Picture this if you will. Picture a seventeen-year-old girl curled up in her bed sobbing those gut wrenching sobs, the kind that rub your throat raw. Picture her trying to calm herself down, telling herself everything is going to be okay. Picture her telling those voices in her head that they were wrong. The depression didn’t scare him away. Picture her convincing herself that the boy she’d been dating for the past two and a half months, the one who just broke her heart, hadn’t raped her. That he wasn’t using her just for sex. That he really loved her and that he would come to his senses and they’d be together again. Do you see it? Picture that same girl three years later. She’s tried to pick up the pieces of what that boy did. She’s tried living a normal life, and failed. She’s seen countless guys up and leave once they find out she’s a rape victim. Picture that girl trying to keep the tears from falling every night, because not only does she have depression but now she has the tit