Anonymous
Photography by Margeaux Edwards
Dear Reader,
The following contains discussion about sexual assault and we advise those who may be triggered by this topic to exercise caution when reading this letter. If you are struggling please reach out to our Peer Contacts or one of the resources listed on our Resources Page.
Sincerely, The IfYoureReadingThis Team
If you’re reading this, please speak up.
My journey with mental health started at the age of 16, and it didn’t quite start as my own journey. It was my Junior year of high school and I had just started dating a guy who I thought was perfect and healthy. He was someone who was always smiling, friends with everyone, and an overall fun person to be around. He excelled in sports, in school, and in his social life. Not long into this relationship, he opened up to me about having suicidal thoughts and wanting to act on those thoughts. It goes to show that no matter how well-loved and “perfect” a person is, they can still struggle with mental health (seriously, check on your friends who have it “all together”). I urged him to tell his parents, a friend, or even a teacher, but he said he was not ready, so I didn’t push him. As I assumed this responsibility of what felt like holding another person’s life in my arms, I became accustomed to staying up until the early morning hours talking on the phone with him, because I was worried about what would happen if I didn't.
My life became a revolving door that he was the center of. I worried constantly about where he was, what he was doing, and if he was alright. It was a never-ending cycle of no sleep, worrying, and trying to act like everything was normal all while juggling AP classes, sports, and a social life. I felt like I was drowning, unable to speak to anyone about the problem at hand and unable to say the words that he needed to hear. We were at a constant stalemate, with no improvement in sight. My silence and naivety allowed me to get manipulated by the situation. I was sexually assaulted by this person I cared so deeply about, but I denied it at the time and stayed in the relationship. I allowed all of this to happen because I was scared to speak up to someone who could actually help. It all sounds crazy looking back at it, but in that moment I genuinely thought if I told anyone about what was going on, my boyfriend might take his life. I was never exposed to mental health before this situation, and I had no idea how to handle falling into a sinkhole of depression with someone I genuinely cared for.
It took a breaking point for me to finally open up to his parents about the situation. The day I broke up with him I waited with him to tell his parents about the mental state he had been in. This was a shock to his parents considering they too thought he was this happy high school student who couldn’t possibly struggle with mental health or have suicidal thoughts. He got the help he needed and I pray every day that he is doing well. As hard as it was to move on from this situation where I had quite literally retrained my brain to worry so much about the safety of another person, I did it. As that era in my life ended and I began to untangle myself from his mental health journey, I slowly started to recognize the effect these few months had on me and my own mental health. I shut down after this, convincing myself and my parents that I was unaffected by what had happened even though I had continuous sleepless nights and constant anxiety within. It took me reaching college and making new friends to start speaking about the situation I had been desperately avoiding thinking about for so long. To those friends who made me feel seen and encouraged me to keep talking about it, I cannot thank you enough. This year, four years after that chapter of my life, I am looking for a therapist to help me work through this. It is never too late to get help.
I am not writing this letter as a sob story and for you to feel sorry for me; I’m writing this letter to emphasize the importance of support. If you are reading this, please speak up. I want you to know that you are never alone, and that help is always one conversation away. If you are in a similar situation as I was and you feel like someone’s life is weighing heavy in your hands, please speak up. I promise their anger towards you for telling someone who can help them is so much less than the grief and anger of losing a friend.
If you are a victim of sexual assault, please speak up when you are ready to. Speaking about the pain it caused me was one of the only things that began to set me free from what I had experienced. I quickly learned that multiple of my friends had a shared experience with sexual assault. Start with a close friend, your mom, a therapist, a VOICE advocate, literally anyone who makes you feel safe and seen. I want you to know that you are not alone although it often feels that way. According to the National Sexual Violence Resource center, 81% of women reported experiencing some sort of sexual assault. That is a staggering statistic, but one that is so important and not spoken about enough.
If you are reading this and you resonate with my letter in any way, I beg you to speak about it. I know how difficult of a first step that can be, it will probably feel more like climbing a mountain than taking a step. Do it. Talk to someone about what you are going through, allow that person to get you not the help that you need, but the help that you deserve. You deserve to be here and have good days. You deserve to feel loved and special even on your bad days. You deserve it all.
Anonymous, Georgia Tech
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