I was so scared to see how my classmates would react. The year before had been miserable. Most of the kids in my class were raised Catholic or Lutheran and they believed being Gay was an abomination. Before I showed the video, I wrote each individual student a letter to explain further how I felt and to attempt to bar any negative reaction they might have. The video went over better than I ever could have imagined. Everyone offered apologies for the past, and hugs for the future. For the first time in my life, I was proud of who I am.

A few weeks later, I graduated at the top of my class and decided to begin a new life in Florida where I could hopefully become a heart surgeon, fall in love with the woman of my dreams, and start a family.

Before I could make the long journey across the country, however, I had to make a quick stop in my hometown in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for a graduation party with my friends and family from my childhood.

This is where the story really begins.

On June 15th, 2014 in the early Sunday morning haze, I was raped. I wrote this letter to my English teacher following the event:

Dear Mrs. Loven, Greetings from Florida! I never actually intended to write you anymore letters, I promise, but I've realized that you are one of the few adults in my life that I can actually look up to and strive to be like. I spend so much of my time taking care of my parents and making sure that they don’t kill each other that sometimes I forget that they are supposed to be my loving and supportive parents and not the other way around. After recent events, I know now more than ever that I need you, so if nothing else I will justify your English major by allowing you to do what you went to college for: helping kids. The story I’m about to tell you happened last weekend at my graduation party in Michigan. I wish so much that I could spare you the details and I will try my best but I also need to be honest so you can get the entire true story. You’re going to be shocked and disappointed and more than anything angry, but please know I never wanted any of this to happen and sometimes a kid, no matter how mature, will be a kid. That’s how we learn. Unfortunately, I will be paying for this mistake for the rest of my life.

Part I — The Mistakes

I drove 17 straight hours last Thursday afternoon and made it to Michigan in record time. When I arrived, I was greeted by my Aunt (whom I’m staying with now), my Mom, my Uncle, and my Grandma. Fast forward to my party on Saturday. I was nervous all day to see the clashing of my families because my parents aren't currently together and they are constantly fighting whenever they are in the other’s presence. I wanted a smooth, drama-free day and more than anything I wanted it to be over so that I could leave and begin a new life in Florida. At the end of the day, my party went well and I was able to take a deep breath and relax. When my dad asked if I wanted a few drinks to celebrate, I decided to have one in the comfort and support of my really messed up family. After all, I have been living as an adult for the last year. I pay my rent and taxes like every other good citizen. Am I not entitled to a drink or two? Alright, it’s true, one of the biggest vices my family has is intolerance of alcohol. I don’t know a single family member that doesn't turn evil, reckless, or completely crazy after they drink. Now, knowing all of this, you would think that I would know better than to ever drink because it is in my genes to turn into an idiot, but guess what, I did it anyway. Originally, I just wanted a wine cooler, but my Aunt promised to take care of me all night so I agreed to drink her mixed drinks of Captain and Coke. After two drinks I was drunk and by three I was uncontrollable. I sent some super embarrassing Snap Chats, ruined some really nice clothes, and basically realized that I am no exception to the alcohol intolerance downfall. I wish so much that I could take it back and pretend that it didn't happen, but I can’t. This is the point in the story where you’re disappointed. Your bright honors student with so much potential has made a huge mistake. I am so sorry. I want you to know that this is only a roadblock in my way and not the end of me. I’m saying this more for me than for you because no matter how many times I say it I can’t make myself believe it. I am afraid of what I could become. I am afraid of being out of control of my own life. I am so afraid, Mrs. Loven, of destroying what I've worked so hard to build. Now I know at this point you’re really not that shocked. I know you know teenagers who have done way worse than me. Even teenagers in our AP Lit class. I’m assuming you have made mistakes of your own that you thought were just as unforgivable, but still you survived. I know that I am overreacting at this point, but my story is not yet over. The next part is where it gets graphic and you become angry. I need you to bear with me, because this is the part of the story that I need to tell you the most.

