PAVE My Stories: Anonymous
The beginning of my sophomore year of high school, I met the most amazing boy. I had just broken up with a long-term boyfriend; he was sweet and funny. However, due to circumstance, I didn’t get the chance to date him until the very end of junior year. Once we did start dating, I was so happy because no one had ever treated me as kindly as he did.
A few months into the relationship was when I first knew something was wrong. He started being mean, he wouldn’t let me hang out with my girl friends, and basically forbade me from speaking to my guy friends. I didn’t want to break up with him for this, but these were my friends from elementary school. At the same time, I didn’t know if anyone would love me if we broke up.
It kept getting worse. He had no respect for me, constantly made me cry, never let me be with my friends, but was able to do whatever he wanted, while I sat alone at home on Friday and Saturday nights. I lost my virginity to him a few months into our relationship. After about a year was when it started getting bad. Growing up in a small town, rape had one meaning: when a stranger forced a girl into having sex with him. Rape didn’t happen between acquaintances, friends, significant others; if rape happened, it was usually the girl’s fault. Now, after a year of dating, when we had sex, it HURT. He’d be forceful and rough, and even when I cried and asked him to stop, he wouldn’t. He would yell at me to shut up and let him finish, and afterwards, would leave me to myself to finish crying while he went and played video games. Time and again, I went through this. It was stuck in my head that this was normal. He would be so sweet during the day when we were around other people, but by ourselves, it was different. I didn’t think I could leave; we had plans to get married, his whole family was so excited about it. I was so afraid he would hurt me if I tried to break up, and he made me feel like no one would ever love me. I wasn’t pretty, I was too needy, I was too demanding, I didn’t do enough for him. As much as I loved him, because I did, it was never good enough.
For another 3 or 4 months, sex was like this. Consensual at first, forceful at the end, with me feeling degraded and left alone to cry. I had no one to talk to, and no one noticed that I wanted to die. But because I was taught that rape was a stranger on a girl, I didn’t do anything. One night, everything changed and I knew it was wrong. We were alone for the night, and started fooling around. I didn’t want to have sex, but it started anyway. I changed my mind, and asked him to stop. He took my shoulders, slammed me down on the floor, and held me while I cried and screamed. The pain was horrible, and after he finished, left me to go watch TV. I couldn’t stop crying; I didn’t know what I had done to deserve this, I didn’t know what I could do right anymore to make him stop doing this to me. I kept crying and screaming, and eventually he yelled at me to shut the f*** up, to go downstairs and go to bed. And I did, because I was too afraid to leave him to go home. Home was a half hour away, and it was so late at night, I didn’t want to scare my parents. I broke up with him shortly after this. He tried so hard to get me back, but I have wonderful friends who held my hand while I tried to deal. I didn’t realize that rape could happen between significant others until almost a year after I broke up with him; I’m still dealing with the aftermath. I have severe anger problems, I have trust issues, and still, sometimes I’m afraid to have sex with my boyfriend of almost two years. All the memories still haunt me, but talking about it and dealing with the memories head-on has helped. I don’t know if mentally or emotionally I’ll be okay; but I’ve made progress. Enough that I can make it through the day without thinking about it and without worrying that he’ll find me.