Talk about something you don’t share very often
There are a couple things I don’t ever really talk about or if I do I sugar coat them to be less than what they are, so here is the unedited secrets I keep. This entry might be a bit vivid so I apologize ahead of time but I refuse to sugar coat it this time.
I suffer from severe depression. It is something I hide very well, from almost everyone in my life. I have the depression that leaves my soul exhausted, the kind that most days I feel empty. There are days I feel everything crushing down on me and others where I am a walking shell of a person. Most days I just exist, I go to work and go through the motions of life, feeling nothing. I retreat and don’t want to be around people, I’d rather be alone.
There are many times that the only time I feel anything at all is when I feel physical pain. I hide my faults and depression very well and I never cut in places people could see or notice but sometimes it feels so good just to feel anything at all that I welcome the pain. People wouldn’t exactly look at me and see someone who cuts, someone who for that one second when your skin starts to burn and the blood drips, feels more than she feels most of the day. I think I have been depressed for so long no one even notices, they just think this is who I am. Either that or I fake it really really well. The more time I spend putting a smile the more exhausted I am physically. When someone looks at me and my life they see a girl who grew up with anything and everything she wanted, vacation homes, the “perfect family”. What a joke all that is…
I believe my depression plays a huge part in my need for sex, specifically rough sex. My friends sometimes joke because I often have bruises on me after sex but if I’m being honest there are times I barely even feel sex unless it has pain involved. I know exactly where that stems from…I was sexually assaulted when I was 11 years old.
There was a kid in the neighborhood we always hung out with and he was at a family party of mine at my parent’s house, it started getting dark, we were all on the trampoline. The adults moved inside because of bugs apparently us kids didn’t care and stayed outside. If only I had known that the next 10 minutes would have a lasting impact on my life. Who knew a 12 year old was about to change my life… I still remember exactly what I was wearing, down to the exact pair of underwear…we were jumping and fell to our backs like we had done a hundred times before on that very trampoline but this time was different, he put his hand on my stomach, I froze. Next thing his hand slid down my pants, I moved and said stop, he used more force. The more I squirmed the more force he used and the more it hurt. He fingered me for what seemed like hours when in reality it was probably all of 3 minutes. He pulled his hand out and I thought he was done, he kneeled over my chest, unbuttoned his pants and leaned over my face, forcing me to blow him. Looking back now I should have screamed, I should have bit him – anything but at the time I just cried, tears streaming down my face. Luckily he came quickly and as he walked away smiling I couldn’t wait to shower. I needed to scrub every inch of skin he touched. I think if I am honest with myself my depression started that next day. For a very long time I avoided being anywhere near boys alone, if my neighbor who I’d known for years could do that, why wouldn’t everyone do that? I never told a soul. I carried that secret with me for over 10 years. I began to use blow jobs as a power move, if I could initiate and be in control then they can’t take anything from me. I didn’t let another boy touch me for many years but sadly I gave a lot of BJ’s, more than I would like to admit. I can’t be ashamed of how I chose to survive an assault though.
I wish I could say that was the last time I was sexually assaulted but unfortunately it was not. It has taken me many years to say these words out loud and I have only ever said them to 1 person, I was raped. I was raped when I was 21 years old by another man I trusted in my life. I was dating a man who when he was drunk sometimes became aggressive although it was never towards me until one night. We had gone out with friends, went back to his house that he shared with his parents at the time, which was the usual for us on the weekends. Whenever we went out we would end up either at my house or his. It was about 3 am, both drunk we started having sex then he stopped…he said he wanted anal (something I wasn’t a huge fan of but would occasionally do.) I said I didn’t want to, he got annoyed mostly because he was drunk so I started to get dressed. The following moments are sometimes replayed in my mind because how could this be happening again? Had I not learned my lesson the first time? How did I AGAIN find myself in this position. He grabbed my wrist, kissing me hard as I begged “please, you’re drunk, stop. I just want to go home”. His parents asleep in the next room and not wanting to wake them I kept my voice to a whisper, I again cared more about people knowing then my own safety. He dragged me back to the bed, kissed me even though I wouldn’t kiss back. I will never forget the smell of the rum on his breath, the glaze over his eyes. He was significantly stronger than I was (He could bench twice my body weight, there was no way I could overpower him). I laid there helpless begging, crying, hoping for a miracle that he would realize what he was doing. He did not…He flipped me over on my stomach and forced himself on me. It was painful, both physically and emotionally. I finally stopped struggling, I just laid there staring at the wall, counting the minutes, praying to make it end fast. After he finished he tried to cuddle and kiss my forehead like he didn’t just rape me. Maybe some would say it wasn’t rape because we were dating but I said no and he didn’t stop. My skin was crawling, I felt like throwing up, I couldn’t wait for him to fall asleep so I could leave. I finally left that night at 5:23 am, I got in my car, drove home barefoot, in a tshirt and undies, makeup staining my face. I took the longest shower of my life, I cried and cried. We never discussed it, he never apologized and honestly I don’t even know if he realizes the magnitude of what he did.
I wish I could say I broke up with him right away but it took awhile. I think I was in denial, I didn’t want to admit that he was capable of that, or that I had again been a victim. I sometimes wonder is it something I do that puts me in the vulnerable positions? Was there something I missed, red flags, gut feelings I avoided?
I still have flashbacks to these moments, especially in bed with men…There have been a few times a man will do something or grab me a certain way and I feel the panic rise in my chest. I freeze, tense up, start to feel tears in my eyes… I have gotten very good at calming myself down before they notice. It’s not exactly a sexy topic and I never want to be that woman that is so fragile, the man I’m sleeping with is always wondering if it’s okay to touch me a certain way. That’s not fair and not enjoyable on either end.
I have never shared the details like this ever, a couple people know that it generally happened or that something unpleasant happened but there it is. Those moments forever impacted who I am as a person. Oddly enough the first instance did more damage than the second…at 11 years old I was stripped of the “loving” aspect that comes with sexual activity…I think it is the main reason sex and emotion do not go hand in hand for me.I can easily detach myself while having sex, I feel nothing. A few of my guy friends joke that I have sex like a man, no emotion, sometimes not even bothering to kiss them. I never cuddle after, nor do I stay the night. I struggle with intimacy, very few people break down my walls and make me feel safe enough to be vulnerable around. I can’t help but wonder how my life would be different if the loving aspect of sex wasn’t taken from me at such a young age. Would I be happier? Would I be successful in love? Would I have depression? I suppose those questions will never be answered.
I’m quite certain neither of these men think of me in their daily life but I can still remember the way they smelt, the coldness in their eyes and could paint every line in their faces, decades later it is still ingrained in my memory, no matter how many years that have passed I would pick them out of a room full of people instantly.
*Don’t be ashamed of your story…it may inspire others*