Still, the medical bills were only part of it. For me, there were too many extra expenses to count. My rent doubled when I moved to a single dorm room to live by myself, because I couldn’t sleep unless I locked the door and pushed furniture up against it. I shelled out the gas money to drive to my parents’ house an hour away most weekends because I feared that the same person might find me again. I extended my classes into winter break and stayed on to finish my school work at additional cost while everyone else went home to their families. The numbers kept getting higher and higher.

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There were also subtle costs that no one talks about: I found that I couldn’t sleep in my own bed without thinking of all the times that I lay there, unable to get up, so I threw out many of my belongings and replaced them. I was hopeful that something as small as a change in decor might somehow stop the flashbacks. When my nightmares and panic attacks continued, I realized that I needed some distance from the place where I had been raped so that I could begin to feel even remotely safe. At a substantial cost, I packed up my things and moved across the country.

Years later, I still incur expenses from my trauma on a weekly basis. People often talk about the immediate costs of rape (such as getting a rape kit) but fail to consider the long-lasting treatment that is needed and the additional costs that develop over time. When combined, these expenses make it impossible for many survivors to access the resources they need. Furthermore, denial of coverage would discourage survivors from seeking out assistance immediately after the rape, as evidence of a sexual assault within their medical records could exclude them from coverage going forward. And years down the line, no survivor wants to revisit their trauma with an insurance company simply to purchase coverage.