My story

He was too nice to me

***trigger warning***

Freshman year was hard.
A new school, new people, new faces, new thoughts and feelings.
Everything was so new.
I didn't have many friends, and was so scared to put myself out there.

My mind went to a dark place.
Depression hitting in full force, the anxiety touching the clouds, every thought clouded with negativity.
Why can't I be as pretty and skinny as the other girls my age?
Why can I have a perfect hourglass figure?
Why is my face so round?
Why am I so ugly?
Every single day my mind raced on and on.
No one would ever love me, not even my family could love me. All I am is a failure, and a disappointment.

I first began hurting myself in middle school, but it wasn't a lot. Small scratches here and there.
Then once I started freshman year, the self harm became worse. My cut wrists, thighs, and stomach were covered daily out of shame.
I would feel so good, because I thought I deserved that pain because of merely existing.

Then I met him.
A senior boy, who was alone and always played guitar.
I was thinking, maybe he's lonely, and I'm lonely.
We could be lonely together!
I befriended the senior.
I was 13 and he was a bit over 18.
I thought I found someone like me, who felt alone and in pain.
Maybe I could trust him.
And I learned to trust him as he trusted me.
He knew I was weak, young, and oblivious. He took advantage of that to his full satisfaction.

During school hours, I would openly ditch my zero period to go out with him in the mornings almost every week. He would show me hideouts around the school, and secret spots no one knew about.
I thought he was so cool.
He would recommend a new hide out every time, and we would just sit and talk about ourselves.
I told him about myself, my depression, my cuts, my bruises.
I told him everything.
And in that moment, he pulled me close and kissed me.
Telling me how beautiful I was, how mature I was, how unique I was.
How he wouldn't want anyone else.
I believed him.

After a couple weeks, he started becoming more and more obsessed with me.
Always asking me for pictures, for me to give myself to him. Telling me that he would make me feel beautiful. Saying that if I told anyone about me and him talking, he would tell the whole school and dean, that I was hurting myself and was suicidal.
He threatened to find out where I lived and would tell my parents.
I was so scared, so I did what he said.
I did anything to keep his mouth shut.

He pressured me into sexting him over text at least once a week. I hated it, but I didn't want him to tell anyone.
He said that he wanted to have sex, and I always told him no.
I wasn't ready for that.
One morning he told me to meet him up in an area almost off campus.
So I did.
He took me to a hidden trail up behind the track.
We sat and talked, and I told him about how I didn't like what we were doing.
How everything felt wrong.
I was pinned, and forced upon.
His lips against mine no matter how much I tried to pull away.
His body weight pinning me down.
His hand down my pants.
My whines and his shushes are engraved in my brain.
His fingers hurt so much, I hated how violated he made me feel.
I was in tears, fighting back.
Eventually I was able to hit him hard enough in the face to get him away from me.
I felt so trapped and scared.
I bruised his left eye.
He blamed me, saying it's my fault.
He said I should go back to crying because it was hotter.

His words still echo in my mind.

"You were asking for it."
"You're a slut."
"You liked it, stop being a little bitch."
"Maybe next time, I'll make sure to fuck you right."

That day I was wearing black skinny jeans, a gray hoodie, and vans.
I thought it was my fault because I let him into my life.
It's always my fault isn't it?

We stopped talking after I blocked him on everything and hid away from him at school daily.

I didn't tell anyone about what happened.
It's my fault right? I'm the one who was lonely.
I wish I would've said something then.