A little more about me.
I am a California native who decided one day to pack up her car and drive till she found a place to call home. Four days later, I landed in the mid-west and have been here for around 6 mo. I grew up in a small house about an hour outside of Sacramento. I was one of the only white kids in a black neighborhood. That didn’t become an issue until high school though.
I graduated high school at 14. By the time I graduated I had been jumped 8 separate times. I had my knee cap shattered twice and had my arm broken once. But that didn’t really matter to me. I was sued to it. My parents had left me in foster care at age 6 mo and my grandparents were granted custody. There are several account of “suspicious injuries” on my record that could never be confirmed. I was too scared to tell anyone and lied about what was happening for many years.
I met my ex at age 13 and we started going out right away. The first 5 or 6 months were okay and then he started verbally abusing me. It wasn’t long until he became physical with me. About a year after we were together he sexually assaulted me. He had me convinced that no one would want me that I spent almost 4 and a half years with him.
That leads up to around now. Living with my past and trying to help girls get through the same thing I went through.
I remember that first time as though it was yesterday. It has been burned into my mind. I was 14 and you were 16. I remember that it was just after Easter and we had been together for over a year. I remember that it was the first time we were allowed to sleep in the same room.
I was used to the mean words and the heavy hands. I was used to being scared and not trusting. I grew up in a house with harsh words and hurtful hands but That is something I got used to. When you started doing it too, I thought that that was how all guys should be. I thought that was normal because that’s all I knew. But I do know now, you were wrong and I did not deserve that.
I justified what you were doing when people would ask. I always said, “He didn’t mean it. He loves me.” And you always said you did. You told me you loved me and that I was your perfect match. You bought me nice things and told me I was pretty. But that didn’t stop you from yelling behind the doors and calling me a whore. I believed you when you said you loved me and that you would stop. You didn’t. And I have finally figured out that you didn’t love me, you loved having me.
I should have seen that everything was leading up to that night. The very first time. A time that is forever burned into my mind. We were on my bed watching a show. White Collar. You kept moving your hand over my breasts despite my pleads for you to stop. You reached lower and I moved away. It made you mad. I remember feeling the pain shooting through my face. You broke my nose. You didn’t care about the blood or the pain. I remember the words you said as you ripped my blouse. It was one of my favorites. You told me that you could take what you wanted from what was yours whenever you wanted.
I remember you tearing at my clothing and ripping into my skin. I remember crying and watching the tears mix with the blood. You were telling me that I needed to stop crying or you would give me a real reason to cry. I couldn’t stop crying and I couldn’t stop you.
I tried and tried telling you I wasn’t ready and that I didn’t want it. You laughed at me. Then you told me that no one would believe me if I told. You told me they would mark me as an outcast because of what you had done. That I would no longer be welcomed. I thought you were telling the truth.
I tried to leave a few days later. You said that I could never leave you now because I was all yours. Forever. That no other guy would ever love me. I thought you were telling me the truth and I accepted my fate. We were together for four years. Four horrible, painful, terrifying years.
I was stuck with you for four years because of the very first time you decided to rape me.