Losing my religion, part 2

In high school, I was raped the night before a big football game at our local college. My date (who I had known for two years, but only as a passing acquaintance) said we were going to a "party" at his friend's apartment, but when we got there, there was nobody there but the two of us.
"Oh, well, it must be somewhere else," he said. "Let's just wait on D to get here." He made me a drink.

It was clearly drugged, because I drank just half of it, and dutifully blacked out, waking up to find that we were having sex. Except, you know, I hadn't consented. I began to scream and fight, I banged on the wall of the apartment building-- everything. He finally relented, maybe terrified that I put up such a fight, and I numbly crawled to retrieve my dress, which he had neatly hung over the doorknob.

And that's how I lost my virginity.

I demanded he take me home, but I could barely walk. I stumbled to the car. I threatened to call the cops, but knew what would happen in our small town if I brought rape charges against one of our school's golden boys. My reputation would be tarnished for life, and I would be branded a whore or worse for being alone in a house with a boy.

And my parents would find out that I drank. So I decided against it.

He drove me to a frat party, where I called a friend to pick me up.

Three months later, I was diagnosed with depression and put on medication. It never occurred to me that the two events could be related. Meanwhile, I attended church less and less.

Losing my religion, part 1

When I was in middle school, my parents finally decided to stop traveling. My mother, like I, didn't exactly believe the scare-tactic ideals that [drama ministry] espoused. And my father agreed that it would be best if my baby sister and I were around kids other than, you know, each other.
I spent seventh grade getting my bearings at a private school so small there was only one other girl in my class. She was, but given my limited choices, my best friend. The next year she and I were both thrown into our local public school, where I expected us to stick together, and she proceeded to tell every kid there that I was, among other things, "slutty" and "bulimic."
So I had no friends, save the school drug dealer, who was cute enough, and moreover, took an interest in me.
He told me I was ugly, my teachers hated me, and that my boobs weren't big enough. A full head taller than me and probably fifty pounds heavier, he threatened me when I would wear nice clothes and accuse me of trying to pick up other guys. Then, we would make out behind the cafeteria after school.
One time I caught him there when he was making a deal, and he grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the brick wall. It tore a hole in my shirt.
I was in eighth grade.