Editor’s note: This piece is a part of ‘In This Together,’ which seeks to raise awareness about the complex issues of sexual violence. We asked the Iowa State community to share perspectives in various mediums as survivors, bystanders and allies. The initiative is a partnership between the Iowa State Daily, Green Dot and the Margaret Sloss Women’s Center. 

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus help me! Jesus, Jesus, Jesus help me! Jesus, Jesus, Jesus help me!” These are the words I repeat in what I believe are internal pleas of rescue from the torturous space of my imprisonment. In response the voice in my head says, “Hush! Be still it will end soon!”

The concentration of my secret dialogue with self is shattered like delicate crystal slamming against concrete by my adult jailor. Abruptly, breaking into the rhythmic cycling of internal configurations, that voice of sly odium growls in my ear, “He can’t hear you. No one can help you.”

The shock of the jailor’s tactical assault accomplishes its mission, shoving me far beyond any fathomable reach. Initiating a spiraling free fall into a musky abyss of helplessness. Once again as always, I am consumed.

But, in the light of the brilliant sky decades of space between then and now, I drive alone, top down, face covered in warmth. Without permission, the internal voice switches stations in my head from “right this moment gratitude” directly back to that secret dialogue decades old. Familiar yet different this audible voice is now accompanied by a surreal Technicolor visual. Simultaneously, I both see and hear my thoughts. Yet there is no prison and no jailor, just me.

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus help me! Jesus, Jesus, Jesus help me! Jesus, Jesus, Jesus help me!” Followed by, “Hush! Be still. I heard you then. I hear you now. I helped you get here, equipped to help others. So it will end soon.”