Part II — The Consequences

To protect his identity and the integrity of the case I will refer to him as TMR (as in Tom Marvalo Riddle, as in Lord Voldemort, as in He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named). He is someone that I had know since childhood, but as time went on we drifted apart and I didn't talk to him anymore. He would send me a random “Hey” on Facebook every once in a while and I would ignore it because we just weren't close enough to elicit a response. TMR was at my graduation party. Apparently when I am drunk, I am a very proud lesbian. Throughout the night I made numerous comments about my sexual orientation and many of the people at my party, especially TMR, thought it was a little odd. It wasn't until the next day that I heard what they were actually saying at the party. At 3:00 am, after doing many more things that I am not proud of, I passed out on a pull out couch at my Grandma’s next to my little brother and my 15 year old cousin. I had planned to sleep through the night and face all of the destruction I had caused in the morning, but unfortunately that did not happen. They say what starts in chaos ends in chaos and in this case, it is true. I don’t really know how to explain this to you but I’ll try my best. I woke up around five in the morning in pain. I only know that it was around that time because when I looked out the window the sky was a deep, mysterious blue awaiting the rising sun. It took me a second to realize what was happening and I was still too drunk to stop it. TMR was on top of me. He was kissing me and touching me. He kept whispering that he loved me and that he wished I hadn't moved away. I remember being confused because we never really talked and I couldn't understand why he would miss me. I didn't miss him. I told myself, “Darian, you are being raped. In the morning, you need to remember that he raped you.” It was more like a dream than anything. Next to me my brother was still fast asleep, as was my cousin on my other side. He kept kissing me and putting his tongue in my mouth but I didn’t kiss him back. He worked his way down my body to put his tongue in other places. Then, he got to the part where in a normal relationship a marriage would need to be consummated. Unfortunately for him, I was a virgin so that part was going to be hard work. I don’t know if he did it or not. I may have been too drunk or maybe my brain just wants to forget. Either way, I am grateful to not know. Somewhere in the middle of all of this my Uncle came into the house. TMR heard him coming so he said “be quiet and pretend like you’re sleeping” and he laid down on top of me pretending to be passed out. My Uncle, despite his downfalls, would do anything for his family and if I would have just said “help” he would have immediately came to my rescue. I was too drunk or maybe traumatized to say anything at all. My Uncle left and my words went unspoken. TMR went back to his business. After sometime I found my voice. I told him to stop. I tried to push him away. Nothing would work. He just kept coming back. At some point, my cousin woke up. He heard me telling TMR to stop and he tried to push him off. When TMR still kept going my Cousin went to get my Aunt. TMR saw him go to get help so he got off me, quickly pulled up my pants, and left the house. My cousin was scared so instead of telling anyone, he instead came back and went to bed. In my head, I decided that this could be no more than a dream so I went back to sleep assuming that everything would be okay again in the morning. What begins in Chaos ends in Chaos. When I awoke I immediately became aware of two things. The first was the voice of my rapist laughing across the room and the second was the uncomfortable adjustment of my pants as if they had been pulled back up in a hurry. It all came back to me in a flash and I became instantly terrified. I had no idea what to do or who to talk to. TMR stayed at the house for most of the morning. He was still drinking beer at breakfast while I had already declared a personal prohibition for the rest of my life. At one point he looked directly at me and asked, “Darian, what cupboard are the cups in?”All he wanted was a glass, but I couldn’t answer him. I just stared at him blankly through squinted eyes to see if he would show any remorse at all for what he had done, but he didn't. In that moment, the only thing that mattered to him is where he could find a container to put a cold drink in. It was all too much. I ran outside to my car and locked the doors for fear that he might come try to talk to me or worse and I fell asleep. After what seemed like hours my Aunt came knocking at my car window. She wanted me to start packing my car for Florida, but she immediately saw the look on my face and asked what was wrong. Calmly, I explained, “I need to go to the drugstore and get a prescription for plan B. [TMR] raped me last night.” Why do people always say, “What?!” after a completely clear sentence? I will never understand that. In her disbelief, my Aunt ran inside to tell my Mom who was also quite hungover herself. My Mom, who cannot handle stress to any degree, immediately broke down into sobs and screams. I couldn’t understand why because I was the one who was raped, but once again I found myself being the adult in a situation where I really just needed to be the kid. She ran over to my Uncle’s house and told him what happened. Together they found TMR and attempted to extract the information from him. He denied everything, obviously, so I was then forced to do the one thing I really didn’t want to do. We went to the hospital and I told a team of doctors and police officers everything that happened in greater detail and less style than I am telling you now. It’s not that I didn’t want him to get in trouble, because I did and I still do, but underage drinking is a big deal and if I get any kind minor charge my life is over. I spent the entire day at the hospital doing what seemed like hundreds of tests and even more waiting. They had to do an entire rape kit which sounds exciting for someone who wants to be a doctor someday, but was actually one of the most painful experiences of my life. After being treated for hours as some kind of test animal or as my aunt said, “The Evidence,” I was finally released to the care and custody of my parents. It’s not often that I see my dad cry but on this Sunday afternoon he was sobbing tears of anger and disbelief. I imagine at this point you may be feeling some of those same feelings. I think the most curious or terrible part of this whole event is what my Uncle told me when I got back to my Grandma’s. He felt that it was all his fault because he could have stopped TMR but he just didn't see it coming. He said that throughout the night TMR kept making comments that, I am not really gay and “someone just needs to fuck her so she can go back to being straight.” Thankfully, he didn't get his wish. I could not be anymore gay at this point. I can’t even think about a man without first remembering what he did to me. It’s one thing to be a victim of rape but it’s another to be a victim of a hate crime. Just the word ‘victim’ sounds so sad. I, Darian Lynn McCormick, am a victim. That has been the hardest part to accept out of this entire situation. victim. victim. victim. I hate that word. After seeing my uncle, I had had enough of grown men crying for one day. I got in my car and drove to my old house. I parked in my old backyard and reminisced on all the happy memories from my childhood. I began to wonder why a God who loves me would ever let this happen and I guessed that somehow this was my punishment for drinking. I remembered the rosary hanging in my rear view mirror that a close friend gave me as a going away present. It was the second rosary she had ever received and I had to get up at 8:00 am on the Tuesday before I left so that I could get it blessed by a priest. She said that I could better ward off evil that way. Ironic, isn't it? I swung the pink beads from my hand and watched as crucified Jesus danced in the sunset. I didn’t know how to pray or even what to say so I decided to just watch and try to imagine what Jesus must have been feeling on his worst day. Somehow, my pain felt so much different than his would have. I really just wanted to tell my story so I called each of my friends and talked to them in great detail about what happened. The support was amazing, actually. I sometimes feel really small and unimportant in this big world but each of the people I called showed me how big I really am. I know this is a terrible event but I really want to make the most out of it. I want to tell people my story and show them that everything gets better. But first I need to know — it’s going to get better, right?

