Content Warning: Discussion of sexual assault, drug-facilitated assault, HIV exposure, overdose, PTSD, and recovery. There is a part of my story that

Content Warning: Discussion of sexual assault, drug-facilitated assault, HIV exposure, overdose, PTSD, and recovery.

There is a part of my story that I have kept quiet for a long time because it is painful to revisit, but I believe that speaking honestly may help someone else realize they are not alone.

I am a gay Christian, and I am also a survivor of a drug-facilitated sexual assault. GHB was used against me, and I suffered neurological effects afterward. In the midst of that trauma, the person responsible identified himself as HIV positive and stated that he intended to infect me.

Because of the exposure risk, I had to undergo 90 days of post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) treatment. Those three months were filled with fear, uncertainty, shame, and questions that seemed impossible to answer. I carried the weight of what had happened almost entirely by myself.

I didn’t tell my spouse. I didn’t tell many people at all. I buried it, convinced that silence would somehow make it easier to survive. Instead, the isolation made everything worse.

Three months later, on Christmas Eve, I overdosed.

Looking back, I realize that overdose was not simply about substances. It was about trauma that I had never processed, pain that I had never shared, and a belief that I had to carry the burden alone.

The assault changed me. It contributed significantly to my PTSD and affected my trust, relationships, sense of safety, and mental health. But it did not define my value, my faith, or who I am as a person.

Today, I choose to speak about it because survivors deserve to know they are not alone. Sexual assault can happen to anyone—regardless of gender, sexual orientation, profession, or background. The shame belongs to the person who committed the assault, not to the person who survived it.

Healing has been difficult and far from linear. There have been setbacks, relapses, tears, and days when getting out of bed felt impossible. But there has also been hope, therapy, faith, community, and the determination to keep moving forward.

If my story reaches even one person who feels isolated or believes there is no way out, I want you to hear this: what happened to you does not define you. You are worthy of love, dignity, compassion, and healing. Your story is not over.

I am still here. I am still healing. And I refuse to let the worst thing that ever happened to me have the final word.