Truths
In light of the recent Duke rape scandal, I think I should make a serious post. This is a post I've been contemplating for months and it may come out jumbled and coherent, but it's going to come out one way or the other.
Let's start at the beginning. I wasn't very popular in high school. A rumor spread around the school about my being a lesbian, for reasons of me dressing like a guy (didn't everyone wear jeans and t-shirts in the mid-'90s?) and telling a (female) friend that I loved her. She and I understood it to be, hey! you're my friend and I love you! A lot of other people took it as something else completely. In a way, it isn't at all surprising. A small town yields small minds, most of the time. (Off-topic but tonight I found out that my first "boyfriend" is now gay -- a strange feeling but not a surprise...)
Back to me. Not popular in high school. The aforementioned "boyfriend" was that 12-year-old thing we do because you're actually just friends with someone but "going out" seems so much more adult and important. My first actual real boyfriend happened when I was 19. The summer of 1997. We met in what was then an unconventional way (the internets) but we only lived a few hours apart and in the same state, so it was easier for us to have an actual relationship.
I'll admit that some bells went off when we met. He was easy to talk to and I was flattered by the attention because no one had ever paid attention to me like that before: holding my hand, hugging me, kissing me. I remember the first time he said he loved me, I balked. I remember telling myself to keep the look of partial disgust and shock off my face. I don't remember if I said it back but before long, it was reflex. Girls like me learn pretty quickly to hold onto anything they can get their hands on.
Here's where my memory is a little fuzzy. When this guy and I started dating, I was a virgin. I know I thought I'd die and go to hell if I had sex before marriage even though I didn't consider myself overly religious (you'd think I was raised Southern Baptist with all the fire-and-brimstone ideas in my head). I know I was scared, naive, and fucking tired of being neglected. I wanted to feel important, special, and like I belonged. So I let things happen. We rounded the bases in one night (I think) and it was very soon after that (like the next night) that he started pushing for things to go all the way. I knew I wasn't ready for that. I mean, sex? With this guy? Do I want to marry him? Well, I certainly don't want to be alone forever and if I break up with him or if he breaks up with me, I will never find anyone again and that will just kill me.
I resisted his advances as long as I could. And then on a Monday, late morning, we were killing time before it was time for him to go back home. I don't remember how we got to the bed. I remember being mostly clothed. I remember him being mostly clothed. I remember telling him to stop. I remember the sick feeling in my stomach. But most of all, I remember the shame.
No feelings registered in my brain. It hurt, it was messy, and I felt so incredibly sick. I cleaned myself up and chalked up my uncontrollable shaking to my sudden fears that I would get pregnant from this encounter. G-d was merciful and saved me from that particular horror.
After that, I ignored any voice that popped into my head for the next three years. I didn't like to discuss my sex life with my closest friend because it made me angry. It made me feel disgusting. It made me want to slit my wrists. The guy and I got engaged six months after we started dating. He pushed and pushed for us to move in together but I always came up for reasons against it. He pushed and pushed for us to get married. Again, there were always reasons why it wasn't a good time. I had school. We had no money. Those became our sorest spots. Money and school. He was in and out of work and all I did was go to school and work. I knew we needed some savings to move into an apartment. We had nothing. Nothing but love and while love is crucial, it doesn't pay the bills. So we fought.
Eventually sex became an empty, pleasureless experience. I stopped fighting it, stopped resisting or telling him no. One time he threw a cd player into the wall because I didn't want to have sex with him. I'm lucky it wasn't me he threw into the wall. That's one thing I have to give him credit for. He never once laid a hand on me. I don't know if it was because he's not that kind of guy or if he tooks my threats of "if you touch me, I will beat you senseless" seriously (though I hardly believe that because I let him do everything else).
The guy and I broke up in early 2000. I thought I was pregnant and assumed it would be perfect timing: a baby on the way and no fiance. Again, G-d saved my ass. I became dangerously depressed. I began hallucinating. I starved myself, deprived myself of sleep, and prayed for the strength to kill myself. Somehow I survived. I met some really amazing people who opened a huge window of opportunity for me. I moved to California and began the healing process.
It was a long, hard road and I still hit a snag here and there. I haven't been in a relationship since the guy and I broke up. Six sexless years and I am just now getting to the point where I think I could trust someone. I miss men now, the feel of them, the smell of them. I often wonder what it will be like, my first time with someone now. After Rape. I'm nearly 10 years older than I was when it happened, and I have learned a lot in that time. Despite how difficult it has been, I wouldn't change any of it. I like where I am now. I like that I have been able to feel, toward one person, the sorts of things I should've felt toward my fiance, had our relationship been strong. I said this before to my best friend, but the only regret I have about the entire situation is that I can't completely give myself to the person I want to be with. At the same time, if the guy's only purpose in my life was so that I could even be in the same room with the one I care about now, then all the pain and guilt and shame were worth it. Absolutely, one hundred percent worth it.
