It was 1986 and I’d just graduated from high school. I was seventeen years old. Within one week, I moved out of my mother’s house. She was kind enough to buy me luggage as a graduation present.

I was thrilled, excited, and scared with finally being free from my mother’s domain. Despite my sheer joy from being out of her house, I had no idea what to do with myself.

My three of my best friends (two girls and a guy) and I drove to the beach after graduation. I had serious plans for the trip, to get as drunk as humanly possible and to stay that way for a week.

Somehow, we managed to procure some wacky weed from a Burger King along the way to the beach. (We had no previous knowledge of this Burger King with a wacky weed salesperson inside. It was luck.)

One night after we’d been there a few days, we were all at the pier and we met some guys. Before long, these boys followed us girls back to the condo. (Our guy friend was straight, so no boys for him!)

I was beyond drunk and out of my mind. I was fighting the establishment and man was I pissed. Funny how my anger only served to harm me, never anyone else.

At some point during that evening, something very bad happened to me. It was only my second sexual experience, and it was against my will.

I asked him to stop and he would not. I was crying out in pain, yet he would not stop. There was physical damage to my body that required a Doctor’s care when I returned home.

I was ashamed and broken. It was my fault, or so I thought at the time. I told myself that I’d gotten what I deserved.

Many years would pass before I stopped blaming myself. I was a weak, waste of space you see. These thoughts made it hard for me to seek help. At the time, alcohol and drugs served as a great amnesia tool. It worked great until it stopped working and I was dying from the inside out and drinking myself sober. I was self medicating and this allowed me to survive until I was able to get help.

After some serious internal work (with help from professionals), I learned that everything that had happened to me up to that point led me to that night of the beach. Sexual and physical abuse “prepares” you to be a victim for more sexual crimes.

In a sense, you become stamped. Predators sense this which is why so many people have repeated offenses.

I am not that person I was at seventeen, but there is a part of her that still resides inside. I am no longer a victim. In the past if you chopped off my ear, I would act as if “everything was fine.” I blocked it out. (The hardest part of getting better is that I began to FEEL EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE.)

I can honestly tell you that on the good days, I wear my history with confidence. Every experience contributed to the person I am today. No one will ever take me pieces of me without my permission.

The main therapist that got me through the worst told me I could take all of my dents, scratches, and bruises and use them for good. It took a very long time to make sense of that but I have.

One of those handy traits is that I have very reliable weirdo detector. I have learned to listen and trust my instincts because I believe in myself. My instincts are sharp. If I sense, “something isn’t right here,” I know to remove myself from the situation.

I have an incredible sense of empathy for people of all types, and I can experience love on levels that I never knew were possible. It took a very long time, but I was finally able to enjoy a healthy sexual life and a union to one person. It took a very long time for me to even allow someone to really love me. Love felt too much like pain. Defense mechanisms. They haven’t disappeared, they are still there just in case I need them. I make a choice not to use them.

I have my days; writing about this was tough. I can honestly say digging around in the dirt in order to find me has been worth it.

I am no longer on the outside looking in.