I guess things started when I was 14, in my freshman year. I was so, so depressed. I didn’t tell anyone about my thoughts of suicide or my constant self-harm. It was only when friends in my gym class saw the damage I had done while we were changing that I was urged to confess to my mother. I started getting help, got on medication, but at the time it didn’t feel like any of it was worth it. I wasn’t worth it.
In a club I was in I met her. And it was instant infatuation. She was beautiful, funny, she understood me. Understood my pain and I knew she did because she held the same pain. I was 14, she was 16. I didn’t care or think anything of it. Because she told me it was okay, and I wanted someone to tell me things would be okay. She told me everything I wanted to hear. So when I was texting her after I had just self-harmed, blood still on my wrist, and she told me she loved me? I was ready to love her back. I loved her so much.
And love meant sex, right? So I would lay there or do what she wanted, even if I wasn’t enjoying myself.
Love isn’t supposed to hurt. It isn’t supposed to isolate you from your friends and family. The summer we got together I remember nothing but her. I stayed at her house constantly, and if I couldn’t come over she would get mad at me, withdrawl affection as a punishment. I wanted her attention so, so badly and if I agreed to sex I would get it.
It was at an anime convention when it happened. A guy who was probably 20, 21 started hitting on me. My girlfriend at the time was punishing me by withdrawing attention and I wanted it so badly. He viewed me as something sexual and that was attention I thought was positive. I had only just turned 15. He didn’t care. That night there was a rave and we made out, and when I changed my mind because it felt wrong I couldn’t get out. He held me there and touched me and I felt so, so dirty. And since I had flirted with him and kissed him none of my friends or the person I called my love believed me. She had been using me the whole time and when someone else dirtied me she was done with me.
Writing this has made me so tired. It’s been years since this happened yet I still have bad dreams. Now I am in love again, in a healthy relationship with someone I hope to marry someday. We made love and it was the first time I’ve engaged in sexual activity since my assault and abuse. I still struggle but now, I am safe. I am loved. And this love doesn’t hurt.