by Sahana Rudra
Illustration by Anoushka Guli
Content warning: mentions of rape, trauma, dating violence
“What were you wearing? What was he wearing? Did he kiss you? Did he do more?”
For some, the words above are nothing but nosy questions asked by flatmates after a night out. For others, we’re asked these questions in a police station, cold, traumatised and alone.
One year after I had been raped, I was at a club, feeling like the pulsating lights and techno music were being forcibly injected into my veins. The smell of sweat, vodka and cheap cologne had a grip on my throat again. Everyone’s bodies were intertwined to the beat of the music, and I was once again caught in the crossfire. Everywhere that I looked reminded me how I should feel during freshers – excited, hopeful, happy. Instead, I was moments away from one of the worst depressive episodes of my life.
Nearly two-thirds (62%) of UK university students and graduates express that they have suffered sexual assault, but only 1 in 10 reported their experience. The numbers suggest that I am not alone, but it feels like I am. It doesn’t feel like anyone around me could relate to the insurmountable grief of not feeling safe within your own body, of being the only witness of the worst thing that has ever happened to you. There is not a single place in this world where I feel safe, let alone at a party with drunken 18-year-olds.
Dating and relationships are complicated for anyone, but the difficulty of putting yourself into a vulnerable situation can be even worse for abuse survivors, because of the additional fear that one feels. It doesn’t help that sex is portrayed as central to the university experience. Every book, movie, song, piece of media about university touches upon casual sex. After experiencing sexual assault, your entire life is changed – including your brain and nervous system.
The amygdala becomes overstimulated as a result of sexual abuse trauma. It links your traumatic experience with specific emotions and misidentifies seemingly innocuous circumstances or people as dangers. The hippocampus becomes less active following a stressful encounter, as stress chemicals released by the sympathetic nervous system kill cells in the hippocampus. This impairs its capacity to consolidate memories and recognise that the traumatic experience has passed and is no longer a threat. This means that any new environment might trigger a mental health crisis — and starting university always poses new challenges.
For some survivors, casual sex can be empowering and a way of taking back one’s agency. But often, hypersexuality after sexual trauma can be a performance. It often feels like saying “yes” to anyone could somehow erase the experiences of having my “no” ignored. The best case scenario is enjoying sex without thinking about what happened to you. But it’s possible to feel like your rapist is back on top of you, when in reality it’s someone you picked up at the pub.
Trusting people can be extremely scary. Is this a genuine connection or love bombing? Are they lying to me when they tell me that they care about me? And if they do end up disappointing me, will it end with a mutual parting of ways or a police report? It also becomes extremely difficult to trust yourself. It’s difficult to rely on your definitions of ‘good’ and ‘bad’, because you have been wrong before. It’s difficult to allow yourself to be vulnerable, because it feels like you’re actively putting yourself in harm’s way – like you’re ‘asking for it.’
After my assault, it was only possible for me to make one distinction – safe or unsafe, with the proportion of unsafe being overwhelmingly large. Every decision feels monumentous; every risk is magnified. I thought being concerned about safety was a normal thing for women of the world, but I only noticed my hypervigilance, when I saw others casually doing things, which could have triggered a panic attack for me. Things like drinking in public, having one night stands, going out late at night. I feel like I’m losing out because of my own fear.
However, sexual liberation for trauma survivors is possible and does happen– but only after taking the time to acknowledge the harm done to you and learning how to trust yourself and others again. It’s important to be able to look at your past and the role that your trauma plays in shaping your behaviour, but this must be done with compassion. You could not have asked to be assaulted. It was not your fault. It’s normal to have complicated ideals for relationships, to fall for people easily or to believe the best in someone who is treating you terribly. It’s normal to make mistakes in relationships. Your experience of assault was anything but normal, yet it’s important to remember that you can lead a fulfilling life after it.
As Septembers pass, first years walk through club entrances sharing the same mentality about safety. We’re taught about the buddy system, to always make sure that you’re counting your drinks and covering them, to never walk home alone at night. No one talks about what to do when your resolve not to be victimised isn’t enough. No one talks about how to pick up the pieces of your shattered boundaries.
But when you’ve experienced the worst, you get to choose what normal means for you. You get to set limits, and expand your comfort zone at a pace that feels safe to you. Your university experience is yours, and you get to set boundaries on what you’re comfortable with. You can sit back. The reins are in your hands now.
