My life has always been fragmented, separated into many pieces that are each distinct and do not invade each other--that is the ultimate sin.  There is home life and school life and social life and each of these are fragmented in many pieces.  No one knows all aspects of these groups.  The only thing that I allow to permeate through all groups is my faith.  Privacy is worth something to me, but how I do it depends--I believe sharing my story gives strength but my anonymity is important.

But my assault has permeated everything.  Some days when I walk down the street I feel that I'm labeled on my forehead--victim written in red letters.  Like I wear an embroidered scarlet V on my chest.  Telling my story didn't remain my choice--countless administrators and officials, his friends, my fellow students.  Sometimes, my only hope was to preemptively tell my friends--before he or his friends did.

I remember the day someone assumed that I had never been through trauma.  You think I'd be offended by the fact that someone would assume that my life was all rose petals and rainbows.  Instead I was grateful--it made me feel that maybe after all I had a shred of privacy left.

Privacy in rape victims doesn't mean them shutting down and never telling their story.  It means allowing them to truly have control of the process of telling their story.  When, where, and how they open up remains up to them.  It may not be the timing that someone wants, it may not be when or where that someone wants.  But it is the survivor's trauma, their own to decide, share, and explore.

Assault doesn't stay contained no matter how much we want it to.  But others can help by allowing it to be the victim's survivor's choice on how and who they tell.  First amendment rights are important, but isn't human decency more important?