WARNING: This column comes with some hefty trigger warnings, for rape, sexual assault, PTSD and suicide.

This is part one on this topic; part two will be more practical suggestions on how I deal with these issues.

Did you know? Dolphins are the only animal other than humans that have been documented as enjoying sex for recreational pleasure. Dear readers, we have more in common with dolphins than we thought. Since this is a sex and relationships column, it can be assumed that I enjoy sex, but it has only been very recently that I made this discovery. Five years ago, I was raped. I have PTSD. I get flashbacks and nightmares, I experience anxiety most of the time, I never feel safe, so I’m very often tense or on guard, and sometimes, on bad days, I’m terrified of men. Moving away from home was hard, as was starting at one of the most intense universities in the country, and trying to navigate the new relationships that come with it.

I have made a lot of progress since the days of endless panic attacks, not leaving the house, and scream-crying that I would never get over it. Sometimes, I can talk about it. In my second week at Cambridge, I sat in a pub, having drinks with someone I met on Tinder, and I just… said it. Something I very rarely do. Then the conversation moved on, and it felt normal. I find that it sneaks up on me though, like when I’m talking to my friend about why neither of us shave. She says “I don’t want my body to look like a child’s,” and I want to say “as someone who was sexually abused as a child–” but I get as far as “as someone” and all of a sudden I hit a mental wall, and I’m crying. And it’s awkward. For a few moments I can’t see anything but that room on that afternoon and the overwhelming fear blinds me.

“When I’m asked why I applied to an all-female college, I say it’s because of the library, or the art, or because the sports teams are better funded... but the real answer is because it’s safe”

Sometimes, it doesn’t sneak up on me; it slams into me. I left a lecture in Michaelmas week 5 to a message on my subject group chat, linking to an article detailing the extent of the lecturer’s criminal convictions. He is a sex offender, and his actions had resulted in the pain of children who were like me. I panicked, I cried, I threw up, and I considered jumping in the Cam, because I thought the shock of cold water would snap me out of the spiral of fear and the feeling of being out of control. Unfortunately, I cannot wrap myself up in cotton wool and protect myself from events like this, because rapists, paedophiles and sex offenders exist all around me in society. And some, as in the case of that lecturer, are protected by powerful institutions like Cambridge, who are unwilling to consider the effect of this on individuals like me. It took months and countless emails to the faculty for them to consider recording his lectures for me (and even now, they’re not available to anyone else who may be affected by it).

Every large decision I have made since my sexual assault has been shaped by it in some way.

When I’m asked why I applied to an all-female college, I say it’s because of the library, or the art, or because the sports teams are better funded (as if I had ever intended to set foot on a sports pitch at uni), but the real answer is because it’s safe.

Not to say that I’m likely to be attacked at any moment, but as someone who experiences extreme paranoia and fear of men from time to time, it’s so comforting to know, when making a coffee in the morning, it’s very unlikely I’ll have to deal with my fear. Going to the library in my PJs, without a bra on, shuffling along in my slippers, I’m safe. I choose my encounters with men, and with that I have been given a control I never thought I’d have or want, but since being at uni, I’ve taken more steps forward than I ever thought possible.

Cambridge works for me; I am distracted, constantly. If I plan my time well enough, I can quite feasibly have 14 hours of tasks to do a day. I can orchestrate it so there’s no time to think about it. People who ask me how or why I juggle being welfare officer, volunteering, writing a column for Varsity, and my degree – that’s how, that’s why. At some point last term, my mind wandered to my trauma, and with that realised that it had been a full three days since it had last crossed my mind. Three! Days! There was a time when I found the thoughts so inescapable that I thought suicide would be the only way out, and now there are genuine periods of quiet, where I don’t think about it at all. It has taken five years of struggling but the future looks bright.

If you, too, have experienced this, and are feeling overwhelmed or upset by this column, may I suggest laying down, putting your headphones in and letting Wake by The Antlers wash over you. Let your feelings take you for the seven minutes of the song, then say: that’s enough. Put on ABBA. Don’t ever let anyone tell you you deserved that.