My label of being a slut also started in the sixth grade. I had never talked to a boy, never had a boyfriend, I had never even had a crush on one. My only interest, (that no one ever knew about), was on my best friend Bethany. To this day, she still doesn't know that my crush existed. But, the point is, that I was totally innocent, but no matter what I said, everyone believed me to be this giant slut. The only guy I talked to in sixth grade, was my cousin and everyone thought I was sleeping with him. That's how bad the rumors were.
Halfway through the sixth grade, I moved. Moved to a totally different state where I didn't know anyone. I didn't even know the father that I was going to be living with. By the time I started my new school, I was already labeled as the slut once again. People didn't even know my name, but sixth graders were cruel. The boys shoved me into lockers, put their hands on me like they belonged there, and the teachers just watched and let it happen.
Eventually I made friends, well, 2 friends in particular. They were perfect. They saved me from all the people in school who were hurting me, but nothing could stop the rumors. Nothing could stop the notes being shoved in my locker, the permanent marker insults written on the desks. All through the rest of the year, nothing ever stopped. And home life wasn't any better, with a drunk father and a drug addicted mother (God rest her soul) 4 states away, any girl would be driven to do what I did. I started hurting myself. Bad. Every night the razor was on some part of my body, and alcohol was always in my system to numb it out. The boys wouldn't want me if I smelled like booze and was covered in scars.
Middle school passed like that. Just a drunken blur of girlfriends, a kiss with one boy that escalated all the rumors to a new high, and bloody water in the bath tub. I developed an eating disorder somewhere in there, and once was even hospitalised. Like I said, middle schoolers are cruel.
Once I started high school, things changed again. We moved back down south and I started at school number 8. First day of school, a giant shoved me into a locker and said he had heard the rumors, and he was tired of seeing little freshman whores in his school. I guess my reputation had proceeded me. Too bad I was still a virgin. For now. Not long after I met the boy I thought I was going to marry. And I gave him every piece of me. Every secret I kept in my heart, and every part of my body. I gave it all to him, and he betrayed me. Cheated on me with 24 other girls. How do I know the number? His dad sent me a list of them on Facebook. How sweet.
That's when the reputation became a reality. I cheated. While my boyfriend was away for the summer, I partied hard. I slept with two different guys that summer, and some of the things I did with them, i just have to believe that what others tell me is true, because I was too messed up to remember.
Finally, he came home from his vacation and our relationship was over after he forced himself on me and caused serious damage. But that didn't stop me from turning into the person that everyone already thought I was.
I stayed the night with guys, snuck out of the house to meet them, and slept with anyone who told me I was beautiful, even with my cuts and scars. But I was never suprised when they never said anything to me the next day, or that everyone had pictures of me naked. I didn't care anymore. Until I met a boy. Someone who would really relate to me.
We met at a bar on my 16th birthday. We started writing songs together. Started a band. Stared sleeping together exclusively. I thought he was everything I needed to turn myself around. He might have been a giant pothead, but he got me sober. I stopped cutting. Stopped drinking. But then I realized why he got me clean. He wanted me to feel it everytime he beat me. Everytime he threw me into a wall. He wanted me to know, to remember, where every single bruise came from. And he wanted me to fall back into his arms every night when he came into the widow to apologize, and 'make love' to me.
But when I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, he bailed. And although I stayed clean, I went back to my old ways with guys. I just wanted someone to love me. And I associated sex with love.
A year and a half ago, I lost my mother. And up until that day, I never realized how similar she and I were. We both had problems. Eating disorders, self harm, and falling prey to the rumors that ruled our lives. She was never strong enough to climb out of her pit of despair, and eventually submitted to the misery and pushed away everyone who ever really truely cared for her.
But I won't be like her anymore. I've gotten smart. I've grown. I know I'm still young, and I'm glad that I am. Because I've thrown away enough of my life because of what other people thought of me. I'm ready now to just be myself. Not the slut that everyone thinks I am or wants me to be. And I've found someone who knows my past, and accepts me, scars and all. And I love him. Really love him. And I plan on making him wait for me as long as possible, because I know that her cares enough to wait for me. He understands my pain.
This was my story. I hope it can touch someone's life as much as Emily Linden's story touched mine.
<3-Kayla
