A few of you may be familiar with the very small significant entries I have put on tumblr before today. In several I account for my own depression, recovering from several suicide attempts, and surviving sexual assault. I have often dissected how I feel my race and economic status weighs into the the trauma I have endured in only 20 short years. Before today, I have never been able to say or hear my attackers name without triggering terrifying flashbacks. The assault even landed me in a mental facility for 1 week, where I was diagnosed with PTSD.

Several months ago I was introduced to Malika Anderson, a friend of a friend who I soon learned had been assaulted by the man who attacked me. Once we exchanged stories I felt terrified, and also comforted. I wasn’t alone in this, but it also meant my attacker was a serial rapist. A sociopath, with an MO, a victim type, and a method. When she asked me to make a statement to her detective working her police report, I agreed. But when he suggested to me I report my own case, I froze. Not because I wasn’t honest, but because I knew his social rep. And as an artist, my art comes first. Being a victim is not on my list of publicity stunts to catapult me into fame. Every accomplishment Ive made thus far is my own, and so will every one in the future. If I wanted to fuck a celebrity to get on, I’ve met much more influential niggas than this piece of shit. Believe that.

I was assaulted in 2013 during my short living experience in NYC. I had originally known Ian Connor barely through instagram when he asked for my number. We became associates to say the least. We hung out once in Chicago, he asked if i wanted to hang out in a hotel room while he ran his errands for the day. I’m a Chicago native, I said. I can go home and you can just hit me later. Again I saw him at a concert in New Jersey, after I had moved to NYC, where we hung out. He asked who I had fucked to get in, when I told him no one. I was an artist with artist friends (which is exactly how i got in). That night he invited me to his “house” in Jersey, and I declined. I knew nothing about Jersey and I had no interest in exploring today. A week or so later, he asked if I wanted to meet with him for a styling session. He offered to help rebuild my style for my brand, and even asked if I wanted to go to his house in Jersey…again. I said yes to the styling but no to Jersey. Thats when he told me “If I wanted to have sex with you, I’d tell you. So chill”. At that point I felt silly, but I still wasnt going to Jersey. I agreed to meet him in the Soho area. When i got there I waited 25 minutes inside of burger king before I headed back home. I hadn’t heard from Ian at all. 2 stops from soho towards brooklyn, he called. He claimed Asap Rocky was in Canada for the OVO fest and left him in charge of styling a shoot that got ugly when the rest of ASAP Mob didn’t want to work with him on it. He sounded distraught and claimed they beat him up. He said he needed a friend and begged me to come back. Anyone who knows me, knows I have a giant heart, and he had found my soft spot.

I went back and met him. His eye seemed swollen and I genuinely felt sorry for him. He said he had a place we could crash til morning and go shopping then. I followed him into a strange hotel/spa where the doors were literally right next to each other. Immediately I got goosebumps, but I was 18 and not confident in my intuition. We went up to a $90 room with nothing but a desk a TV and a bed. My heart was racing. He asked if I brought overnight clothes, but I hadnt. I was wearing a t shirt and skirt to my knees but I had shorts underneath so I placed the skirt on the desk and crawled into the furthest corner of the bed. At this point my phone had already died. He started telling me how different I was, how he usually only likes the “model type”. I was so confused I had no clue what to do. He tried kissing me but I told him I had no interest in him. He smelled and I didn’t find him attractive. He then allowed me to go to sleep. As soon as i fell asleep i woke up and Ian was going down on me. I was on my back and so I quickly crossed my legs and tried to pull up my shorts. I feel at this point I was in shock, my head was spinning. I had been molested as a child, and trained myself for so long to fight anyone who violated me, but suddenly I was 7 again. Powerless. Helpless. I turned on my stomach and asked him to stop. He inserted his bare penis in me and pulled my hair. Tears fell down my face as i tried to figure out what to say or do. My tongue weighed 1,000 pounds. He stopped when he heard me crying and asked what was wrong. I said “i told you i didnt want to do this, i said no”. He asked why, if i had stds, or if i was on birth control. I even told him I was tripping on acid (I’ve never done acid) and I needed to go home, thinking this might stop him. But it didn’t, instead he saw it as the perfect opportunity to rape me, two more times. And he ejaculated inside of me.

When it was over i was still crying. And when i tried to leave he wrapped his arms and legs around my body and screamed “NO! You cant leave now”. I was even weaker than before. I sat in his grip for at least an hour before he fell asleep and I snuck to the bathroom. I vomited and paced the halls realizing i was in some shitty whorehouse. After i thought it had been long enough reached through the door and grabbed my things quickly and caught the first cab I saw.

I never got a rape kit. I had no NYC ID. I had no health insurance, barely any family in NY. The free clinic i did find only tested for AIDS. I had to wait at least 6 weeks before I returned to Chicago to be tested for everything else. Thank God, I was negative for everything. The only witness I had was my roommate that night. I dont even trust police due to the violence I have encountered with them, so how could I trust them to fight for me? And Ian harassed me for weeks after. I changed my number he got it again and harassed me. 3 cell phones later and I have nothing but my story to tell. I am not telling it to convince anyone. I dont need proof. I dont need approval either. I wrote this for Malika, who’s case could have been stronger if I was as brave as she was and come forward. &For all of his potential victims, his past victims, and for myself. I wrote this because sleep cannot find me in this state of mind. I wrote this because I am the oldest of 4 black young women and no amount of words can stop sexual violence from finding them. I wrote this to reaffirm my truth and reclaim my own power, that no man can take, however hard he may try.

Ian Connor is a serial rapist.

God sees all, including my heart.

Be safe sisters.

Jah bless.