“It is her own fault, she wanted it,” was a phrase I heard on a daily basis. “Why did she tell if she was the one that wanted it in the first place?” I heard it over and over. Walking through the halls was almost like a nightmare to me, and there was no way out. Or was there? I didn’t think I was brave enough to tell somebody what had really happened. Then one day, I found myself going to tell; and there was no stopping me.

It started in the seventh grade, with just a lingering handshake or hug. Then the random touches here and there. I never knew what to think of them. I decided to just brush it off, because it seemed as it was no big deal. He and I were friends since the second grade, so there was no way he would ever do anything to harm me in any way. We had the kind of relationship where we would tell each other anything and keep secrets. So I am guessing that is why he did it. I wouldn’t tell anybody, and we are friends so its not harmful to be playful is it?

I really don’t know why he thought it was okay, and I don’t think I will ever find out. The bus ride home was always the shortest and the least of my worries. In my eight grade year that changed, and it was then I started hating the bus ride to school and the ride home got longer. He started saying inappropriate things to me, mentioning stuff about my body and the clothes I wear. I ignored it. ‘Nobody would care anyways, they would probably say he is just being a normal teenage boy.’ Thoughts of doubt ran through my head. I wasn’t going to tell because I had nothing to tell. Then he started touching me more often. We drifted apart in our friendship. I started talking to him less, and it stopped. I thought it was over.

It was then in my freshman year that we became friends again. He never apologized because there was nothing for him to be sorry about. The reason we had stopped being friends was because of me. Or that is just what he said and I let him believe. The school year felt almost normal, with a few inappropriate comments and gestures here and there. I say normal because that was what I was used to from the past two years. I let it all slide. Until one day in May. It was in Environmental Science class around 2:00pm, our class was in the library working on a project. I asked permission to go up to the classroom to get some of my materials. “The classroom should be open I just sent somebody up there to get their work also, make sure you grab you materials and come right back. No dillydallying in the halls.”

I walked into the classroom with the intent of getting my project materials and heading right back to the library. My intention was stopped by him. I ran into him as he was coming out of the closet, (or room for all classroom materials you could say). He stopped me. Said, “Hey, what are you doing up here?” I don’t even recall if I got the time to reply to his question. It all happened too fast. One second I was standing there about three feet away from him and the next, he was up against me. Touching me in places no boy should ever be allowed to ‘just touch’. I froze. I didn’t know what to do. My mind was racing and I was freaking out inside, but on the outside I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t move. He walked out of the classroom like nothing had happened. It took me a minute to register what had just happened to me. That day changed my life for the worse.

It was a week later when some of my close friends helped me get enough courage to tell. I wanted to tell from day one, but was terrified. Terrified nobody would believe me. Terrified of the things that did happen after I told. I told the one person at school that I can trust with anything, more than anything; my security guard. It was the day I changed my life for the best. And it was the best thing I had done for myself in the longest time. It felt so good to get it out to an adult. From there, it got taken to a higher level. I got help. They told me things would get better, and that they would fix this. And they did. But fist things had to get a little bit worse. The whispers and confrontations I would get in the hallways and lunch room only put me down and wish I wouldn’t have told. But then that stopped. I decided I wasn’t going to let people treat me like that anymore. It wasn’t my fault, and I was going to make sure and let them know. It stopped with them, and then it stopped with him.

I put an end to my own nightmare I was living. Family, friends, school teachers and even strangers that had heard, were all so proud of me. It mad me feel proud and brave for what I had done. I felt like I could help others who go through the same as I had. I still do believe I can help. Once it happens there is no taking it back and it will stay with me forever. I will only keep the parts that made me stronger, and use them to help me through my life. I am thankful for those who supported me in my time of need and change. The day that changed my life, changed it for good.