I was forced into reporting my sexual abuse when I was 17 years old. 

A majority of my memories from elementary school are overpowered by the fragmented flashbacks I have of being sexually abused by a paternal cousin. I would then move into middle school where I completely buried the trauma, and for a few years, I even forgot that it existed. So when I was a freshman in high school, I had years of trauma to unpack. I was regularly meeting with two different psychologists as well as a psychiatrist to cope with the depression, anxiety, PTSD, insomnia, self harm, and disrupted eating this trauma had left me with.

By the end of my junior year, I thought I had done a pretty good job at working on and healing from the trauma. So when senior year rolled around, I thought why not include my accomplishments in my college essay? I had worked my ass off in therapy. My depression had subsided, I stopped self harming, my eating was regular again, and I was finally getting ample amounts of sleep each night. 

While I did not write my entire essay on the trauma of being sexually abused, I did mention that I had to endure that trauma and explained how opening up to help with the trauma made me realize that I too want to help others. To me, disclosing this in my essay was a way of moving forward. I was finally able to put what had happened to me in the past. 

It was the day after Thanksgiving during my senior year when I received a phone call from the police station. They had informed me that a college I applied to reported my essay to them because of what I disclosed, and that I had to go into the station to report my abuse. 

I had never given much thought to reporting. I always minimized my trauma by telling myself that I was lucky. I could have had much worse happen to me, so why would it matter if I reported when there was far worse being done to others? I also didn’t want to report because the process of explaining to a stranger seemed exhausting and retraumatizing, and I knew the statistics of how little victims get justice. 

When reporting day came on December 19, 2019, I was terrified. I had no idea what to expect. And I wasn’t surprised at all when I was told nothing could be done. 

I was told that from what I described, it was determined that a crime was committed against me. But I could not seek justice or have anything done about it because:

1. My abuser and I live in different states

2. My case didn’t fall under family court or civil court

3. Due to the gaps in my memory we can’t determine whether the perpetrator was a minor or not when the abuse happened

4. This had happened around a decade ago and just now was it being reported

Coincidentally, I was rejected from the college that reported my essay the day after I went into the police station. It was my dream school. I spent the rest of December and all of January ruminating over what happened. I couldn’t get over the fact that I was forced into reporting my abuse, which was something I had never wanted to do, by a college that didn’t even want me. I felt like I had put all this hard work into this process only for it to cause me more emotional pain than I began with. I had started off excited about sharing my accomplishments with hopes of getting into this school, and I ended with nothing being resolved, a ton of pain, and a big fat rejection letter. 

I went through phases of being so angry and upset to being completely apathetic. There were days where I couldn’t get out of bed because I was so sad and so traumatized. I was angry at the school, angry at the police, and angry at my cousin. 

A year later, I’m still affected by this particular event. Dealing with this has seriously put a damper on the holiday season for me, but I’m working through it. By continuing with therapy, redirecting my emotions into writing and exercise, and working alongside the amazing people at HER, I’ve been able to put things into a new perspective and work towards the ultimate goal: becoming healed, empowered, and restored. 

-KelseyFlanagan