I’ve always been notoriously unlucky. School raffles never led to prizes, Murphy’s Law was a good friend of mine and the odds were never in my favour.

It was only when I came to college that my luck seemed to turn and I was suddenly the luckiest girl in the world.

I was a lucky girl even when I woke up with regrets, shame and a crippling sense of anxiety at last night’s antics.

I was a lucky girl. Even when I lost purses, make up, phones.

I was a lucky girl. Even though I’m on my fourth student card. (Oh, the irony of having to attain a new ID after too many nights of not being myself).

But I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve woken up with nothing in my memory but an unforgivable darkness. (I’ve learnt not to get drunk with people I don’t trust).

But I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve woken up with the lingering stench of someone else’s vomit in my vicinity. (I’ve learnt not to mix drinks).

But I’m one of the lucky ones.

I haven’t been beaten to a pulp yet. I’m one of the lucky ones. I haven’t yet been forced into something non-consensual.

I haven’t yet been sexually or otherwise violated. I haven’t yet had the privilege of personal possession over my own body stripped from me.

I haven’t yet been forced into feeling like a criminal for a crime I didn’t commit. I haven’t yet had to prove that I screamed and said no and cried out for help for anyone to 'PLEASE HELP ME!'.

I haven’t yet had to stay silent and pretend that it’s not happening to me, it’s a nightmare I’ll soon wake up from. I haven’t yet had to sit my parents down and tell them I was a victim, to watch their hearts break in front of me.

I haven’t yet had to see a psychologist because of one nameless boy who didn’t understand or care that no means no. I haven’t yet had to be diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder because of the fact that my first experience of intercourse was literally forced on to me.

I'm one of the lucky ones.  With 1 in 4 girls reporting sexual assault, I wonder how long this will last. It's pure luck that I am not yet the victim.

It’s a handful of friends who sacrificed their nights to make sure that I got home safe, to ensure that I was taken care of, to make sure nothing worse would happen.

I have sisters, the statistics say that one of us will be assaulted. I look at my older sister, who makes jokes about creepy encounters she’s had and I hope to God that it won’t be her.

I look at my younger sisters, and my heart breaks and my blood boils at the thought of someone taking advantage of these unsuspecting, innocent girls.

This can’t go on.

We cannot continue to ignore this crisis.Thousands of men and women in this country have haunting stories, experiences, memories that they’ve been forced to bury deep inside themselves for fear of being branded a liar, for not wanting to draw attention on one of Ireland’s remaining taboo subjects.

People may be sick about reading about these articles. They’re very privileged. How lucky are they that they can get bored about reading about rape?

How does it feel to be bored by a topic that puts the fear of God into parents and children alike?

Who will be next we all wonder? Ugh, again? These people say. Sorry to bore you but this is our unfortunate reality.

Of course, I’m being facetious. This has nothing to do with luck.

It’s about a sexual education that fails generations of young people. It’s about lack of understanding. It’s about the ominous, underlying remnants of an overtly Catholic state.

It’s about boys and men not learning that they don’t have to have sex to be men. It’s about seeing women as more than an object to have sex with.

This is everyone’s problem.

It could be your brother, sister, you, me.

Prevention is better than cure. Be aware, beware.