Photography by Séamus Carroll.

I’m on campus with my abuser:

I started studying at Trinity last year, doing a degree I thought I would love on a beautiful campus, with notions of divinity surrounding me. I had earned this; worked hard through all six years of secondary school, I had gotten a job over the summer and worked as hard as I could to live away from home for my first year at least.

College began like a dream; slowly and all at once. I made friends and lived the life I had dreamed of ever since I started school. Boys and booze and going to lectures still drunk on a Friday morning, clean mascara on top of an old coat, cleaning my teeth with vodka rather than toothpaste. My flatmates and I huddled together during exam season, living in pyjamas and crying over assignments that would probably have made sense if I paid attention during class.

Semester two was when everything fell apart. It was a crisp January morning, and I had just endured the hell that is a nine a.m Friday tutorial. For once, I was the right temperature, not too hot, not too cold. My jacket was wrapped tightly around me, protecting my organs as I sat outside the arts block with some new friends and we discussed how much we ‘actually really liked this module.’ Trying to scope out the good people from a large group is hard, but I knew one of the boys from a module last semester, so I sidled with him as we moved around on the benches. Coffee was suggested, someone had to go to the library, and one of the girls had an early train home from Heuston so she headed on her way. Nothing sounded more appealing than my cosy bed and a hot water bottle, so I walked alone towards Dame Street, music blaring in my ears as I crossed Front Square.

And there he was. Back from Erasmus.

He was conversing with two friends, with his best friend beside him. His hair was longer, to his shoulders – he had been transformed. Clad in Doc Martens and Levi blue jeans, the Vans wearing, black-jeans boy I knew was gone on the surface. The glint in his eye, and the stretch of his hands, was still there. The tilt of his head when he listened hadn’t gone anywhere and when he looked at me, my vision blurred. Unmoving, no breath escaping my lungs, I turned into a statue with my legs locked into place with fear. Slowly, I came back to reality. I walked out the gates onto Dame Street.

That would be the last time for seven months I stepped foot on campus.

Deleting Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook and Gmail, I didn’t reply to texts or emails for weeks. Exams were missed, attendance sheets had large red X’s beside my name, and friend’s birthdays were bypassed by fear. Broke, broken and largely living alone in this large city all of a sudden, I worked five days a week, sometimes six or even seven. 

Commuting to work began to take an hour instead of twenty minutes because I had seen his friends on the bus I usually took. Coming home was a different story. A bus, a luas, another bus; anything to avoid College Green and the possibility of running into him again.

I filled out all the forms necessary to drop out, feeling like everything I had worked towards was completely lost. My social circle, like my own self, was emaciated. I sold the books I had bought for my first year to strangers on the internet. I gave away clothes I wore during those days. The painful thought that enjoying myself in semester one was a catalyst for seeing him was so strong that I promised myself, in my heart of hearts, that I would never set foot on campus, or go to college again.

However, I am here, sitting in the library writing this article, with a coffee from the Buttery and my textbooks that I bought again in front of me. How did I do it?

Lots of therapy. Liaising with the student counselling service, which offers emergency appointments Monday to Friday, even during the summer, helped me tremendously. Building a secure network of people, both professional and casual can help you feel more secure on campus itself and by sharing the situation with friends, a concrete plan in case of emergency can be made so you don’t break down, like I did.