Testimonies 

Testimony #1 

Here’s to the feet standing up from the ground.

The same feet that pounded against pavement, and stepped slowly through broken glass.


Here’s to my hips, swaying rhythmically back and forth as I take strides forward.

The same hips that have been jarred forwards and backwards, forced to bed posts, and poisoned by selfish hands that didn’t belong there.


Here’s to my chest, beating up and down to the tempo of my heart, my breath.

The same chest that was caged - don’t speak don’t breathe don’t move - deflating the air that kept my tempo.


To my voice.

Loud and unwavering: the one that sings me lullabies to sleep and demands to be heard.

The same voice that was stripped and violently stolen as your weak, toxic fingers wrapped around my throat.


To my mind, that has brilliantly been able to apply lyrics to my thoughts and sustain the melody that has always been there.

The same mind that is crippled with the memory of what you did and constantly reminded of my silence.


Here’s to my whole

and the music it plays.

I am the whole that is incomplete.

I am the whole that was shattered and polluted by you.


I am the symphony

that is cacophonous and violent and imperfect-

but I am not ashamed to be imperfect so long as I have reclaimed what you took, as long as I am heard.


Here is to the noise.


To the power of the word “yes” and the power of its absence.


And finally, to my first real boyfriend

who confirmed my horrors about what it would be like to be heard again.

You are no better,

no louder,

no more important than I am.


You were wrong to make me feel like damaged goods.

You were wrong to blame me.

You were wrong to manipulate me into thinking this was about you.


And although I let you once,

I will never let you take my voice ever again.


Here’s to my song,

louder than it’s ever been

and growing louder


Testimony #2

Today is one of those days that you decided to stand up in a crowd of 15,000 people - knowing full well that nobody can see you or hear you. Today is one of those days that you decided to listen to another person - knowing full well that they may not be speaking to you. I am grateful for you today. Because today is one of those days that I am standing beside you; seeing, hearing, and listening - for you.

This work is something I believe and hope to be the summation of the years I’ve lived, not so many, but enough. Enough to measure and own the weights of the corrupted human nature time and time again. Enough to understand the deities of ‘love’, ‘faith’, and ‘strength’, and to burn a growing need for change. And undeniably enough to call on others, others like me; who have lived as long and longer, to recognize and talk about the things that plague us today.

This is not about ‘thoughts and prayers’, this is not political; but rather an absolutely necessary truth bomb. A rather public ‘fuck you’ and an even more pressing ‘I love you’.

The health and growth of the human experience are dependent on the commitment and unwavering ideals of peace, love, and community. When we do not stand for our neighbours today we encourage them to turn a blind eye on us tomorrow. When we do not stand for ourselves we cannot protect others. When we let down girls we turn our backs on the salvation and prosperity of the Earth. When we claim the light for ourselves we dim it somewhere else.

Do not discount me. Do not discount these profiles. And by all means, do not discount your role, this listener, as part of the problem and the missing part of the solution.

It is often that we speak for what we believe in but it could never be today. Today we are together. And for together I am grateful. Because what change is to be done - and for who will it be done - if we cannot love another in the way that we love ourselves. For whatever brought you here today, take away the token of someone else with you. You cannot fight this fight alone; you never have. So today, fight it for someone else and they will fight for you too.



Testimony #3

“Did you want to grab drinks after your shift?”

“Sorry! It’s a school night.”

I laughed it off, because when you’re fifteen it’s funny- and it was harmless really. 

It’s harmless really when you’re fifteen, until he follows you to the basement, until you’re stuttering, red in the face, trying to refill the printer and he grabs your hands. 

You’re fifteen, he’s close to thirty but he’s drunk and you look so old for your age anyway. 

Maybe you should have told him how old you were before you laughed at his jokes from behind the bar. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have been standing behind the bar in the first place, it’s misleading. 

It’s funny when you’re fifteen until you’re terrified. 

“Hey, did you want to go upstairs?” 

I laughed it off, because it’s a party and it was harmless really. 

It’s harmless really until you’re drunk and the music is too loud, until he follows you to the kitchen and grabs your ass. 

You’re sixteen and he’s eighteen, but you’ve been talking to him, flirting with him even. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have walked to the kitchen alone, it’s suggestive. 

Maybe you should have stayed sober. 

