The Danger of Intersectionality as a Sexual Violence Survivor: A Personal Story  

During the first month of my freshman year at a UC, I entered a throuple with two people who were autistic non-binary lesbians, identities I shared that were particularly meaningful to me. At first, this relationship was beautiful and allowed me to explore these identities with support from like minded people. This experience added to the joy I felt from being in college, as well as living in queer-friendly housing, where I felt seen. 

However, as time passed in my relationship, certain aspects became more difficult for me emotionally. One of my partners was struggling with suicidality. This took a toll on my mental health as their partner. Our mutual partner began feeling that same stress, and decided to break up with the both of us. My partner reacted to this rejection by saying that they were having intense thoughts of killing themselves before leaving for their dorm. I then called the campus hotline, and once I knew they were safe, I made the decision to break up with them over text. 

Afterwards, my partner and I talked, and they told me calling the helpline and breaking up with them made them want to kill themselves even more (see a pattern here). So we agreed to get back together. This pattern continued for the next four months. I would feel emotionally unsafe in the relationship, so I would call it off, only for them to tell me how dangerously bad their mental health was. They guilt tripped and scared me into getting back together with them. 

My partner began to flip the script on me, saying that I had broken their trust too many times and that I had to earn back their love before we could actually be together. They also said that they wanted to close our relationship, but since we weren't technically together, they could flirt with and date whoever they wanted until I “earned” them back. This took place in the form of them flirting with many people, telling me about it, and then asking if I was jealous. If I said, “Yes, this violated my boundaries,” they would tell me more about the person they might soon date. This constantly made me feel emotionally unsafe–at any moment, I could lose this person who I had devoted so much energy towards, who my friends, roommates and family hated, and who in turn, had made me hate my support systems. I was extremely isolated at this point, so if I lost my support system, I lost everything. 

As my partner drained more and more of my energy and time, demanding bigger and bigger gestures of my affection, I started to lose more and more sleep. On average, I got four hours of sleep a night, and because of that, my grades began to slip dangerously low. The final nail in the coffin was when they began to flirt with my next door neighbor. It became me against them. I had stopped coming home at night, guilty about constantly disturbing my roommate's sleep when I stumbled in sobbing at 2 am on weeknights. When I slept at my partner's place, every night they would invite over my nextdoor neighbor and flirt with them in front of me, knowing this violated my boundaries and greatly upset me. 

Around the beginning of March, though, I started seeing a new therapist, after my partner told me I needed to be fixed since I was the problem in our relationship. My therapist spelled out for me how abusive they really were, so I went home and blocked them on all social media platforms. But they lost it. Fearing they would commit suicide, as they promised, I called the hotline once more, and they were put on involuntary hospitalization. My neighbor then went to the hospital, and a month later, I received a letter from my now ex. They told me I was a horrible person and said, “how dare [I] not visit them in the hospital” (as if I owed them that). They also mentioned that they were now dating my neighbor. I filed a no contact order with my UC  Campus Assault Resources and Education Office (CARE) the same week. I moved out of my on-campus housing, not feeling safe living in a community where my neighbor was dating my abuser, and where many people I knew continued to be friends with them. 

After moving out, I was constantly hypervigilant while on-campus, and to make things worse, I did not feel safe in the “safe places” that were supposed to be for me. I could not go to queer clubs or organizations for fear I would run into my abuser. I could not go to disabled or autism focused clubs for the same reason. My intersectionality became a threat to my own safety, and I could not share my story to club officers for fear of it being seen as retaliation, something I was barred from in the no contact order, despite being the victim. I was then diagnosed with PTSD and decided to take an academic leave of absence to prioritize my own health. 

It has been about a year since these experiences, and I have made great progress with my mental health and feel ready to return to campus in the winter. But the grief over what I lost and the survivor's guilt I experience surrounding my neighbor still remains. No one should have to go through this. I hope through sharing my story I can take some of my power back. I am tired of being silent.