I’m Summer. Summer Adams. I am free-spirited but very shy. I know that sounds crazy because they are complete opposites, but trust me, it’s possible. I live the not-so-typical life of a 17-year-old girl. It has its normal parts, as it should, but the crazier moments are more common. The best part of my life was last year, 16-years-old. I had so many friends, I constantly made unforgettable memories, I devoted my life to Christ, my family got along so well, I was doing extremely well with school and sports. Everything was perfect. One day, that perfection I called living was swept from under my feet. I got a phone call I would have never expected to receive. The call was from my mother telling me to leave school and come to the hospital as soon as possible. Even though I was trying my hardest for “as soon as possible”, it was already too late. My dad had died. The words didn’t sound right at the moment, and they still don’t feel right to this day. It was a tragedy, so completely unexpected. Nobody saw it coming. The cause is still unknown. That is the day my life became anything but ordinary.
    My world stopped. I wasn’t Summer anymore. No more friends, no more unforgettable memories, my sight and love for Christ vanished, my family was a mess, athletics and academics went down the drain. Grief completely took over my life. I stayed home for weeks and lived life the same exact way every day. Sleep, cry, eat, read, cry some more, and Blake. You’re probably wondering who Blake is. Well, he was my best friend, the only one who stayed.  He was the only person able to deal with my miserable self. We talked day and night, about everything and anything. He knew everything about me; he knew me like the back of his hand. There was one thing he didn’t know though. He didn’t know that I was in love with him. I never told him, because I knew he could never feel the same. We did everything together. We would shop, go to movies, drive around, go out to eat. Of course, the more we were together, the more I loved him, but most importantly, he gave me the happiness I needed. He brightened the dim light called my life. I was so thankful to have him in my life. He was the best thing to ever happen to me.
    One day we decided to do something different than our usual “dates”. He invited me over to his house for lunch and to watch movies, saving money I guess. It seemed quite odd to me that we were spending the beautiful spring day inside, but it didn’t really matter, because I was with him. I didn’t think anything was strange at the time. It was going so well. I got to talk with his family, play with his dogs, and admire the curly brown-haired boy that I loved. Just looking at him made reality seem like a dream come true. We finally made it to our alone time, my favorite. I vividly remember the dark grey sweatpants and black tee-shirt he wore with his signature black-rimmed glasses that complimented his hazel eyes. I wish I could tell you what movie we were watching, but we were too caught up in conversation for me to know. Soon enough, we realized we should probably watch the movie. He put on a horror movie, our personal favorite, and unexpectedly, asked to cuddle me. The request was so simple, but in my head I was screaming out of excitement, on the outside I managed to keep my cool and reply with a subtle head nod. The cuddling continued for a while, and I was perfectly fine with it. I was perfectly fine with that and only that. That and only that. I felt his soft hands move slowly down my hips and stomach. I wasn’t stupid. He was a 17-year-old boy, what he wanted was obvious. I grabbed his hand and gave him a stern look. 5 minutes later, I once again had to grab his hand, and this time I nodded my head “no”. Another 5 minutes passed, and once again I had to grab his hand, but this time I had the strength to say “No, Blake.” The strength of my voice let him know how I felt. A little while passed, so I thought he understood, but I was so, so wrong. Once again he did it, but this time the touch of his hand felt cold and evil, and I didn’t have enough strength to say the simple, two-letter word. In that moment, I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure it out. Then, I heard the words I thought I would never hear, “I love you, Summer.” He loved me. HE loved me.
    For a couple of weeks, I was ecstatic. The thought of the boy I have loved for so long finally loving me back seemed impossible, but he made the impossible, possible. We never actually talked about what had happened between us. I never really thought much of it though, because I was over my head. Then, I started noticing that we had the simple “How are you?” conversations rather than in-depth conversations about our favorite hockey team or how dogs cannot possibly be color-blind (in our opinion). Then, our everyday adventures in his beat up, white Honda Civic turned into once a week drives of mostly silence. Each day we grew apart more and more, but I was so full of the thought of him loving me that I was oblivious that this was happening. One day, I got this pit feeling in my stomach. Much like the feeling you get when you break your mother’s favorite vase, but blame it on the dog. The pit feeling stuck with me for days, weeks, and months. Every single day the pit feeling followed me through everything I did, especially when I was with him. Since we were growing apart, I began to think about what happened between us at his house a lot more. All I could think to myself was, “I said ‘No’, but he did it anyways...is this what love is?” So the google searches began.. “I told him to stop, but he didn’t.. What does this mean? What is love? Does he love me?” Most of the search results were extremely vague, but one result stuck out to me in particular… “Are you a victim of sexual assault or sexual abuse?” That couldn’t be it. He was my best friend, he LOVED me. You can’t abuse somebody you love, that is just some sort of oxymoron. I refused to believe what I saw, until I searched more and more. I read true stories of abuse from ordinary people like me, and most of the stories were similar to mine. I read through countless definitions to make sure the pit feeling in my stomach was telling me the right thing. Finally, I came to a conclusion. My best friend, Blake Tatum Summons, had sexually abused me.
Anybody who knows me knows that I can’t keep anything in, so this was quite the obstacle for me. There were so many reasons for why I didn’t speak up about it. He was my everything, he was all I had, I couldn’t lose him. I’d rather deal with this burden than be without him. Just as the grief was starting to become controlled, this brought me back to the horrendous state I used to be in.  My grief therapy sessions filled with the conversation about how I was finally finding happiness, became 45 minutes of silence while questioning why this had to happen to me. I couldn’t even talk to my therapist about this, and I told her absolutely everything. She was just as confused as I was. After my dad died, I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and PTSD, but truthfully, I felt so much worse when Blake did this to me. The constant flashbacks of Blake’s blue-themed basement, the scent of his cologne, and his unloving touch haunted me each and every day. The number of tears I shed, sleepless nights, and out of the blue anxiety attacks couldn’t define the pain I endured. The pain took every ounce of strength out of my body to the point where some days I couldn’t leave my bed. A few minutes felt like hours, a few hours felt like days, a few days felt like months as I dragged my way through the horror movie I called living. The light he brought into my life was once again dim and I felt as if I would never see the light again. I believed everything happens for a reason but I couldn’t seem to find a reason for why he did this to me. For months the thought of speaking out about this situation lingered my brain, but I knew I didn’t have the strength to do it. Honestly, I had no idea how I would even come out about it. Who do I tell? What do I say? Do I tell the full story? Keeping this secret was one of the most difficult tasks I have ever done, but I did it for him. I did it all for him. Everything was for him, the curly-haired boy I loved.
The pit feeling kills you until you tell your mother that you broke the vase, just like the pit feeling killed me until I confronted him. 9 months and 17 days after the fact, I spoke up. The strength I was praying for finally came across me on a chilly, foggy, January afternoon. I knew what I wanted to say, and I did it. I simply sent him a message, “I said ‘No’, but you did it anyway. Blake, you sexually abused me and you don’t love me. This is our goodbye.” He answered with several messages, and phone calls which I left unanswered. Next thing I knew, my phone screen showed “Are you sure you would like to block this contact?” and that was the last time I ever spoke to him. Thankfully I realized, he was the worst thing to ever happen to me.
It has been 3 months since I came out and last talked to Blake. I rekindled my old friendships, the strength for my family, my love for Christ, and my motivation for school and sports. I have been on a rollercoaster that only goes up. I never thought I’d be the happy, free-spirited girl I once was. Without this experience, I wouldn’t be as positive, powerful, and wise as I am now. I guess everything really does happen for a reason.