It’s funny when you’re sixteen until your whole body goes cold. 

“Here’s my room number, in case you might need it.” 

I laughed it off because I was at work and it was harmless really. 

It’s harmless when you’re seventeen until his eyes follow you, until you feel like you can’t escape his gaze. 

You’re seventeen and he’s close to fifty, does he know how old you are? Does he care? 

Maybe you shouldn’t have smiled so much when you gave him his receipt.

Maybe you shouldn’t have made small talk about his trip while you rang him up, it implied something. 

It’s funny when you’re seventeen until you find yourself crying in the staff bathroom. 

“That happened to me too.” 

It’s not funny when you’re eighteen and you realize all your friends have the same stories. 

It’s not funny when you realize you still go cold when you think of the song that was playing when you walked to the kitchen, that you still get red in the face when you remember how terrified you were in the basement, that you still look for that fifty year old man when you walk into work. 

It’s not harmless when you look back on your years and your life is saturated with interactions that made you feel small and objectified. 

Maybe- and you’re still making excuses, you’re still blaming yourself. 

It’s not funny when you’re eighteen and you realize you’ve developed a set of invisible rules to follow, rules that are meant to prevent these situations from happening. 

They still happen. 

They still happen, often enough that you can’t remember them all. 

I’m eighteen and I stopped letting them define my years, days, hours, and months but I can still feel them. 

I can always feel them. 

To the people I have laughed off, the people I’m sure barely think of me now, the harmless people really:

I can still feel you, and it wasn’t harmless at all. 

Testimony #4

I didn’t realize what you did was wrong until 3 months later, when two more girls came forward.


i was simply trying to drink water from the fountain when you had to comment about my body.


you were standing behind me. “ (my name), you know you have the most beautiful body in the world.” i stared at you blankly and you continued to stare, looking me up and down. “know that”, you said.


i didn’t want to believe you just said that, considering the fact that you were a teacher. i was 12, you were 48. i had you as a teacher in the past, thought you were genuine. i couldn’t be more wrong about that. 


when police got involved, they promised that something would go in the victims favor. i was expecting you to be banned from campus, probation at the minimum. But no, you were just fired with nothing on your record. it went unnoticed by the school board, they tried to cover it up. i still had to see your disgusting face. 


I’m sharing my story because i know i’m not the only one who has been forced to go through something like this, some have had it worse. i truly believe the some schools aren’t doing enough to protect their students. we need change. please believe the victims that have been brave enough to come forward. please take these issues seriously. 

-anonymous


Testimony #5

Cat calls, sure. The occasional derogatory comment. As a girl, it’s something you get used to. Just put up your defenses and shake it off. But you won’t understand ‘til it happens to you. 

Going over consent, i’m faced with the stark realization. The whole time i knew something was wrong, something was off... but i thought i was crazy. I had been so trusting, but maybe it was more naivety. “Everyone’s doing it” had been such a convincing argument. “Think about what i want. “ It rings in my ears, now. 

First, i questioned my worth. I felt used, now useless. Was it my fault? Am i damaged? Was I not enough? “That’s just how you feel. That’s not how it really was,” they say. They can say it ‘til they’re red in the face, ‘til they lose all their breath... but my feelings are truth. 

Next, i felt shame. I wondered if people around me knew. Was it branded on my face? Do i tense up at the mention of it? Of him? In the beginning, the thought of it hurt, then hurt less over time ‘til it became a numb memory... still, sometimes a chill runs down my spine or a flush of embarrassment burns across my back. 

I try to recall that time, i attempt to piece the puzzle together. How many hours have i spent twisting everything around in my brain? Do i have the story wrong? Is there a way to contort it to regain control? 

Everyone had noticed the signs except me. Brushing aside their worry, they believed me when i assured them everything was fine. Mentioning it now, trying to make sense of it, they cringe, push it aside, shove it away as fast as they can. 

From the outside, it looked perfect. But now i know the truth. I didn’t see it for what it was, I didn’t think it could happen in a relationship. But crying, “i’m not sure,” a moment of doubt...it all means the same thing. It means no. 

I’m not alone, far from it. This i now for sure. A community surrounds me with glowing light, lifting me up, and this is another thing i know...you can’t pull my strings anymore. 

-anonymous

Testimony #6

I have a tendency to see the best in everyone. I trust people easily and take everything to heart. 

