This is about a different kind of love. It’s about finding self-love again after a traumatic event. And I’ve been dying to get my story out. Hopefully it can help someone out there.
My boyfriend went to college while I was still in high school. His life changed dramatically. My life was still the same. I was unhappy before – I hated high school. I had no friends. But now I was lonely and worried, too. I was in an extremely vulnerable state. Then I met someone. Let’s call him C. C gave me all of his time, something no one else had done for me before. We would hang out every day, doing things like making brownies or doing puzzles. Very innocent activities.
C started developing feelings for me. He knew I had a boyfriend, but he made moves anyway. He would tuck my hair behind my ear and whisper that he wished I was his. From the first day I met him I knew he was trouble – he gripped my arm so tightly after I hit him gently, just playing around, that I froze, truly frightened. It was a classic deer in headlights moment. When he walked away I told my friend, “I bet he hits his girlfriends.”
My first instinct was accurate, I’d later find. C and I got closer and closer. I cared about him more and more. One night I snuck out to talk to him. We got in his car, got in the back seat. And he laid his body on top of mine. He fingered me. I didn’t look at him the whole time. I didn’t let his lips touch mine. I had a boyfriend. This was just physical. This was me being a stupid teenager, giving in to something physical. Kisses had meaning. This could not.
When he was done and I still hadn’t kissed him, he gripped my face. He forced me to look at him. Through gritted teeth he commanded, “Come on.” The fear and the moment caused me to give in. Things were good between us for a while after that night. But C was a drug dealer. He became less and less dependable. He’d be two hours late to hang out, and be completely unapologetic about it.
He started saying things like, “Get the fuck over here. Shut the fuck up, bitch. I don’t want to hear your shit.” He’d punch me in the arm with force, then immediately apologize and wrap me up in his arms and say he hadn’t meant to do it that hard. One day he punched me in my left cheek.
Yes, I was being abused. Could I see it at the time? No. All I could see was this person who had originally treated me with kindness. This person who I felt like was all I had here. I did not see the low life abuser who was lying to me and taking total advantage of how much I cared for him. He was my dealer – my attention dealer. And I so craved to matter to someone.
One morning I went to his house and made him breakfast. I got into his bed. I’d never let him take my clothes off. That was a line I had drawn. I had never touched him. I never would. That morning, he was done with it all. He was done with me. He stripped off all of my clothes while I laid there, too shocked and terrified to move. It was broad daylight and I was totally exposed. He had dry sex with me with his jeans on. Thrusting, grinding, against my bare skin. Humiliating me. Violating me. He had to know he was hurting me, from my silence, my body language, my facial expressions. But he ignored these indicators, taking what he wanted.
When I had to go to school, I put my clothes on and he kissed me without looking at me. He didn’t walk me to the door. I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day. This person, who I had considered my friend. Who had looked me in the eye and told me he cared about me. This is what it had taken for me to realize we were not friends.
We did not spend time together after that. I walked around full of anger and further emotions that I can’t put into words. After a couple of weeks I thought I was going to go crazy. Something inside me felt like it was going to crack. I had been sexually assaulted. And I could not tell anybody.
He had the nerve to ask me who I was angry at. I unleashed a river of insults. A tirade of expletives. Every time he’d try to respond, I’d tell him to shut the fuck up because there was more that I hated about him. His final response was apathetic. But I had said what I had needed to say.
I moved far away for college. I thought it would all be behind me. This new start, the new people, the new environment, would be enough to get me to stop harboring this hatred and guilt. But it wasn’t. Something I saw triggered the memories, and I sought help, finally.
I had my first counseling session last week. The woman listened to everything I had to say. And she told me valuable things that I had needed to hear for months. To every other girl that has been abused, sexually assaulted, or put through something else traumatic, especially by someone you trusted and cared for –
It was not your fault. You were vulnerable. You were taken advantage of. There was nothing you could have done. It is okay to feel angry. It is okay to feel sad sometimes. All the emotions you feel are reasonable. You are a good person. You are still a strong person. The douchebag who did this to you gained your trust, so of course you couldn’t hit him. Freezing up is a normal response. It isn’t natural to fight off someone close to you, so do not blame yourself for that. There are no magic words that will make you feel better immediately, but it gets better over time. It helps a lot to talk to someone, and to take time for yourself. Whatever makes you feel better – reading, writing, listening to music, going on a walk…
Understand that this was a traumatic event. It may affect your relationships with other people. But you don’t have to let it. You couldn’t control what happened to you, but you can control what happens now. You deserve to be happy.
-Anonymous