I WENT back to class on Monday morning a different person, not only because I had been assaulted, but because I had chosen to speak to the police and deal with the consequences of that. Even surrounded by supportive friends, I felt as if there was a huge flashing arrow over my head. I felt as if everyone knew what had happened, even though in reality few people knew anything. I felt like a victim.

Over the next year and a half, I told the same story in a criminal courtroom and at a university hearing, but also in front of my sorority, in my apartment with my friends, and at home with my family. I became that girl, the one who had been assaulted. Somewhere along the way, in the repeated telling of my story, in listening to other women’s stories of sexual assault, I stopped feeling like a victim and started feeling like a survivor.

I had many supporters, but I also had many doubters, who pointed to the alcohol in my system and to the fact that I did not say no or fight back. I never doubted my decision to come forward because I knew that what happened to me was nonconsensual and violent. I naïvely believed that the system would work and that justice would be served.

In May 1997, after a preliminary hearing, a local grand jury formally indicted the man who sexually assaulted me. The commonwealth attorney in charge of prosecuting the case asked me to refrain from pursuing a complaint at the university until after the criminal trial. In January 1998, halfway through my third year, I took the stand as a witness in the criminal case. I sat in front of a judge, the jury and a courtroom packed with university students and locals, including my friends, some of his friends and fraternity brothers, as well as both of our families and a sexual assault education coordinator from the university’s women’s center, who was there to support me, not as a representative of the school.

My whole body shook as I testified. I was on the stand for a few hours, answering questions about how much alcohol I had drunk and whether or not I had been aroused during the assault. Responding to an archaic system that put my credibility on trial, the prosecutor had three character witnesses testify on my behalf. Experts were called to the stand to discuss the evidence, including my physical state and the presence of tranquilizing drugs in my system.

After the prosecution rested, the defense made a motion to strike the commonwealth’s case. The judge granted the motion, dismissing the charge. My attacker’s fraternity brothers cheered. The judge concluded that there wasn’t enough evidence to prove that the defendant knew that I was incapacitated and that he was acting against my will. The defense never had to call a single witness. The man who assaulted me walked away.

I was devastated, but resilient in the hope that some sort of justice could be found through the university’s system. Not long after the criminal case was dismissed, I received a letter from the chairman of the University Committee on Sexual Assault and Judicial Review, explaining how its hearing would operate. Law students were assigned as our representatives, which was ludicrous considering the seriousness of the allegation.