So it was easy for me to blame myself for something that I had no control over ; because I would rather take the blame then believe that someone that seemed so good and pure ended up harming me in one of the worst ways possible 

I tried convincing myself that what happened to me didn’t matter because i didn’t want to see myself as a victim 

and I didn’t want to tell my friends because the boy that hurt me so much was loved by so many 

And who would believe that the popular kid, the life of the party, hurt anyone in such a sick way. 

So I did not speak up. 


For awhile, I told myself that it was my fault. 


It’s my fault he took advantage of me while I was drunk, trying to sleep off how sick I felt. 


It’s my fault that he took me shaking my head no and turning my body away from him , as a sign to take off my clothes and violate me. 


It’s my fault that when I pushed his chest off of me, he ignored it and kept going. 


That was all my fault. 


Right? 


That’s what I thought. 


Why didn’t I scream? Why didn’t I call for help?


I couldn’t. 


I couldn’t speak. 


This boy, who I once looked at in awe, had taken a piece of me. Not only my voice, but my ability to trust anyone with my body. 

My body, my personal space had been violated. Yet, I still found away to shrug it off and convince myself that “ It was nothing “ and that what happened was going to be something easy to forget. 


But how could I forget that night? 


I stayed up until day time, staring at the ceiling for hours; unable to move. I felt powerless and numb. 

 ...


I know my truth and I am still processing, but I am growing. 


This journey of acceptance and moving on has roughly just begun. I start here by sharing my story and by stopping myself for making excuses for his actions. This is me taking back my body and my voice that was once stripped from me. 


I am getting stronger every day and I am learning to love myself again. 


So to the ‘life of the party’ that took advantage of me:


You lost. 

-anonymous


Testimony #7

Dear him,


Do you think I’d still hate my body if things had been different?


Maybe I could’ve looked myself in the mirror and felt proud of who I had become. 


I remember one time you called me crosseyed. Said that my eyes were “really messed up, huh?”


Maybe I would’ve grown to love my skin; as scarred and pale as it is, but bruises stain. They stain deep, and they’re hard to wash away. Trust me, I’ve tried. 


It was always your hands. You would fidget with something, or tap away at your keyboard. You’d play something on the piano, but it would be fast paced; rushed. 


Your fingers were long, but not knobby like a real piano player’s. Your nails were sharp. So sharp. 


So what if giving your boyfriend a hug was ‘asking for it’? Maybe you were right. I shouldn’t have been so forward. 


It got to the point where I felt like I was owned. I was a pet; a plaything, and your hands were my collar. Constantly squeezing, reminding me who I belonged to. I guess that collar restricted my speech. The “no”s and the “please stop”s never seemed to go through. 


I should’ve spoken louder. I should’ve scratched at the walls. I should’ve slapped back, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. 


Nothing I did was ever enough. It wasn’t just once, it was constant. Every time I would come over, you would always drag me away. I didn’t kick. I didn’t scream; I went willingly. I let you toy with me until I trusted you, and you destroyed any chance I had at having a normal teenage life. 


Maybe I wouldn’t hate my body if I could scrub away the feeling of your hands. Maybe everything would be fine if I could just get rid of the constant force around my throat, or the handprints on my cheeks. 


So what if I’m crosseyed? They’re my eyes, they’re not for you. 


I don’t hate my body. I hate what you did to my body. I hate that you stripped me of everything I loved, and left me with nothing. I didn’t wear anything but hoodies and leggings to school for years. What happened to the little girl who wore 16 bracelets on each wrist? 


I wore all long sleeves and pants two summers in a row before my parents forced me to put on shorts. I got heatstroke. 


I wore a dress without tights underneath for the first time in years yesterday. Nobody flipped up my skirt. Nobody pulled down the front. I wore it, and I was terrified. 


I don’t know if I’ll ever get rid of the dirty fingerprints that cover my chest. The feeling of your fist in my hair still stays, but I’m getting better at ignoring it. 


Healing is a process; it doesn’t happen in a day. I have been dwelling for too long. 


Every wound will heal eventually. It might take some time, but I can wait. My bruises will wash away to a pale yellow with time, and the phantom hands that follow me will get dimmer as I go. 


I hope you’re healing too. I hope you know the pain you’ve caused me, and I hope it makes you sick. 


