My Experience Does Not Define Me

Story By Anonymous

I grew up in an amazing home, with a family who always supported me. However, I always had extreme anxiety and had a hard time socially. At the end of elementary school, I thought maybe Junior High would be my chance to be deemed as cool. Soon, I found myself getting depressed. I developed eating disorders, and I didn’t really feel like any of my “popular” friends understood me.
Then I met a guy. He was quiet, and sweet. We could relate to each other. We were both lonely and we both felt misunderstood. Pretty soon, he asked me to be his girlfriend. We were both happy in the beginning, and really shy!
He began gaining more friends because of us being together. He started hanging out with my friends more. He started being more confident, and loud. After about a month of being together, I was over at his house. We were laying on his bed, and his hands started sliding up my shirt. No one had ever touched me like this before. I didn’t know what to do. I froze. I didn’t say anything as he kept trying to take off my bra. I left his house feeling miserable. I didn’t know what this meant, I didn’t know what had just happened.
The next week, I told a friend at school about the way he was touching me, in hope of receiving advice. Word got back to my boyfriend, and he tried to hang himself on a tree. I felt awful and he told me that our relationship was NONE of anyone else’s business and I wasn’t to tell anyone what went on between us. I apologized and agreed not to tell anyone anything about our relationship.
Now, things started getting a little more complicated. We were around each other every single day, I thought I was in love. After a few months, he started trying to put his hand down my pants. I wouldn’t say anything, but I would move his hand away from my Vagina and up towards my stomach. Over and over again he tried to touch me, but I would’t allow it. None if this was verbal. I felt to guilty to actually say the words “No” or “Stop”. I thought this was what boyfriends and girlfriends did.
He asked me when I would be ready for him to touch me there, and I told him I didn’t know, maybe a month or two. I was afraid of getting dumped, so I told him that in the hopes that maybe I WOULD be ready by that time. The very next day I was at his house, on his bed, the same thing. He put his hand down my pants, all of a sudden. I had no words. I froze. No one had other touched me there before. Afterwards he asked me if it was okay, what he had done. I replied with something along the lines of “I guess so..”. He told me that now he had done it once, he could do it whenever he wanted to.
I couldn’t even really process what was going on, let alone tell anyone. In my mind, it was okay. Everyone thought we were in a happy relationship and everything going on was consensual.
The longer we were together, the more he changed. He started making lots of friends, having tantrums when he didn’t get his way, and demanding everyone what to do, even his own family. Sometimes he would scream at me, and his mother would tell me I should probably leave, because he was “acting out”.
He began to physically intimidate me, putting his hands on me in ways that felt threatening. He began telling me I was annoying, and I needed to “shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down”. Sometimes I would start crying and he would just ignore me, walk away.
Things started getting worse. He told me he liked seeing me hookup with other people. He would force me. He made me make out with nearly all of his friends, and show them my breasts. His friends would hangout with me, but constantly “compliment me”, but they really just said sexual comments about my body. He would tell met to hookup with them and then accuse me of being a “cheating slut” when I did.
He would constantly talk about girls he found hot, and compare me to them. He told me he wanted to fuck my friends, and that they and nicer bodies then i did. He started ignoring my calls, making me sit around all day, waiting until he was done with his friends, until he would finally tell me I could come over.
He started telling me I was ugly, and a whore. He made jokes about me being fat when I ate a lot, even though he knew eating was something I struggled with. Then, he forced me to make out with a girl. He video taped it. He thought it was hot and he wanted to keep it to watch. I did it. I enjoyed it. Both of us begged for him to delete the video, but he wouldn’t. Pretty soon all of his friends had seen it.
When his parents weren’t home, he would get mad. REALLY mad. Because I didn’t want to do anything sexual. He would lay on top of me, with his hands on me so I couldn’t move, and masturbate in front of me. He would look into my eyes and say sexual things. I layed and watched, unable to get up or do anything about it. Sometimes he would call me a stupid whore, and jizz on my face. He would tell me that he could do better then to be with me. I believed him.
Sometimes he would have me take my shirt off, and take pictures of me. He would send them to other people, without my permission.
He started talking about his ex girlfriend, a lot. He said he was in love with her and that if I didn’t suck his cock he would get back together with her, and ignore me. Since I was with him all the time, I basically had NO friends anymore. He was everything I had. I agreed to it, but he tried to shove his cock down my throat when I was least expecting it, and I gagged. I told him I would never do that again.
I began to get more and more lost and confused as time went on. When I saw his penis, I didn’t get turned on by it, I wanted one. He would make fun of me and talk about how amazing it was to have a cock, and I had no one to support me with my gender dysphoria. I also realized that I had an attraction to girls. He told me I wasn’t really into girls, and I believed him.
Sometimes when I was asleep he would put my hand in his pants. Or he would grab my hand, and force me to give him a hand job.
He began making out with boys, and telling me he had been showering with his friends. I didn’t mind it, but at that point I had no idea what our relationship had become. We had become so close I ended up going on vacation with his family.
On that vacation, the shower would only stay warm for so long, so we were supposed to shower together in our bathing suits. One day, he said we were going in the shower, but when I walked into the bathroom, he was completely naked. He had a boner. He had that look in his eye and I was afraid. I didn’t want to have sex with him. He told me to get in the shower, but I refused. I sat in the corner of the bathroom wondering what I should do. Eventually after he kept telling me to get in, I did. He wanted to take off my bikini top, so I allowed it. At that time my hair was long enough to cover my breasts. He kept persisting that I take off my bottoms as well, but I would’t do it. He kept getting closer to me, and I kissed him but put my hands on his shoulders, not allowing him to come any closer to me.
