted again; I was thirteen. I had a few friends over to my house and someone had invited a guy I’d never met; he was nineteen. At some point that afternoon he quietly followed me into my bedroom and told me, matter-of-factly, that if I didn’t perform oral sex on him to completion he would come back one night and rape me. He could not have appeared more serious and as he knew where I lived, I believed him. So again, I did it. Believing I had “consented” for a second time I again told no one. The shame that I had somehow allowed this to happen twice was unbearable so I pushed it away for years, buried it. It was over a decade before I spoke of these assaults again and when I finally did I dismissed them as partially my fault. Like Dr. Ford, it took me years to tell anyone, my assaults have come up in therapy decades later and like her, I remember only specific sounds and images that make up the outlines of the events. I can no longer tell you what I was wearing, what day it was or even what time of year. But it happened. No matter how many more details fade over the course of my life, it happened. #ibelievechristineblaseyford #metoo


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