Sincerely, me.


Testimony #8

i was vulnerable. 

you got me when i was scared that i was going to die. 

i don’t know how you did it. 

how you convinced everyone that we were friends. 

how you convinced them that i wasn’t passed out. 

how you so effortlessly without hesitation took me at my weakest. 

you knew i almost oded. 

but you didn’t care. 

you just wanted what you wanted. 

i woke up in a foreign bed. 

with nothing but your shirt and my underwear. 

i called a friend, grabbed my stuff and somehow stumbled out of your house without waking you up. 

you were on top of me. 

the whole night i’m assuming. 

i didn’t change my clothes for a couple days. 

i didn’t want to look at myself in fear of what could’ve happened. 

i had this feeling in my gut. 

telling me you were evil. 

when i finally got the courage to even look at myself i had bruises in the shape of your hands on my arms. 

on my inner thighs. 

on my neck. 

all in the shape of you.

that’s how i knew

you took the last of me. 

you broke me. 

and i don’t even know your name. 

you knew i had taken drugs. 

you knew that i played beer pong. 

you knew i was not able to give consent. 

but still with no hesitation you took me. 

and i blame myself. 

for going to a party with strangers. 

for taking drugs so carelessly. 

for not being able to scream. 

for not waking up. 

for not saying no. 

but how could i have. 

i wasn’t there. 

that wasn’t me. 

but you were you. 

you were conscious. 

i wasn’t. 

-anonymous

Testimony #9

At this point, the thing that bothers me the most isn’t even what you did to me.


It’s how you got away with your crime.


How your friends don’t hold you accountable or think anything different of you.


How you aren’t phased or affected when you see me in public, yet I can barely keep myself together due to a panic attack.


How it feels almost impossible to report your crime since this isn’t your first and you haven’t been held accountable yet.


And how our school, our community doesn’t put youth safety as their top priority because they don’t think that youth danger exists here. We need RESOURCES.


How I feel stuck with what you did to me and you’re free.


How you still don’t even take responsibility or recognize the severity of your actions.


How your friends stand by, don’t ask questions, exonerate you, and praise you, still.



ConVal. Wake Up. You shouldn’t be supporting rapists and their culture.


End Sexual Violence On Our Campus.



Testimony #10

I want to share my story. As a 20 year old currently I am still haunted by these events. I was 13, I went to a Barnes and Noble bookstore with my mother to spend a birthday gift card I had received from my grandparents. My mother informed me she was running to the bathroom real quick so I continued browsing books in the young adult section of the store, keep in mind I was alone. I seemed like only seconds had passed since my mom left me and I never felt I really needed her around because I didn’t think I would be vulnerable. An older Asian man approached the aisle of teen romance novels I was looking at. He looked up at the sign labeling the area “Young Adult'' and approached me slowly. I felt on edge as soon as I saw him enter the aisle with me alone. He got closer to me until our shoulders were touching and asked, “So you’re a teenager, how old are you anyways.” I ignored him and ran to the next aisle of books hoping my mother would return shortly. He promptly followed me and told me he didn’t like being ignored. I knew something was very wrong at this point. He left the aisle briefly in which I assumed he was checking the surroundings and returned to stand behind me and put his hands firmly on my hips. I wanted to scream but I couldn't. He tried rubbing my butt and that’s when I bolted to the middle of the store. I sat on the ground in the middle of the store while others walked by and I desperately dialed my mothers phone number. I told her what happened and she came running from the bathrooms to find me. She found a manager and reported the event, they viewed security footage and saw that the events did happen. The manager said they couldn’t kick him out of the store or call the cops because he didn’t do anything wrong. I felt helpless and assaulted and felt that anyone could get away with this. I was 13 and wearing a tshirt and jeans and the manager still had the guts to tell me that the way I dressed was asking for trouble. I haven’t returned to a Barnes and Noble since because of the events and how the management handled the situation. I wish I had done more that day, I wish I had screamed and called 911, I wish I had fought back. I can only be thankful that it hadn’t ended otherwise. Please feel free to share this story with others as I want more women to know they are not alone and that these things do happen. I want to bring awareness to the fact that this can happen to anyone at any age and to always be safe. These events have encouraged me to take more precautions in life by taking fighting classes and caring mace, please be safe out there.