Today's post isn't easy to write.
This is all the stuff that I've tried not to think about. These are the memories they tell me that I have to face in order to heal. And to tell you the truth, I'm terrified to go back there. But I don't want to carry this forever.
Where to begin? I guess the beginning...you've already seen the end.
Back in 2008 and 2009, I was seeing this guy. I'm not going to give him a name, but we were kind of dating, I guess you could say. I say 'kind of' because he kept saying we were, then we weren't, then we were, and so on. Fuck that shit. Anyway, he was the first guy to say 'I love you' to me, I was naive, he was such a rebel, blah blah blah. Fact of the matter is, I should have listened to my friends when they said to stay away from him.
One day, he pulls out his stash of weed and says, "I'm not taking you home unless you smoke this with me." What the fucking point of that was, I'm not sure, but I smoked it. I now know that I'm allergic to marijuana. I also know that I was stupid to put myself in that position.
A few weeks later, he decided that I was going to start playing games with him. In order to be able to get home, I had to do whatever he had in mind that day. This usually involved taking off all my clothes, letting him touch me everywhere he wanted to, performing oral sex, and unfortunately letting him do the same. When it was time to stop playing games, he'd take me home and I would take a shower and usually throw up. I kinda feel like throwing up now, actually.
The sad thing was that part of me thought that this was how love went. Part of me was pretty damn sure that everybody did this and that sooner or later I'd get used to it.
He liked mind games too. He'd ask me questions, all sorts of questions that I didn't want to answer, or he'd ask questions to see how I would react to whatever game he wanted to play next. It made me fucking sick. One day he asked me what I'd do if I got raped and if I'd blame myself and I fucking wish I'd answered differently. But I didn't really know that this wasnt how love worked. So I told myself I'd get used to it just like all the other girls did.
Sometimes, I just couldn't handle it. I created Baby to handle it for me. Baby was strong, Baby couldn't feel sick like Ness did. Baby played some of the games because Ness couldn't do it anymore.
On february 8th of 2009, playing this particular game wasn't enough anymore. I had told him countless times before to please never make me have sex with him but this time that was the game we were gonna play. I feel sick writing this, I feel so fucking sick right now but I have to do this or I'll never be rid of it. Anyway. I didn't have time for Baby to take over. I was there, helpless the whole fucking time. He made these awful noises, these horrible noises that I can't get out of my head sometimes. It hurt. It hurt real bad. I was so fucking scared. His fucking skin. He was everywhere and I tried to fight but I just couldn't get him off of me. I can remember the room, I can remember his hands, how he smelled, I can remember everything and i fucking hate it. I was sick and I still get sick.
I was saving that. I was fucking saving myself for someone who loved me. I wanted to decide when my 'first time' was, I wanted to decide who to share that with. And I didn't get to. I didn't get to do it. He just fucking took it. He fucking made me worthless. Made me afraid. Made me want to hide.
He told me that I was damaged now.
When I got home, I rubbed my skin raw trying to get the filth off. It didn't come off and I realized then that this was permanent. This was rape, and it wasn't going to go away.
He was right. Damaged.
I wanted die. The voices in my head told me to because I was worthless now. I'd been violated, ripped to shreds and I'd never be worth anything.
It took a really, really long time to come back from that. I'm hoping this blog helps somebody out there because this shit isn't easy to write. I have what I'm pretty sure is PTSD now...I throw up, pass out, get flashbacks, nightmares. I'm terrified of feeling trapped. If somebody touches me and I'm not expecting it, I freak the fuck out. I'm afraid of the dark, I'm afraid of the fucking city that it happened in. If I hear the word 'rape' or they put it in a book or I see it in a movie, I freak out inside. Everything comes back and I have to run as fast as I can or get in my car and drive really fast. I used to straight up pass out but I'm getting better with that one.
Anyway. The reason for this post is that for the first time, I feel like I'll be ok if I write it. I have revisited all of these horrible, sickening memories and for the first time, they haven't gotten the better of me. I hope this helps me get better. I hope if you read this and this shit happened to you, then reading the rest of the shit I've posted on this blog can help you see that just because somebody took what wasn't theirs and made you afraid and fucked you up and called you damaged and ruined your life and broke you into pieces...you're still worth it. And if you try hard and you do what needs doing and you remind yourself that you're worth it, that you're still special and you're still the same person you were before he broke you, you're gonna be ok. You're the same little girl who used to dream of wearing a big white dress on your wedding day. And guess what? You can still fucking wear white. It wasn't your fault. Your innocence may be fucking gone for good, but you are innocent of this crime. You're the same girl who was ok before this and one day you'll be ok again. I am. And god help the ones who taught us what it is to fear...but hold out for the one who will teach you what it is to love.
You're fucking perfect. And so am I.
Hang on,
Ness
No comments:
Post a Comment