CONTENT WARNING: This story contains very graphic descriptions of sexual assault and violence.
Originally written April 23, 2018.
A year ago today, my heart broke.
Now, it wasn’t like this boy was anything special. In fact he was the complete opposite of everything I needed in life. I would text him every week, but he would rarely answer. Besides that, we both had different ideas of what love was, what success was and even what truth was.
He idolized well-known abusers, purveyors of fake news and men who bragged about assault. He was everything I knew to stay away from. But he was also sweet, awkward and more honest than anyone I had grown up with.
The sex was great, but the pillow talk was better. He once told me waking up next to me was one of his favorite things in the world. When I get crushes, they are so intense like I’m on drugs. His love was definitely my drug. I would spend the night with him and for the next week feel like I was on cloud nine. Even though I knew he could definitely treat me better and could definitely work on himself, he made me feel all kinds of wonderful.
But a year ago, things got a lot more complicated.
A year ago I woke up in his bed, and we consensually had sex. He wanted round two, but I told him, ‘No, I wanted to sleep some more,’ and turned around so my back faced him. I expected to just sleep for another hour or two, but instead I felt him moaning in my ear as he entered me from behind.
My mind raced and I stayed silent. Sometimes I wonder if yelling would’ve made a difference. But then I hate myself for having that conditioned response. When he went for round three, punching him didn’t make a difference. He just held my hands down and kept going. He didn’t even realize there was anything wrong.
It took me so long to realize what was happening and what the implications were. When I talked about it in therapy for months after, my therapist pointed out that I kept talking about the act about how it was so unfortunate and frustrating thing to happen, but not about how he was responsible for the awful act and what that said about him.
Rape was something I knew how to deal with, as it had happened to me years ago as well. But through this past year what has really hit me was trying to deal with the heartbreak of being raped by someone I care(ed) about. Even with the aforementioned awful event, I still felt something, and I wish I didn’t.
I want to end this story on a positive note. I have been dealing really well with the trauma in therapy. I haven’t spoken to the boy in almost a year, and I’m actually doing really well in life right now.
But my heart hasn’t healed.
Even now, I don’t want to paint him as the villain people will see from this story because I don’t see him as a villain. He’s just a guy who let himself go and forgot to see me as an autonomous being for a bit, but I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of evil. I can’t stop humanizing him when the world — and even part of me — is villainizing him. It’s all very confusing.
Nothing in life is perfect, and healing isn’t linear. But my heart hurts.
A year ago my heart broke and the pain is still there.
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