Part III — The Aftermath

I still feel dirty. No matter how many times, I shower I still feel his saliva and general disgustingness all over my body. I close my eyes and I see him in the foggy morning darkness caused by my drunken state. I don’t really know how to move on and now I have to face him in court. I've talked to my friends but they’re all still kids themselves and the adults in my life are really unprepared for this kind of event. My Mom actually had the audacity to ask me if it was really rape because TMR claims that it was consensual and that I seemed to be “enjoying it.” I tried to explain to her that I am gay. I like women. I am only attracted to the same gender. I do not have any interest in men whatsoever, but it’s like she doesn't get it. Why doesn't anyone understand that? “You’re gay? No, that can’t be. Have you tried the magical penis cure?” I knew coming out would be hard. I knew people would disagree, but I never imagined this. Mrs. Loven, I never imagined in my wildest dreams that something like this could happen to me. Why did this happen to me? Your honors student with so much potential? Why me? Tell me why God did this because it is not fair. Why couldn't I be born to a bunch of rich Christian farmers somewhere in rural North Dakota. Things like this don’t happen to them. I need answers! Well that is the end of my story. I only intended it to be a page long but as you know, I cannot ever write in boundaries. Please pray for me because people say that there is power in prayer and I don’t know if it’s true but I know that you believe it works so maybe it will. I guess I don’t really know why I told you all of this. I think it’s because you are such a strong person. I can’t even imagine you crying. I can’t imagine you ever being hurt or knocked down. You’re the kind of person who will always keep fighting no matter what life gives you. All I can really say is thank you for being here for me because even though you haven’t even read this extensive letter yet, I know that you will be. So, thank you and may God bless you and give you the strength to give me the strength that I need to get past this, love, Darian McCormick

Three months ago today, was the worst day of my life, but since then I have definitely made a recovery. I’m still a normal teenager who has crushes, and silly ideas, and believes that the world is mostly good. I am still me, and that is something that I am so grateful that he didn't take.

