One Woman’s Struggle with the System

He hurt me. He destroyed my sense of self. He took everything that I thought I was and everything that was good about me and made it very bad. He made me feel like my life was an endless nightmare that I would never be able to escape. And then Harvard made it worse.

I didn’t leave my room for a couple weeks. I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t even eating. And nobody cared. My proctor who was supposed to know what was going on in my life didn’t even notice that he hadn’t seen me in ages. Needless to say, my professors and TFs didn’t notice either. So then I asked for help. I looked for help. Room 13 is a joke. Response is even worse. I will never forget sitting there with my roommate (who was also in tears) and wondering why the fuck the girl kept smiling at me and telling me that my feelings were normal. Is it normal to feel like your very own skin is an itchy sweater that you can’t take off? Is it normal to wish that you could just get a single moment of sleep without feeling like you were being hurt all over again? I thought UHS might be better. I sat there all night waiting for someone to talk to. And then she came and told me that I had experienced a trauma and that the extra-strength-for-trauma sleeping pills would make it better. I must admit that sleeping for a change was nice. But I couldn’t help thinking that amnesia would be better.

So I went to an administrator - a woman who was supposedly there to support me and help me, a woman whose job description would lead you to believe she would be on my side. I felt powerful. I was “doing something.” But when I sat down in her office, she gave me the best advice that she could offer: “I guess guys can be real jerks sometimes...” and she smiled. She explained to me that any form of pressing charges would be hard and that it might just make things worse. I was convinced—he was just a jerk and I should just get over it.

I got better for a while. And then worse than I had ever been. I had to disrespect my own body before I realized that I was not okay. I couldn’t get help at UHS at this point because “there wasn’t enough staff to accommodate another regular patient.” I was sad at this point. and pissed. and empty. I decided to regress and convince myself that it was my fault. And it wasn’t that bad. And that if I took ownership of what happened, then I would have the power to make it better. Needless to say, this approach failed miserably.

So I finally decided to do something. But really this time. The Ad Board would help me. I had faith. I sat up with one of my roommates and I wrote my statement. And even more shocking, I gave it to my senior tutor.

I had nightmares all over again. I stopped doing my work again. I stopped feeling complete again. He was hurting me again. But I told myself it was worth it and I went through with it. My senior tutor assured me that it would be easy. I mean, he had already admitted it and it wasn’t like this was the first time he had done this sort of thing. How hard could the process be? It was hard enough for me to be failing all my classes. But that would be okay. Clearly my professor would understand. Except he didn’t. Even though he knew what I was going through (he was on the Ad Board) he didn’t offer to give me help with my work. He didn’t give me any extensions. He blinked for a long time, thought for a second or two, and then said, “hmmm, maybe you should just go home...” I guess I just wasn’t worth dealing with. Being at Harvard is only appropriate when you are at your best and able to do your work. Because the work is what matters. And so I tried to catch up in my classes. I tried especially to catch up in his class. But when I realized I would barely pass the class, I figured they would let me drop the class considering the circumstances. He knew what I was going through. He knew that I had tried. The Ad Board responded - “sure you can drop the class, as long as you can prove that you were unable to do your work and you tried to do something about it.” This was the worst part. I just didn’t understand. How the fuck do you prove that you can’t sleep? How do you show someone that when you close your eyes, you can’t see anything but his face? How exactly do you demonstrate the guilt you feel when you lie to your roommates about where you are going just so you can find a private place to cry?

And so I finished the process. I wrote more statements and I read more of his bullshit. I cried more and hated Harvard more and more every second. And then came the conclusion. He had to take a year off...for the second time. It is funny that this school which claims to be so moral will give a student only one chance to make a slew of Ds, but you get two chances to violate other members of your community. The Ad Board decided to reward how forthcoming he was. For some reason, what he did to me didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was how pathetic his statement was and how eloquent he was when he begged for forgiveness. I still haven’t forgiven him. And I will never forgive Harvard.