i was sexually assaulted

at 29.

with a guy younger then me. the cliche statement is that you don’t think this happens to you, and the part that gets me, is one can be as prepared as they think, check off every box, yet, that isn’t enough.

i was asleep in my bed, under my roof, in a home i lived in by myself when it happened.

so where did i go wrong?

i studied the mind in school, got my degree with the intent to understand why these things happen.

so where did i go wrong?

i am left without words.

food has no taste, shows cannot hold my attention and interactions make me long to be wrapped up in my blankets. to be in silence. waiting for this feeling i am feeling to be away, gone.

i am just waiting.

i am crying on and off, and everything feels out of place.

on january 13th 2025

i had the best birthday party— a theme of connection, something that has taken three years to build, and the night of my birthday— a feeling we all reveled in.

i came to charlotte in the brokenness of something that feels so small now. leaving a city as a scorned woman feels much different than existing as someone who is whatever i am now— whatever this is.

the attributes of ugliness feel so small compared to someone you trust violating your body, and the aftermath—

your body being violated.

around 1:30 am my friends left and my boyfriend and i argued. i remember he handed me my plaid pajamas, my yellow and blue —my top— a tan tank top to change to into. i turned to lay on my left side, facing the wall. he wanted to me to lay on his chest and i said no, i didn’t want to be touched.

i reiterated this over and over, leading to an argument. i wanted to look at pictures my friends sent of the night.

i took a video of my face, him in the background attempting to document his behavior, because i didn’t like it. his response was ‘why are you recording me, i didn’t do anything wrong.’- threw up a peace sign and stared into the camera. i had tears.

i took off my make up with a wipe, still laying on my side.

i remembered he did a lot for my birthday— and i wanting to be more positive before we fell asleep, asked how he felt about the day. i remember him talking, reminiscing.

i remember feeling exhausted from the party, working that morning, my internal dialogue noting that taking make up off meant time to knock out.

