By today's standards, I was sexually assaulted twice between the age of 12 and 17.
I don't say this to shock anyone. Or invoke pity. It's simply a fact. At the time the phrase "sexual assault" wasn't really a part of my vocabulary. I considered it a guy being a jerk. I still, and I'm forty now, consider it a guy being a jerk. And I'm fine.
When I was twelve going on thirteen I had a crush on a neighborhood boy. His name isn't important. He was 13, maybe 14, and in my 12 year old mind he was a God. And I wasn't good at keeping secrets back then.
He figured it out, cornered me behind an office building that was all but empty on weekends, and.. went exploring to put it nicely. No clothing was removed but he still managed to do enough touching and kissing to freak me out. I don't remember walking away. I don't even remember much about the time before or after that. I just remember that. So I guess you could say it left an indelible mark on me.
When I was 16 another, older guy cornered me in a room locked room. I'm not going to get any more specific than that. He did what he did. In some ways, I let him. I was too shocked to protest let alone process what was happening. I wasn't physically harmed in anyway but I was obviously emotionally scarred.
The latter guy did apologize to me some months later. It was a lame apology. It didn't sound sincere. But I figured he at least knew other people would find what he did wrong, even if he didn't necessarily think so. It was something.
The point I'm trying to make (more to myself than you) is that I survived those things. I'll survive this. Whatever this is. In the end I may not get what I want but I will get what I need. Often two very different things. As much as I hate to admit it. Because that generally means I'm wrong. And in my warped, delusional daydreams I'm never wrong.