Reputation

by Sara Shepard

I tried to fight because I’m a fucking fighter and this did not happen to people like me—liberated women, strong women, women who didn’t take any shit.

I didn’t want to be marked as the girl who was stupid enough to be raped in the first place. And so I said nothing. I didn’t tell anyone. I drew further and further into myself, blaming myself, even hating myself.

I’d felt such revulsion for Patrick, and shame in myself for trusting him implicitly. Coupled with disappointment because I was supposed to be a smart, careful, protective person, and there I was, believing in the wrong person once more.

“When that sort of thing happens to you, it’s like they steal your identity,” I murmur into my chest. “You don’t know who you are anymore. You don’t react the same way to things. It just . . . lives with you.

I grieve the idea of Patrick, but not the actual man—because that guy? I never met him.

Maybe the best reputation is no reputation. Maybe it’s best not to care whatsoever how people see you. Maybe the only thing that really matters is how you see yourself.