This guest post was written by a dear friend of mine who wishes, for her safety, to remain anonymous. We have chosen not to sugar-coat or gloss over the details of the story. This is reality as she recalls it, and it is beneficial at times to hear a story exactly as it is, without protecting our ears from words we don’t like or our eyes from pictures that hurt. She lived this story. She deserves to be heard. However, not everyone is in a place to read this story. Trigger warning for rape and abuse, and caution for youthful readers. I also note that this story is here represented exactly as she wrote it, with only minor grammatical edits.
It is important to read these stories with incredibly open compassion. Realize that this girl is a person just like you and I. She laughs with her friends, procrastinates on her homework, and embraces apprehensive excitement in her dreams. Just like you and I. She is not a victim. She is a person who was victimized. Her identity and personhood are exactly the same as every other human being. Love her as your sister and friend. Learn with her from her experiences, do not identify her by them.
Remember, the fact that she can look back and tell this story with openness and strength is beautiful and full of hope. Read her story to understand injustice and pain. But do not forget beauty and joy.
A year ago, I was broken. Bleeding. Crying out for help. No one was there. Except for him. My cries fell on deaf ears. “Please stop.. Please.” “Stop! You’re hurting me!” “Why me?” and many other pleas slipped off my tongue, among the tears.
As my boyfriend raped me, all I could do was cry and ask him to stop. And wonder. Wonder why God was letting this happen. I suppose I should of seen it coming, however, after months of mental and emotional abuse, I was held completely captive by this boy. He had made me believe that I was fat, ugly, stupid, and oh so many more negative thoughts. He made me believe I loved him.
This is my story.
A story that begins in the summer of 2012, when I encountered what I believed to be young love, something that was supposed to be amazing. Looking back, there were signs from the start that he was a manipulator. If only I could go back and look into my eyes and say, “This is not what God wants for you. Stop. Turn around. And flee.” Since that is not an option, I will continue on with my story. The first few months weren’t bad, but little things happened which were tell tale signs of a manipulator. He made me believe that he had no female friends and since he didn’t, I shouldn’t talk to male friends. So slowly, in order to please him, I distanced myself from several guy friends. He left the subject alone for awhile. He did things that would gain my trust. I believe that he studied me, so that he knew what I liked and what I disliked, so that I would stick around. He also figured out that the more he threatened to kill himself, the more entrapped I was in his web of lies, the more I cared, and the more determined I was to fix him. From then on, he created problems for himself so that he could make me pity him. So that he could wrap me around his finger.
Fast forward to a week before Christmas 2012. Finding Nemo is playing on the TV. My boyfriend is on the couch next to me. Before I knew it, he had forced me to do some things. Why I didn’t call for help is beyond me. I felt small and violated. The rest of the night is a haze. I remember coming home though and acting like everything was alright and going to bed and crying for hours. I had never felt so dirty and used before. I was always the good girl.. Who was I to allow myself to have my hand stuck down some guys pants? Once again, I should have had warnings flying through my head. I could have made sure it went no further. I should have, but I didn’t.
By Valentines Day, I was getting used to being gagged and having his penis shoved down my throat. I just took it. I didn’t think about it. It was a reaction. He had begun to call me rude and insulting names, which I refuse to repeat. He used me for pleasure and threatened that worse would happen if I said no. I believed him and continued to lie to myself that he did this because he loved me and that I loved him. I knew this wasn’t love.. I knew it was abuse, but I could not admit it to myself. If I could talk to myself then, I would say to tell him no. To not allow it go further. That this wasn’t love, it was abuse. That I was being used and that I was too independent to allow a boy to control me. I would ask myself what happened to my carefree dreams, where all I wanted to do was write and help people. Where did that girl go?
The answer to that question is found around the corner of my story. The part where the fly on the wall would see me shoved against a wall, wearing a deer in the headlights look. It would see me being verbally abused. Told that I was a whore. A no good whore. It would see me being accused of cheating and whatever else came out of his mouth. It would see his hands on my hips, leaving a bruise because I was underweight. It would feel my shoulder blades being pushed into the wall. It would probably feel the brokenness crashing onto me in waves. This was the only time he physically abused me like that. But it was here that the rest of the independent, head-strong girl walked out and was replaced with a timid little mouse of a girl.
