‘Your Hope is the Cornerstone of Your Healing’: My Sexual Assault Story

By Katrina Owensby

My entire life, I have been obsessed with being in control. Then in one night, all my control was ripped from me. While I cannot bear to relive the details, I will say that it was my first Friday night at college. My roommate invited me to go to a bar. I was apprehensive because my experience with drinking was minimal, but I accepted her invitation. My strict parents weren’t looking over my shoulder, telling me what to do. I was completely free and completely in control. 

That night, I woke up to my roommate and her friend walking through the door. I was so disoriented. I remember pulling my dress below my thighs, wondering how it got hiked up. Somehow, I made it to my bed and fell asleep. Little did I know that I’d be waking up and living a nightmare for years to come. The next day, I sat up in bed and twirled my purity ring, deep in thought. All the memories came back to me when I touched my ring. They came back in quilt patches, clumsily stitched together. I had been raped.

I rushed to my friend’s room and told her, through tears, what had happened. Telling her felt shameful, like swearing in church. Then I had to call my mom. Before this, the hardest thing I had to tell my mom was that I got a B on a test. She stayed calm, called my dad, and they drove an hour and a half to take me to the hospital. 

The hospital was beyond traumatising. I was questioned by nurses and doctors. Later, by the police. There were tests and DNA swabs done. Pictures were taken of me. I felt like anything but human. All I could do was lay back and cry silently. I was broken and injured, physically and mentally. The sexual assault advocate said that my parents were crying in the waiting room. I wasn’t the only one living a nightmare. 

After that, I went back to my dorm and said goodbye to my parents. I didn't eat that day. Every time I closed my eyes to sleep, I saw his shadow. I felt his hand push down on my shoulder; I felt him on top of me. I remember asking God why He’d allow this to happen. I remember feeling ashamed of losing control.

It took well over a year of therapy to realise that what happened wasn’t my fault. The lack of fault doesn’t help the victim escape any of the consequences, though. I was left with the responsibility of picking up my life’s pieces. No one warns you of the aftermath of sexual assault. So, let me tell you what fell apart in my life before I tell you how I picked up the pieces.

I went from being a straight-A student to failing three of my classes. I had to visit the doctor multiple times to get injuries soothed. I stopped wearing my purity ring: it was a constant reminder that something I held so close to my heart was ripped out of my grasp forever. In an effort to get the feeling of him off of me and try and regain my control, I allowed men into my innermost being. 

Flashbacks haunted me at all times. When I turned to sleep to escape my reality, nightmares plagued my mind. I didn’t even remember his name, so the paranoia of not knowing the identity of my assailant constantly followed me. I started drinking too much just to numb the pain. When the flashbacks reached their peak, I would see his shadow everywhere, especially when I was alone. I was alone more often than not since I lost all but one of my friends. She didn’t even live close enough to keep me company. 

I sunk into a deep depression, which meant I missed a lot of class and couldn’t get out of bed most days. One night, when the flashbacks and psychosis got too overwhelming, I overdosed on some of my depression and anxiety medication, hoping to ease the pain. When I felt like I was going to die, I prayed for forgiveness and for my life to turn around. Miraculously, I woke up the next morning. I didn’t know who I was anymore; I hated myself. It became apparent that I had to change my environment to heal, so I transferred schools and went back home.

To heal, I had to address what was done to me. I went to therapy once a week. I learned how to say, “It wasn’t my fault”, and, “The girl I have become is not one to hate. She is one to love because she is the one who carried the weight of something so horrific by herself. She survived.” Eventually, I also learned how to believe those things. I started taking PTSD medication, maintaining a schedule, socialising, praying, and rekindling my relationship with myself. Although I felt weak, my persistence to keep on moving forward was the epitome of strength. I went from being a victim to a survivor. 

I have gone from a survivor to a thriver. There is a refreshing sort of freedom that comes from that. I have learned how to love others again. I have learned how to love myself again. I recognise that I can’t erase what happened to me by numbing myself using sex or alcohol. I just need to find healthy ways to cope and grow. 

Nearly three years later, I’m still waiting to attend my court date to address this matter publicly. Healing is not linear. As my court date gets closer, I will admit that I feel like a victim at times. However, I can see now that it is a temporary state of being. Healing takes time. I just need to have patience and the strength to endure the present.

So, what would I say to those out there who have gone through what I have? It’s not your fault, even if it might feel like it is. You didn’t ask for this, no matter what others may say. No one can take your fight away from you, and your fight can always be summoned. It’s okay to backtrack as long as you set your eyes on moving forward. It’s okay to reach out for help because there’s always someone out there wanting to help you. You can overcome this, and you will. You just need to believe and put in the work. 

It’s not fair or right, but it does get better. You are stronger than you can imagine. Your hope is the cornerstone of your healing. Find what you can control because that will be integral to finding your happiness again. I love and believe you. Please, don’t ever give up.