Let's start at the beginning. I wasn't very popular in high school. A rumor spread around the school about my being a lesbian, for reasons of me dressing like a guy (didn't everyone wear jeans and t-shirts in the mid-'90s?) and telling a (female) friend that I loved her. She and I understood it to be, hey! you're my friend and I love you! A lot of other people took it as something else completely. In a way, it isn't at all surprising. A small town yields small minds, most of the time. (Off-topic but tonight I found out that my first "boyfriend" is now gay -- a strange feeling but not a surprise...)
Back to me. Not popular in high school. The aforementioned "boyfriend" was that 12-year-old thing we do because you're actually just friends with someone but "going out" seems so much more adult and important. My first actual real boyfriend happened when I was 19. The summer of 1997. We met in what was then an unconventional way (the internets) but we only lived a few hours apart and in the same state, so it was easier for us to have an actual relationship.
I'll admit that some bells went off when we met. He was easy to talk to and I was flattered by the attention because no one had ever paid attention to me like that before: holding my hand, hugging me, kissing me. I remember the first time he said he loved me, I balked. I remember telling myself to keep the look of partial disgust and shock off my face. I don't remember if I said it back but before long, it was reflex. Girls like me learn pretty quickly to hold onto anything they can get their hands on.
Here's where my memory is a little fuzzy. When this guy and I started dating, I was a virgin. I know I thought I'd die and go to hell if I had sex before marriage even though I didn't consider myself overly religious (you'd think I was raised Southern Baptist with all the fire-and-brimstone ideas in my head). I know I was scared, naive, and fucking tired of being neglected. I wanted to feel important, special, and like I belonged. So I let things happen. We rounded the bases in one night (I think) and it was very soon after that (like the next night) that he started pushing for things to go all the way. I knew I wasn't ready for that. I mean, sex? With this guy? Do I want to marry him? Well, I certainly don't want to be alone forever and if I break up with him or if he breaks up with me, I will never find anyone again and that will just kill me.
I resisted his advances as long as I could. And then on a Monday, late morning, we were killing time before it was time for him to go back home. I don't remember how we got to the bed. I remember being mostly clothed. I remember him being mostly clothed. I remember telling him to stop. I remember the sick feeling in my stomach. But most of all, I remember the shame.
No feelings registered in my brain. It hurt, it was messy, and I felt so incredibly sick. I cleaned myself up and chalked up my uncontrollable shaking to my sudden fears that I would get pregnant from this encounter. G-d was merciful and saved me from that particular horror.
After that, I ignored any voice that popped into my head for the next three years. I didn't like to discuss my sex life with my closest friend because it made me angry. It made me feel disgusting. It made me want to slit my wrists. The guy and I got engaged six months after we started dating. He pushed and pushed for us to move in together but I always came up for reasons against it. He pushed and pushed for us to get married. Again, there were always reasons why it wasn't a good time. I had school. We had no money. Those became our sorest spots. Money and school. He was in and out of work and all I did was go to school and work. I knew we needed some savings to move into an apartment. We had nothing. Nothing but love and while love is crucial, it doesn't pay the bills. So we fought.
Eventually sex became an empty, pleasureless experience. I stopped fighting it, stopped resisting or telling him no. One time he threw a cd player into the wall because I didn't want to have sex with him. I'm lucky it wasn't me he threw into the wall. That's one thing I have to give him credit for. He never once laid a hand on me. I don't know if it was because he's not that kind of guy or if he tooks my threats of "if you touch me, I will beat you senseless" seriously (though I hardly believe that because I let him do everything else).
The guy and I broke up in early 2000. I thought I was pregnant and assumed it would be perfect timing: a baby on the way and no fiance. Again, G-d saved my ass. I became dangerously depressed. I began hallucinating. I starved myself, deprived myself of sleep, and prayed for the strength to kill myself. Somehow I survived. I met some really amazing people who opened a huge window of opportunity for me. I moved to California and began the healing process.
It was a long, hard road and I still hit a snag here and there. I haven't been in a relationship since the guy and I broke up. Six sexless years and I am just now getting to the point where I think I could trust someone. I miss men now, the feel of them, the smell of them. I often wonder what it will be like, my first time with someone now. After Rape. I'm nearly 10 years older than I was when it happened, and I have learned a lot in that time. Despite how difficult it has been, I wouldn't change any of it. I like where I am now. I like that I have been able to feel, toward one person, the sorts of things I should've felt toward my fiance, had our relationship been strong. I said this before to my best friend, but the only regret I have about the entire situation is that I can't completely give myself to the person I want to be with. At the same time, if the guy's only purpose in my life was so that I could even be in the same room with the one I care about now, then all the pain and guilt and shame were worth it. Absolutely, one hundred percent worth it.
posted by Absurdity at
7:28 PM
1 Comments:
thank you for being so brave and sharing all of that. you have come so far and grown so much, and realized so many important things about life, love, sex...
You are really one of my heros. It is because of your openness, your brokeness, your honesty and your refusal to bury your face in shame over things that people have tried to use to shame you. You give me strength and peace and hope. Everyday.
I love you.
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Anonymous, at 8:27 PM
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