Reading your story really inspired me. I would like to share my own in the hope that it will help someone. Also because now after writing it down, i feel like i am finally admitting the truth to more than just my mum. And even though people will not know who i am, i will know i have been honest with myself.
I was 15 when i had my first real boyfriend. He was the older brother of one of my friends. They were a super strict christian family. I thought he was perfect - sweet, kind, funny. They lived about 3 hours drive from me so when we started to date he would come and stay at my house some weekends.
Mum got to know him first before agreeing to this, and he slept on the couch in the lounge.
I cannot remember many of the details because i blocked everything to do with this out a long time ago and choose to forget, pretending that it never really happened.
But one night after we had been together for a few months he snuck into my room and hopped in bed with me. I told him i did not want to have sex and he said he was fine with that so we just cuddled. The next night he stuck back into my room and he forced himself on me. All the time saying how much he loved me and how i wanted this. I was to scared and confused to do anything.
I did not want to yell and cause my mum to wake up because i was so embarrassed.
When it was finished he talked about how it was what i wanted and how he was so happy we were together. He used his words to twist my mind and make me think it was my fault and eventually believe it had been me that wanted it.
Those first few weeks after it happened i acted like i was the happiest person alive. I had to. I did not want anyone finding out what had happened. I did not want people to know that i was a slut and had slept with someone at 15. I was always the good girl, the one who frowned about all the girls having sex and getting pregnant at 15 and 16 years old.
I didn't tell mum what had happened, just that i didn't want to see this guy anymore. She didn't question anything about it. Why would she when i was seeming like the happiest girl alive.
It was taking it's toll on me though, trying to be happy all the time so no one would guess. I wasn't sleeping at night because all i could do was argue with myself about how it wasn't my fault and that it was just he twisted words that had made me think it was. I KNEW this but at the same time i still blamed myself.
I hated myself on the inside for the reason that i didn't do anything about it while it was happening. I was always the one yelling at girls in movies to run. shout or kick. I was always the one pointing out what they could of and should of done.
2 months after it had happened, I had a miscarriage. This is what caused me to go over the edge and i finally opened up to my mum about what had happened. She was shocked and blamed herself. I felt so ashamed and terrible that it was because of me she was feeling this.
I when into a state of depression for the next two weeks. Trying to hide what had happened and acting so happy all the time had finally paid it price.
I do not know what i would have done without the amazing support of my mum. The only other person i told was my best friend, almost two years later.
I have not let it affect me, and once i got over my depression, I locked the memory away in the deepest darkest part of my mind. I eventually lead myself to believe that it never really happened, that it was just some scene from some movie i remember. Though when i do allow myself to remember the truth, i can't help but me angry at myself and hear the voices at the back of my mind calling me a slut and saying I'm dirty. But when this happens i remember all the amazing times in my life and continue to lock the memories away.
I wanted to share my own story in the hope that it will help someone. Also because now after writing it down, i feel like i am finally admitting the truth to more than just my mum. And even though people do not know who i am, i will know i have been honest with myself.
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