My rapist is rotting in jail and eventually prison. I testified against him over the phone and soon I will make another trip to my hometown to testify against him in person. My Aunt recently said, “Are you sure you want to do that, Darian? You’re going to ruin his life over one little mistake.” But to me it’s not just a little mistake that we can fix with an apology and a handshake. I will carry these scars my entire life, and he, in turn, will carry a felony charge and a place on the sex offender list. That, I believe, is the only way to protect others from this kind of terrible violence. A slap on the wrist and ‘no hard feelings’ just isn't going to cut it for me.

When I was much younger — maybe three of four — I was molested by a young relative of mine. He was only twelve, so when my parents found out and tried to press charges, he didn't get in any trouble. A few years later, we were all together at a family gathering and he asked me to go for a walk with him. He apologized for what he did to me when I was so young and innocent. He said that he does those kinds of things to many other girls now, but he makes sure that they are older. I was instantly horrified and disgusted. Even as an eight year old, I knew that what he was doing is wrong. I still clearly remember the day and all the details even though I was so young. It never affected me the way the rape has, but I learned about sex extremely young and it caused a lot of problems when I was a child. This is why we can’t let boys off with a simple slap on the wrist. This is why we need to have strict laws and regulations defining rape. This is why we need to fight.

Last night, I was talking to a very close friend and she said “You know, if you hadn't been drinking, you probably wouldn't have been raped.” While she makes a valid point, I couldn't help but be consumed by anger. This is exactly the kind of mindset that allows rape-culture to be so prevalent in our society today. Yes, I made the conscious decision to drink alcohol underage. It was a mistake and I am not proud of it, but being raped is not my fault. We always say to women, “Never lose control of your body because it opens the door for men to take advantage of you.” But we never say to men, “Don’t drink if you feel like you may lose control and take advantage of a woman.” This double standard is so ingrained into our society that we rarely ever think of it, but it’s true. This is why I stand, today, for change.

I have never really understood the concept of God. I have been an atheist for most of my life, but recently I decided to at least ponder the idea and go on what I have coined as a “Spiritual Journey.” After the rape, I felt like my journey had failed entirely and that God was punishing me for my mistakes. I still am not sure that there is a God or that he loves me, but I think I know now how Jesus felt dying on that cross. He was broken and abused, but he never gave up because he wanted to save the world. When he died that day, he paid the ultimate price and his sacrifice is what so many Christians today love and worship him for. I don’t know God yet, but I do think that maybe if there is a God, he gave me this cross to bear to make me stronger. Maybe, like Jesus, I have to suffer before I can save, and if that’s the case I say bring on the suffering. I want to save people in the same way that Jesus did so many years ago, and I think the only way to do that, no matter how painful and difficult, is to share my story.

I want to make sure that this never happens to anyone else. Call me crazy, but I am still young enough to believe that I have the power to change the world. I want to reach out to women who have experienced what I have experienced, I want to unite my hands with men who also want to help make a positive change, and I want so badly to raise a little boy and teach him how to love and respect not just girls, but people in general. You can call me a Feminist Nazi, a lunatic, or just plain wrong, but if only one broken girl feels comfort in my story, or one man decides to sit down with his son and talk to him about consensual relationships, it will be worth it. My healing only truly begins when I can help others heal.

This is my story, this is my heart on my sleeve, this is who I am. I hope that anyone who took the time to read through it will join me in changing the world one heart at a time.

I am Darian Lynn McCormick.

I am not a Victim. I am a Survivor.

*If you believe that this story has made a difference in your life or can make a difference in the lives of others, please hit the recommend button or share it so that someone who needs to hear this message my stumble upon it.*