I Watched Brett Kavanaugh Get Confirmed While Waiting For My Rape Kit

On Oct. 6, "I was waiting for a kit when I was in the hospital." SENATE CONFIRMS BRETT KAVANAUGH AS SUPREME SHORT JUSTICE, 50-48.

I had already been waiting for hours when I was transferred from my local hospital to one who could administer the Sexual Assault Nurse Evaluation, or SANE. I was tired, cold and wanted to go home. In that moment, I realized just how to deal with my current state of affairs and other sexual assault survivors. The decision to move forward with Kavanaugh 's confirmation essentially told me how little my traumatic experience mattered to those who are in charge of our country.

When I was raped that Thursday night, I was with someone I thought was a friend. He and I watched a movie after studying like that, and I was very happy with it. He was in a committed, long-term relationship, and we were good friends. So nothing prepared me for when he got me to the bed and took my power away from me.

After hours upon hours of paperwork and waiting, I was finally called up to the medical table. The stress and pain of the past few days I feel like I'm shuffling along to keep up with the nurse.

A rape kit, or a Sexual Assault Forensic Evidence (SAFE) kit, is a thorough forensic analysis to gather evidence and samples after a rape. It can take anywhere from two to five hours and is incredibly invasive. I opted for a Jane Doe report – a full forensic exam without an immediate criminal investigation charge. The anonymous method of reporting was designed for people who would not have reported otherwise.

My SANE nurse asked me questions like "Do you have any problems?" I felt clinical, cold and removed from the situation. As I asked for a retelling of the events, I remembered them, I had a cynical smile. I was, to say the least, not used to exposing a person to a complete stranger.

Throughout the physical part of the process, my SANE nurse was incredibly supportive but firm, using her fingers and cotton swabs as she was poked and prodded and stretched. She let me know which procedures she was going to do next, which was very reassuring. After drawing eight tubes of dark, thick blood, with the needle with expert hands.

She moved to my spread legs, looking at the bruises scattered over my skin sore. She was methodical and meticulous as she spread a blue dye over my labia to check for micro wounds left behind. My eyes smarted as the dye stung, indicating irritation, and the cotton swabs suddenly felt like tiny scrapes at my skin.

She warned me before she slowly began to look at the speculum, clicking on the lubed-up of the camera.

I winced in a little bit back to me. She paused for a moment, monitoring my reaction as I adjusted to the foreign object. I understand in that moment why many people do not report or get a full forensic exam – it 's incredibly taxing, both physically and mentally.

She cautiously clicked open the speculum even further. My muscles stretched from the intrusion, and I tried to keep it still as it worked. After a few minutes, she withdrew the device and threw it in the trash, and I lay back on the table with relief. The worst of it was over.

She talked to me about music as she was swallowed up. The entire experience was surreal. All I thought was that the initial procedure was done, but that the trauma of the whole event was not over in the slightest.

He would have been able to learn what he did, but he would be going to sleep in his dorm, waking up, going to classes, going to eat, then going back to his homework. Routine, mechanical and normal. For me, the next few months are with HIV prevention treatment, with side effects like nausea, diarrhea and vomiting – and follow-ups with blood tests and speculums.

As for how I'll cope – I'm still trying to figure it out. It's a battle of rationality versus trying to flinch when someone My dorm room was supposed to be safe but it was taken away, and I see him every day in classes.

The trauma will follow me for a lifetime, and no amount of therapy will ever be able to make me forget the helplessness and terror I felt in that moment.

And yet, someone like Kavanaugh can deny all allegations against him and simply not face any consequences. The trauma of my experience has been exacerbated by the fact that someone who has been accused of sexual assault has been scot-free.

The fact that Christine Blasey Ford had the bravery and the courage to come out and speak in front of dozens of strangers – and the world – about her story should have been unanimously applauded. The fact that it was not said to be about the characters of those who dismissed or degraded their testimony.

On Oct. 6I have a history of being one of the most prestigious members of the United States, as well as other survivors of struggles and trauma did not matter.

I sat in that mildly uncomfortable flesh, watching ugly triumphant faces as the scrolling text of the verdict infinitely played. No matter what they said to excuse it, their actions spoke louder. And I was listening.