Anyone can be a survivor, but anyone can also be a perpetrator. If your intuition senses something is wrong, listen to it; it is trying to protect you. I have a history of trauma of all sorts, and this was no different. I went to a friend's house, a friend I trusted. My parents were out for the night, so I went with them. I didn't know this person would be there, someone I always found myself very nervous around. I never knew why, something just made me very uncomfortable and I could not understand how my friend was their friend, too. The night went on, socializing and hanging out in a guest bedroom downstairs. My friend and the other person were drawing on my leg in purple gel pen. My friend was called away to take care of something, leaving just us in the room. They were female-to-male trans, and didn't have a penis, so they penetrated me with their hand and used the other to hold me down by the neck. I felt searing pain and their movements every second, like they were searching for something that wasn't there. My parents pulled up into the driveway, and my friend's mother called to me to go. Like it never happened, I left, trying to rub off the purple so I wouldn't need to explain to my parents why it was there. I pretended like nothing happened, like I was fine. I never called it what it was, because I didn't know any better as a child. I was afraid to say anything because I was religious at the time, and my faith was very anti-LGBT and anti-premarital sex. I kept silent to non-religious people for fear that they would say my religion meant I deserved it, and kept silent to my congregation for fear that I would be chastised for sex I never wanted. I said nothing to preserve the relationship my friend had with this other person, and my friendship with her. That wouldn't remain the case, as she would repeatedly sexually assault me not long after. I never broke skin at the time, but would leave abrasions in the shape of cuts along my wrists from mechanical pencils, and tried to asphyxiate myself with rope to end my pain. I didn't understand any of what was happening to me, but I kept quiet. For the summer after, I barely ate and lost substantial weight, and was incapable of feeling arousal until 9th grade. I made myself have a crush on someone to feel and appear normal. I never had the chance to process the first assault, and never bothered, until I reached the age of consent. I was now old enough to say 'yes', I had engaged in consensual acts, and all over my college campus, there were crisis resources in the bathrooms. In the months leading up to and during my time in university, I had to confront my trauma by these indirect means, and I decided to open it up to my closest friends and therapist. I was having flashbacks, I had physical responses to certain kinds of touch, and aches and pains in my lower body. I needed help, and this was the time to do it. The support from my friends was greater than I expected, and I felt relief; that was a catalyst for me to decide to talk to my therapist next. Like them, she was supportive, and now I have some of the words to define my experience so I can go about mending it. We have a long way to go, but it is time to heal.