i passed out a few minutes after.

~~~

i woke up to his hands in my pants.

i froze. i didn’t move. i was dead asleep. he was touching me, he was in the midst of doing so, and continued to do so.

i told myself this isn’t happening.

there is noway this could be happening.

he would never do something like this.

i remember the feeling. it was a shock throughout my body.

i went stiff.

i felt sick.

i don’t move.

i want to spring up and punch him in the face.

i tell myself;

jessica, if this is really happening you have to be absolutely sure. if you sprout up instantly he is going to say his hand slipped, or it was misplaced, or it didn’t happen.

disregard this moment.

and i need to verify, understand, that this man believes a woman is lying here unconscious, and has his fingers in your pants, inside you.

but let me be clear,

there is nothing misplaced about fingers inside of you, a hand in your pants, while you, are dead asleep.

he proceeded.

he continues with his hands in my pants.

moves me on my back.

takes takes my hands, places them on his dick which is hard.

i am limp.

uses mine and his hand to stroke himself.

does what one would think.

gropes my breasts.

touches me for what feels like 20 minutes.

retuning back to my pants.

he then moves me back to my left side and started to slide my pants off the top of my right thigh when i sprung up said,

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING.

he looks at me like a deer in headlights.

dick hanging out of his pants.

hard.

he has nothing to say.

i say again,

what,

the fuck,

are you doing?

he stumbles on his words.

to be honest i don’t remember what he said. if i we’re to guess it was some sort of explanation, but nothing could justify what i had witnessed.

i tell him to get the fuck out.

he tells me he doesn’t have key to get into his place, and seems confused that i would have him leave.

i tell him to get out louder, and that if he doesn’t i will call the police.

i tell him you’re drunk,

and he quips back coldly,

“no, you’re drunk.”

he was kicked out at 5:10and i had called my mother by 5:30am.

i had been asleep for three hours.

—————————-

the narrative of being drunk, and many others followed me in the upcoming weeks.

who knew speaking out about sexual assault would bring reasons as an assaulter is innocent more often than not.

the answer is most people.

although 63% of sexual assaults are never reported to the police and in the instance of false reporting— it is only 2% -10%. those numbers are even inflated due to inconsistent protocols, influence, societal or social pressures. (outer variables).

have you ever seen how quickly a community will continue to support

or accept someone accused?

in the aftermath of my SA, i had reached out my assaulters friends/two roommates.

i had sent them the first initial message, one message, in a group chat saying i had been SA’d. neither of them responded.

a few days later i sent them both, in that same group message a string of texts, sending the screenshots of my abuser admitting to crossing the line while i was asleep, and me, explaining in detail what had happened, how i was SA’d by their friend, i had only received one response. the one said;

“please stop blowing up my phone, thank you.”

—————————-

that was my first rude awakening.

that reporting, speaking up about sexual assault is not going to be easy.

i could have evidence;

my assaulter incriminating himself in text messages, after assaulting me,

and it wouldn’t be enough.

people will choose to keep their way of life.

their comfort.

their perception of this person.

—————————

the man who sexually assaulted me works at a dive bar in charlotte, NC one block away from where i work. i was dating him for 18 months and when i tell my story, the first reaction i get is “i never thought he would do that.”

and i agree, neither did i.

i guess that is what makes this so hard.

i did not want it to be true.

he was someone i loved and i trusted.

he is out going, and kind, and never raises his voice. he is the epitome of a golden retriever. exactly what you would think, the type of person to never do this,

but the saddest part is that he did.

and he did it without connecting with this;

that he has left a scar on me for the rest of my life, and has zero introspection or reflection to fix this part of himself.

and therefore i have to connect with it and know it is not okay.

————————

the first few days after this had happened i felt conflicted and confused. i didn’t understand why this had happened.

i felt guilty.

i felt like i should have been nicer to him and complied more that night, even though i didn’t want to be touched.

the horrible thought of —if i had had sex with him, this would have been evaded. if we had sex before we fell asleep this would never have happened.

it makes me sick knowing i thought like that, but i felt the dysfunction of why my partner did this to me, and why we ended up at that point.

kicking him out was hard. realizing what he was doing was hard. realizing he did what he did was hard. but to me, and i think most who have been violated, by a partner; feels that even though you love someone you have to double down on yourself a little bit more and understand that hard decision even if it breaks your heart. because what are you going to do?

accept that?

i told him no, and he can touch me anyway?

look at someone and think it is okay they think it is okay to touch someone unconscious?

———————-

it has been one month since i was sexually assaulted.

the world keeps moving.

that bar, only one block away,

life keeps moving.

i walk home, on the other side of the street now, and i saw him walk into the restaurant next to his work. high-fived a worker, and jumped on the counter.

that simple glimpse of a moment, he was full of life and normalcy, where i one month later,

have to adjust every part of me, including what side of the street i walk on.

—————-

i remember when i saw his mom blocked me on facebook a few days after. i had initially wanted to reach out to his mother and let her know what had happened. i was worried about him and this being a pattern and a cycle. his mom is a social worker. i wanted to message her, and i wanted her to at least know, to try to have some influence to get him help.

because now that the dust has settled, behavior like this isn’t a one time thing.

there always seems endless stories about women being harmed by men, but somehow endless men are walking around without consequence.

——————-

the morning i kicked my assaulter out i told him to never talk to me again. he told me was he ‘too much in rubbing my back and body while i was asleep’

i told him fuck you,

and blocked him.

i however did not block him on facebook,

or my two creative accounts on instagram. in the days after, he unfollowed me, unfriended me— and i have not heard from him since.

never an apology.

but the cognitive ability to erase me, and to run.

this has brought up a lot of conversations in my own life, opened a lot of feelings i have never felt before and through professional perspectives; i am learning a lot.

i have to have mounting evidence to prove someone did what they did— how they harmed me—

contrary, all the assaulter has to do,

is say it didn’t happen.

i could have time stamps, footage of when he left my apartment, DNA on my sheets.

it is his word against mine. a simple word, of inconsistency.

——————————-

my life has been forever altered.

i have spent a month doing the right thing, working with the police, making a report, accepting the disbelief of a community, and the overarching factor is this has been the hardest time of my life.

mourning the loss of someone i loved and cared for met with the realization of harm— and confronting it, is almost incomprehensible.

the psychological— to put it candidly— fucks— (mind fucks) that occur when someone you loved harms you are that in the aftermath you still have a layer of empathy for them.

why did they do this— was it power, was it because they were drunk— was it because you said no? has he done this before? do other parts start to make sense? you tell yourself so many things. you hate him but you still care about their well being.

you want them to get help.

you want them to never do it again.

——————-

i did not think at 29

i would be sexually assaulted in my bed, by my boyfriend. and although i am 29, i feel like a little kid screaming at the world about the unfairness.

about how i am left forever different.

and yes he gets to continue on, but it goes deeper. he hurt someone, biologically, chemically. he intruded on them for his own sexual gratification. and he denies it, and denial doesn’t connect with understanding the wrongness, the impacts.

therefore you will do it again. you will harm again,

because you sexually assaulted me,

and felt you did nothing wrong.

-jessica forte