Every year approximately 65% of sexual assault crimes go unreported. This story was submitted to Hill Reporter by a woman who has a very similar experience to the one alleged by Christine Blasey Ford, Brett Kavanaugh’s accuser. Like Ford, she was young, afraid to speak out, and the pain from that day continues to haunt her 25 years later. While the victim, Ms. Burton, does not want to provide her first name, she has decided to come forward in support of Christine Blasey Ford, and tell her story:
I was 15-years-old when I was date raped. I remember everything about that day, even though it happened nearly 25 years ago. Funny thing, this brain of mine. I can forget what I walked upstairs for, but I can remember an event that occurred decades ago.
I was wearing jean shorts that closed by three buttons, a white T-shirt, and a cropped, tan sweatshirt. He was wearing jeans, a belt, a white undershirt, and a navy blue, Ralph Lauren T-shirt. He was 17 and went to an all boys Catholic high school. I attended an all girls Catholic high school.
My mother was only a staircase above us. We were downstairs working on our physics homework. He took me by the hand, turned on the t.v., and proceeded to push me to the floor. I resisted by pushing back. He pushed harder.
I said, “Stop.”
I said, “No.”
He continued. I squirmed beneath his weight.
I said, “PLEASE. STOP.”
He said, “Shhhh. It’s okay,” and placed his finger across my lips as he continued to unbuckle his belt.
Then it happened. A single tear rolled down my cheek. I went numb. He finished. That was it.
I asked the “all American”, star athlete, top of his class academically, so-called “perfect gentleman” to leave. So much for the “perfect gentleman”. Did I mention that he was every girls’ “dream date”? If they only knew.
Alone in the den, my tears flowed freely, I was ashamed, scared, sick, humiliated, and in disbelief. At 15-years-old, at the top of my class, I could not comprehend the gravity of the situation. I never imagined it would haunt me into my forties.
I didn’t speak of it right away. I thought I could handle it. Nope. I was wrong. When I finally decided to tell someone, I was asked, “What did you do to give him the impression that it was okay?”
So, Republican members of the Judiciary Commitee, POTUS, and any other living being casting stones:
I dare you to question the veracity of my story because it happened nearly 25 years ago
I dare you to tell me I was mistaken.
I dare you to tell me that I should have handled things differently.
I dare you to make me the victim again.
I dare you to tell me who, what, when, where, why, and how to live my life.
I dare you.
I am a #metoo survivor ×3.