Sexual harassers now walk around the school walls.

First thing first. I want to shout. I want to rant. I want to scream so much but it’s all in my head. It’s like something is caged inside me, fighting to come out, but my body won’t move. I cant even scream physically. I just keep walking around with a head full of noise and a face that smiles. So I look like a liar. A pretender. Because I’ve been smiling, laughing, and joking shamelessly all while something disgusting sits at the center of my chest.

Here’s the truth. I was sexually harassed. By two aged men in my school. Yes. That was what happened. I told a few of my friends about it. And at first, it sounded like a joke. Maybe even I made it sound like a joke like I wasn’t serious. But it doesnt seem like a joke anymore. It is what you think it is. I was sexually harassed by these crazy men. Not rape, though. Oh... oh. Not that. But does that even matter? The fact that I have to clarify that it wasn’t rape... The fact that I’m defending the type of harassment as if one version is more acceptable than another... That’s already part of the problem.

And the wildest part of all of this?

When I coincidentally meet them, I still smile.

Yes. I still smile.

Imagine that. Imagine being sexually harassed and then seeing your harassers around school and smiling like everything is okay. Crazy, right?

I hate it so much. I hate that I’ve trained myself to be polite in the face of discomfort. I hate that my body acts safe around people who made me feel unsafe. I hate that this happened in a school setting, a place that’s supposed to be structured and secure.

And honestly? I’m Im just happy my time in this school is almost over. Because I dont want to keep seeing these men. I dont want to keep pretending I am fine when I am not.

If I could do anything, I’d tell the admin anonymously and say they should please, just install CCTV cameras in every office. Not to catch thieves but to protect us from the predators you’ve hired. But no oooooo. Instead of that, they focus on unnecessary things. They make policies that make life more difficult for students. They never ask what we need. They never care about what we are silently carrying. They just pile more rules and useless projects on us and ignore the rot in the walls.

And these men? These crazy men? They move around like nothing happened. They don’t see how deeply uncomfortable I am around them. They don’t see how much I wish they’d disappear.

Honestly, this alone is a valid reason why I hate people. I really do. Because every time I try to trust every time I try to let my guard down something like this reminds me why I shouldn’t. I dont even want to go into the details of what happened. I dont owe that to anyone. But just know it was a crazy experience. One I brushed off at first, like a fly on my arm. But with time, the sting began to sink in. I started to replay it in my head. I started to feel the discomfort grow, swell, and harden into a knot in my chest. And every time I saw them, that knot tightened. What makes it worse is that this isnt even my first time dealing with something like this.

This isn’t the first time a grown man, an elderly man has crossed the line. But this time, it hit different. This time it happened in a school setting. In a place that’s supposed to protect, not prey. A space where I am meant to learn and grow and feel safe. But instead, I feel watched. Violated. Disrespected. And I am still smiling. Still showing up. Still walking the halls like nothing happened. But dont get it twisted. I remember. I know. I carry it. And today, I am not smiling. I am writing. I am saying it. I was sexually harassed by two aged men in my school.

And I am done pretending like that didn’t happen just because they are older, or respected, or protected by the same system that let students suffer silently. This isnt just a rant. This is a warning. A confession. A scream in text form. Because if I can’t say it out loud without shaking, I’ll say it here fully, loudly, and truthfully. I was sexually harassed, But I am still here. And I can’t be silenced here.

You can’t just go to the authorities in peace. Because somehow, they always take it the opposite way. You walk in with the truth, and somehow leave feeling like the villain. Like you’re the one causing trouble. Like maybe you imagined the whole thing.

And what if they ask for evidence? What if there’s no proof? No video. No audio. No witness. Then what?

Suddenly it all sounds made up. Like a story you spun out of boredom or spite. And just like that, your truth is reduced to “maybe she misunderstood.” Or worse “maybe she’s doing too much.”

And as if that isn’t enough, once word gets out, you’re not only doubted, you’re judged.

Students, the ones who should be standing beside you, start whispering. Avoiding. Mocking. You’re now that girl. The “problematic one.” The one who’s “looking for attention.” And just like that, you’re isolated. Labeled. Tagged in a negative light, not just by the system, but by the very people who should’ve been part of your fight.

So you stay quiet. Not because it didn’t happen, but because speaking comes with it’s own punishment.

Please don’t check on me.

I didn’t write this because I need comfort or conversations or to be asked “are you okay?” a hundred times. I wrote this because I needed to get it out. I needed to give the pain a place to live outside my body. Something I can come back to later if I ever need to remind myself that it happened and that I had the courage to speak.

This is not a call for help.

This is not a cry for pity.

This is a release.

A record.

A moment I needed to claim, in my own words, on my own terms.

May God punish this people abundantly. Amen.