The story of me?

I remember

HE was a big part of my life. HE was the one who pushed me to be social. HE made me think HE wanted the best for me. HE was 42. I was 8. I didn't understand HIM. I didn't understand IT. My parents loved HIM. They felt he was a good influence. I trusted HIM. HE was my role model. A year after I met HIM, HE hurt me. HE pushed me to the ground and I felt the dirt press into my face and the leaves in my hair and HE hurt me and hurt me and hurt me until I bled. And then HE got up. And HE zipped his fly. And HE left.

I did not speak for a week after. The words just would not come out. A day after I started talking again, HE hurt me again. But there was a twist this time. HE brought IT with HIM. IT held me down while HE hurt me. And then IT hurt me too.

And I passed out

And I woke up on the floor in a puddle of my own blood.

I had to see HIM every day and he would call me his little sexy thing and I didn't understand what that meant but HE was the first person to ever care about me and HE was more of a dad to me than mine ever was. I loved him and I thought the feeling was mutual. I thought this was normal.

At least once a week after that HE hurt me. HE said I was bad and I had to be punished. I thought this was normal.

This continued for years.

I was in a sixth grade sex Ed class when I started to understand. Only problem was- things like consent, rape, and even molestation were never brought up. I thought this was another one of those parenting things like spanking and that kind of shit.

I didn't fully understand until I was in 8th grade and in English we were discussing an article about some model who got upskirted by a photographer and he was being sent to jail. The discussion drifted onto the topic of rape. I started to fully understand what was happening. And I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I couldn't hold it back. I was sobbing uncontrollably for a solid hour before I had my first panic attack. I felt like I couldn't breathe. The room felt like it was spinning around me. I don't remember what the school nurse had said, but I do distinctly remember her hugging me, me pushing her away and trying to run away. I made it about two strides before everything faded into darkness.

Being loaded into an ambulance while you are just now starting to regain conciseness is a strange experience. The hours I spent in the hospital following that incident would be what I would call my scariest memory. There were psych evaluations, and sooo much blood work and the doctor demanded I had a rape kit done because of the circumstances when "the incident" started. 

I got home and that was the first night I cut.

                   •••••••••••••••••••

I finished middle school. I had finally gotten away from HIM. HE couldn't hurt me anymore
Or So I thought.
It had been almost a month since the last -incident- when HE came back
And HE hurt me
But I didn't feel HIM anymore. I didn't feel the bruises HE left. I didn't feel anything. And I walked home. I stood on the road, looking at the place I had lived in for the past 10 years. I couldn't summon enough courage to walk in. I kept walking. I must've walked at least 15 miles that night. As the sun started to crest the tops of the pine trees, I opened the front door. I got in the shower and tried to wash -him- off me. When I was done, I went into my room and did not leave until the next day.
I was a turtle hiding in the shell of my own mind.

A month later, group of boys from my school dragged me into the woods behind the neighborhood and -used- ME like I was an object. until I passed out.
I woke up with a stick inside me

••••••••••

HE disappeared and I have seen HIM twice in the past 3 years. I'm pretty sure IT died. To be honest I hope they're both dead so they can't hurt anyone else.

••••••••

Freshman year, while I was at school, a group of boys dragged me into a bathroom and put a bag over my head and held me down and hurt me for what seemed like hours and they beat me like an animal. I had bruises the size of softballs covering my entire body. I woke up naked on the bathroom floor.

Unwilling to admit what happened, I got dressed and walked out. Half way to my class, a girl stopped me and told me I had bled through my pants and gave me a pad. To this day I don't know who she was, but if you are reading this I just want to say thank you.

••••••••••••••••••••

A week later, I was called down to the main office. My councilor (who is completely useless) demanded we have a "peer mediation" where I have to sit across a table from someone who hurt me and "talk it out".

Through the whole thing I wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and cry.

The next day I attempted suicide.
Wasn't successful (duh)

My useless councilor found out from one of my friends and sent me to a hospital. I was there for a looooooooooooong time. (Longer than I'm willing to admit (mainly because I may-or-May-Not-have attempted again while I was there))
And I started recovering
And then I went home.

It's strange how people pretend going into treatment fixes all your problems
Because guess what
I still have massive problems

And also this is the first time I've actually let anyone know this much of my story.
It feels strange being able to look at a page that recounts the memories you tried so hard to forget.

••••••••••••••••••••••
So that was all that I am willing to let myself admit happened. So..... yeah.

Wow that was depressing as fuck

Please don't hate me