So, junior high comes to an end and 9th grade begins. It was here where I met the guy I was determined to spend the rest of my life with. He was an absolute sweet heart, and popular. I was a little confused… why would a popular, sports star be interested in me? I was a no one. Well, you know what they say… hind sight. I had EASY written all over myself, and not in a sexual term, but in terms of a target. I didn’t know until a few months after our relationship began, that he suffered from some serious anger issues, and I just happened to take the place of his punching bag. I should have left him after the first physical fight, but I was afraid. He threatened to beat up all my male friends if I did. If that happened, they’d no longer want to be my friend. And looking back, I think I stayed because some part of me felt I deserved it for being so stupidly blind to begin with. We lasted almost 4 years, and there was never a week without a fight. His mom actually walked in on one of them. She grabbed me out of his room, threw a chair at him and ran me to her car to get me home. So, I hope you can understand my confusion when she was inviting me back for dinner not 2 days later.
I decided that he was the “man” I was going to give my virginity to. I wanted it to be special, so I planned it for Valentine’s Day. But on that Valentine’s day, I had my period, ruining the plan and causing another beat down. Yup. It was all my fault mother nature decided to make me menstruate on the 14th. Regardless, he got it 5 days later, and I’ll never forget the day. It was hardly special. In fact, it was on his bedroom floor with rap music blaring in my ear. I told him to stop because it hurt but he insisted that I’d get used to it. I didn’t. I bled, and I cried the whole way home. I think I was more disappointed in myself than in pain. But by this point, I was numb to any and all physical pain. It’s the internal pain, the emptiness, the loneliness that hurts so much more. The name calling, the passing me off to his friends as if I was some kind of whore. I never did go through with it, which was cause for another beating. And by this time he was smart enough not to leave visible bruises.
One night after I got out of work, he picked me up. However, while I was working, he went through all my school work and found a Senior picture of a boy he didn’t know. He assumed I was cheating on him, and nothing I said would convince him otherwise. I told him to throw the picture out; it didn’t mean all that much to me. He said he was going to kill us both and drove off the road aiming for a tree. I panicked, but knew that I had to remain calm in order to get home. He relaxed a bit, and asked me if, despite his outburst, I was still going to hang out with him that night. I laughed it off pretending it was no big deal and assured him repeatedly that our plan to spend the night together was still on. I just had to get home and change my clothes. Then I’d be good to go.
We got to my house, and as soon as we got out of the car, I could see my family sitting on the couch watching TV. I looked him dead in the eyes and said I wanted my school ring back, and never wanted to speak to him again. He began choking me to the point I almost passed out, and then kicked me in the stomach, ripped off the necklace that was holding my ring and threw the ring at me. He said I wasn’t worth it, called me a few names and then got his car and left.
I ran in the house as if I had to use the bathroom, so that no one would see me crying. Once I was in my bedroom, my sister came in to see what was up. She saw the finger prints on my neck, and just shook her head and walked out. No hug, no consolation… nothing. I think THIS is when all the problems with my sister began. She was living the picture perfect life, engaged to be married, and couldn’t be bothered with my “drama.”
After high school, my parents got divorced. I had to face my fears and get a full time job to help my mom pay the bills. I was having panic attacks on a regular basis, and would call her at 2:00am so she could talk me through them. While at this job, I met a guy who I instantly clicked with. After hanging out a few times, we actually started dating, and I began to open up to him about my anxiety and panic. He was in college and taking a psychology course, and said he believed I had a legitimate diagnoses. So, he talked to his professor and set up a meeting with him. I spoke to this professor for a good hour, and he agreed with my boyfriend. There was definite signs that I had anxiety issues, and it was his recommendation that I seek therapy ASAP. I didn’t have health insurance at the time, so he referred me to a class of students studying to become therapists. Two weeks later I was a lab rat for potential future psychologists. Awesome.
This relationship didn’t last long. It just didn’t work out. But I am grateful for all he did to help me. In my spare time, I spent hours in AOL chat rooms, just for company. It was here that I met the next monster in my life. He was a sweet heart over the computer! He constantly had me laughing, and we had some pretty intense conversations. My best friend at the time (who would later turn out to be my husband) was very skeptical of him, but once he arrived here from Pennsylvania, they got along great. I didn’t realize that my computer friend was a pot smoker and a master in Jiu Jitsu. Again… awesome. I can’t say I wasn’t warned this time around. Both of my parents didn’t approve of his visit, but I think this was some type of rebellion that I would definitely pay for. Once the house was empty, the monster struck. He was nice at first, flirting as foreplay, making mac and cheese and wiping it on the end of my nose. Just being silly. Then something happened. It was like a someone flipped a switch in him. While the food was still cooking on the stove, I was forced into my bedroom and robbed of any purity I had left. I gave him one hell of a fight, but he just laughed, and when he was done, he pulled out and came all over my stomach. My arms were pinned and he leaned down, licked his own semen off of my stomach and then spit it in my mouth. Then said “That’s how it’s done bitch.” I just met the devil himself. Before I could even regain my composure, he had packed his bags and was on the road.
I got up, turned the stove off and took a long hot shower and cried… a lot. I couldn’t admit this to my parents, because I was afraid I’d get the “I told you so.” so I called my best friend. He came over and was ready to get on the thruway and hunt this monster down. Instead, I asked him to just hug me and let me cry. I think it was his compassion in such a hurtful moment that made me see him as more than just a friend. And because I can’t think about this stuff any more today, this is where I’ll leave off.
Have a good day…