During my freshman and sophomore years of high school, I was a dancer at a local studio and at Arts and Communications Magnet Academy (ACMA). I had a fun time dancing, I met a lot of great friends and I was able to express myself through art. But, dancing and attending ACMA was also something I regret doing. I met someone who hurt me in ways I didn’t expect and put me through situations I never thought I would be in. I definitely wish that what this person did had not ever happened, but I can find the silver lining and be thankful for some of the ways I was forced to grow during and after those experiences. But, before I begin this story, I need to clarify, there is no immediate concern that is needed to be felt. Everything stated has been
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I knew I was being hurt by James, and I knew that the relationship between us was unhealthy, but I didn’t fully understand the laws that were being broken. It wasn’t until sophomore year when I knew that what happened was a crime. Second semester, I was scheduled to have the same English teacher I had with James earlier. I knew I could not handle sitting in that classroom every other day for an entire semester, so I requested a schedule change. When asking to put a reason for my request, I simply said that I didn’t like the teacher, instead of revealing my whole story. This did not work, which led to a full-blown panic attack in the restroom at school. That called the attention of a few administrators, which ended up bringing me down to the counseling office. I remember explaining the story to my counselor as I couldn’t be in that English class because I couldn’t be in that classroom, which didn’t make any sense to her, so she pushed for more information. I was still crying and shaking at this point, so my counselor probably didn’t understand much of what I was saying, but when I mentioned James, she had this shocked look on her face. Apparently, a few other girls have brought up James and what he does to this counselor, so she knew immediately what had happened to me. After changing my schedule, she told me that she thinks I have posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), because a symptom of PTSD is being unable to return to places associated with the trauma. She listed off some other symptoms of PTSD, like flashbacks and increased amounts of anxiety. I knew I identified with those symptoms, but my mind simply refused to register that I had PTSD. All I wanted to do was ignore everything that happened and go back to the way it was, before James. The counselor did call my parents and told them about the PTSD, but my parents also refused to believe it. They brushed it off like it was
I knew I was being hurt by James, and I knew that the relationship between us was unhealthy, but I didn’t fully understand the laws that were being broken. It wasn’t until sophomore year when I knew that what happened was a crime. Second semester, I was scheduled to have the same English teacher I had with James earlier. I knew I could not handle sitting in that classroom every other day for an entire semester, so I requested a schedule change. When asking to put a reason for my request, I simply said that I didn’t like the teacher, instead of revealing my whole story. This did not work, which led to a full-blown panic attack in the restroom at school. That called the attention of a few administrators, which ended up bringing me down to the counseling office. I remember explaining the story to my counselor as I couldn’t be in that English class because I couldn’t be in that classroom, which didn’t make any sense to her, so she pushed for more information. I was still crying and shaking at this point, so my counselor probably didn’t understand much of what I was saying, but when I mentioned James, she had this shocked look on her face. Apparently, a few other girls have brought up James and what he does to this counselor, so she knew immediately what had happened to me. After changing my schedule, she told me that she thinks I have posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), because a symptom of PTSD is being unable to return to places associated with the trauma. She listed off some other symptoms of PTSD, like flashbacks and increased amounts of anxiety. I knew I identified with those symptoms, but my mind simply refused to register that I had PTSD. All I wanted to do was ignore everything that happened and go back to the way it was, before James. The counselor did call my parents and told them about the PTSD, but my parents also refused to believe it. They brushed it off like it was