Jumping ahead into 2013. I am now on a family vacation. He’s threatening to rape me when I come back, if I don’t make him a video of me masturbating. He sets the guidelines and tells me “I won’t talk to you until you have promised you have done it. And if you don’t do it, I will force you to have sex with me.” Being the scared person I was, I did as I was told. I was afraid. I was deathly afraid of being violated even more then I had already been. I felt worthless. I wanted to die. When I came back, I showed him the video. He seemed pleased with it, which scared me even more. Before long, I was ordered to go somewhere and wait. My ghost-like person wandered to the place I was supposed to go and waited. Not very long after I showed up, he was there. He ripped my pants off and forced fingers into me.. telling me to “take it, bitch.” I closed my eyes, wishing him to go away. But he didn’t. He only pressed me against the wall and shoved his penis up my butt. He didn’t wait, didn’t slow down, and didn’t take any precaution against hurting me. At this point, I was begging God to make it stop. To make the pain go away. Nothing happened. I was told I couldn’t scream. Because no one else could know what was happening. So I let him have his way with me because I was afraid that if I screamed, he would hurt me more. Whenever he was done, he pulled his pants back up, and gently set me down on the floor. Telling me that he would see me outside. At that moment, I laid down and cried. I cried because I had lost a part of me. I cried because of the pain. I cried for myself.
Weeks later, whenever I had finally been able to sit down, he told me he was going to kill himself if I didn’t come to his house right then. It was summer. A disastrous year since we had started “dating”. I was empty and felt no love towards him. But I still couldn’t stand him threatening suicide. So being the faithful little shell I was, I rode to his house on a four-wheeler in the dead of night. (Even as I’m writing this now, I’m wanting to slam my head on the desk. I can be really idiotic.) When I got there, he was waiting outside. He hugged me, like he said he wanted to do, and I wanted him to do. I wanted to know he was human and not a monster. He led me into a shed where he set me on a couch and began to undress me. I panicked. I tried to cover myself up with my arms. His eyes hungrily scanned over my body. He barked his next order “Don’t cover up your body.” He grabbed my wrist and dragged it out to my side, where he pinned it against the couch. He told me that he was going to have sex with me and be my first. “No. Please don’t. I don’t want it this way,” I told him. But he did it anyway. He took the one thing I had left to give to my future husband, my virginity. Now, many girls today wouldn’t understand. But it was all I had left to give him as a first. And I wanted whoever married me, even though I had problems and was broken, to have something first. I didn’t want him to believe he was marrying a broken piece of junk that was recycled. However, that was no more because this little piece of crap, my boyfriend, stole it. I begged him to stop and cried and begged some more. Nothing happened. I couldn’t figure out why God wasn’t there. Why He didn’t barge in and throw the guy off of me. Why He didn’t come in and hold me and whisper that it was going to be okay.
What did happen was, we got caught sneaking out. We had a “lecture” sitting in my driveway. While parents scolded, he sat across from me, glaring at me. His eyes were almost taunting me to tell. Who would believe the girl that rode a four-wheeler to see him? I didn’t tell. I just sat there and silently wept under the moonlight. My mother glared at me, her eyes labeling me as the biggest disappointment and burden in her life. As I got up to go inside, my mom ordered me to her room. I went in. She started talking about how irresponsible I was and asked for comments. All I could do at 5 A.M was scream that I hated her and that she was focusing on the wrong things. And you know what? She did what she always does. She ignored my issues and let me walk out. Didn’t ask if I was okay or if anything was wrong. This was the moment I realized she didn’t care about me either. I went to my bed and cried for what must of been hours. I was rudely awakened at 10 and told that I didn’t deserve to sleep.
After that, it happened once more. He pinned me to the floor of the church and had his way with me. And that time? I didn’t beg him to stop.. I just stared at the ceiling and waited for him to be done. When he was done, I went to the bathroom and cleaned up the bit of blood.
Yes, this is a tainted part of my story. It has taught me not to trust too easily, sway my thoughts, and what love really is. Love is not physical actions that are taken. Love is in warm hugs and kind words. If I could give anyone experiencing anything like this, it would be to tell someone that you trust. Someone that can help you. It would be to say no and always remember that whatever happens, is not your fault.
“He has sent me [Christ] to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound”
Isaiah 61:1b
End The Silence 