In the hotel, sometimes I would wake up and he would be sleeping next to me. On that vacation, he also banned me from wearing makeup. From that point on, If i ever wore makeup, he would literally wipe it off my face. If i was wearing mascara, he would pick it off of my eyelashes. He told me I looked ugly.
One day we were on a raft in a river. He hit me in the mouth with a paddle, making my mouth bleed. He refused to apologize for it.
His little sister would always call me a whore, and in all of his friends eyes I was just a sex object open to any of them.
Once we were back from vacation, he forced me to buy condoms for him. I told him over and over again I didn’t want to have sex, but he made me buy them. He then told all of his friends that we were going to fuck, and that he had done everything with me except intercourse. This wasn’t true.
He started policing what I could wear, what pictures I could post online, and who I could hangout with. He said I had to straighten my hair because when I didn’t, I looked ugly.
Whenever I would try to appreciate my body, he would tell me I was wrong, and that it was ugly.
He threatened me into sending him nude photos, which EVERYONE ended up seeing. Sometimes I would take the photos, but not send them to him because I didn’t want to. One day he took my phone and saw some photos I had taken. He told me they weren’t hot, but gross. But of course, once again, it was a “joke”. He sent them to himself, even though I told him not to. I deleted them off of his phone, but he already had them sent to his e-mail.
He always told me that if I ever broke up with him, he would kill himself. He said he would post the pictures of me online. Sometimes he would break up with me, but the next day he would tell me we were back together.
Sometimes I would try to have a talk with him, and let him know I didn’t want to have a physical relationship. He would tell me that he couldn’t be with me unless it was sexual. I didn’t argue with this, but he wouldn’t break up with me, so we’d stay together.
He would make fun of my body, telling me I was to big or to small, or my boobs were weird, my butt was to big. I became extremely self conscious, not that I wasn’t to begin with.
He would embarrass me in front of his friends, ripping off my button-up shirt and running away with it, so I was stuck in only my bra. He would do this in public, and there was nothing I could do about it.
He would talk about me to his friends, telling them I was an ugly whore, and spreading rumors about me.
Pretty soon I wasn’t allowed to go places unless he was there to watch me. He always suspected I was cheating or doing something wrong.
I became depressed, and lost all of my self esteem. I almost felt like there was no point to life. Eventually I broke up with him, because I knew if I stayed, I would end up killing myself.
He called me nonstop for days, guilt tripping me with messages and blaming me for “ruining his life.”  I told a few friends some vague details about my relationship with him, and word spread. Pretty soon he told me that I was a crazy liar and that I was the one that came onto him and he never did anything to me.
It got bad. I thought all that happened was my fault. I felt totally worthless. A year later, I attempted suicide.
I lived through it, and he was still my friend. In fact, i considered him my best friend. I apologized to him for what I had done wrong and we talked constantly. We would hangout, as friends, but he would pin me down on his bed and try to kiss me.
Eventually we stopped talking, and it took a while for me to realize what had actually happened. I was never angry. I never blamed him. I cried, suffered, and blamed myself for “putting myself in that situation”.
Then, i found out he was sent to a therapeutic boarding school. He wrote me a letter. He said that we are BOTH victims. He didn’t really apologize, and I don’t know if he ever will. Sometimes I do believe I’m crazy, and that I made the whole thing up in my head. It haunts me every single day.
I can barely think about it without crying. I cry every night, wondering why this had to happen me. And years later, it has caught up with me. Im angry. Im fucking angry that I got treated that way. Im angry that I blamed myself and many people like me do to! Im angry that it fucked my life over, and I have no idea how to fix it! I am angry!!
I can’t build relationships with anyone, and due to PTSD I have not been sexually active. I have to many feelings of shame and guilt. He made me feel so wrong and dirty and disgusting that now i just.. cant. None of my partners have understood, and my PTSD and anxiety have torn about every relationship.
I guess there will never be answers to all of the questions I have, and I feel like part of me will always blame myself. This is a process. I’m hurting every day. But I’m healing every day, and every day is one step closer to recovering. Its just so frustrating sometimes, I want it to be over! I wish it never happened, I don’t want to deal with it anymore!
The flashbacks, the tears, all of it. I’m so tired of fighting this battle, especially alone. Tired of people telling me to “get over it”. Tired of seeing people sexually active. Tired of crying myself to asleep. I’m just fucking tired.
What happened with him definitely changed my life. I still have gender dysphoria and I am uncertain about my sexual orientation.
What I learned from this is, there aren’t always answers. Life isn’t black and white. But this process is about growing and changing and learning. I am a survivor. I will be okay. My experience does not define me. I will learn to love the fabric of my soul, my body, once again. I will learn to put trust in somebody once again. I will learn to enjoy and explore my sexuality freely, once again. But the memories will always stay.

2 thoughts on “My Experience Does Not Define Me

  1. I think… despite your fear, anger, confusion, insecurity left by your experience… it really shows that you have grown a lot since then and… not only are you healing, but you are helping to heal other people, too… and that’s a big fucking deal, at least as far as I’m concerned, so… I guess I wanna say THANK YOU for sharing this!

  2. You are right, you ARE healing every day. He abused you, every day in every way. It’s going to take a long time to heal. But you recognized that if you stayed with him you would die, and you determined your life was too valuable to waste on him. You were right about that when you left, and your life is still valuable. You deserve whatever time is needed to take care of yourself and recover.

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