My story

Trust Was Nothing To You pt2

***trigger warning.
If you get easily triggered, or can't handle mentions of sexual abuse, rape, blood, suicidal tendencies, or self harm, this chapter IS NOT for you***

After that night at Michaels house, I no longer felt whole anymore.
I no longer felt full of life, or happy.
I felt like a piece of me was missing, and not only did my body ache, but my heart and soul ached.

The next morning I awoke to stained underwear, and stained sheets. My bottom stung and I couldn't get up out of bed without wincing.
The night before kept replaying in my mind, over and over and over.
At first I didn't want to believe what happened, and I refused to.
But my pain, and bright red stains told me other wise.

I was quiet that day, just telling my family I felt tired, and felt sick even.

Me having these breakdowns, and no one batted an eye.
Me locking myself in the bathroom and crying and wanting to just hurt myself,

Michael and I even got in an argument over the phone over something stupid, and I just broke down and couldn't stop crying and crying.
My mom walked in, and asking me what was wrong.

How do I tell this woman that raised me, and that would do anything for me, that I wanted to die.
That a boy I fought for, hurt me.
That I was scared of leaving him and didn't want to be in pain anymore.
She was so mad at me because I couldn't vocalize what had happened.
I remember I threw my phone across my room and just kept crying so hard I couldn't speak.

I couldn't find the words to explain how I felt.

So she just angrily took my breakdown as me being my stupid self, and ignored it because I'm always an emotional mess right?
I know she probably thought that it wasn't fault I was crying, that it was MY fault for staying with this boy.

But only if she knew how much pain I really was in.

Days following that night, I stayed up endlessly.
every night I stayed up, crying and cutting myself. My thighs covered in scars and blood.
Biting down on my blankets, afraid to wake anyone with my cries and sobs.

One night, I even bled out enough, where I felt lightheaded and dizzy. My thighs bled through the shorts I wore to cover the ugly cuts, and I passed out from the amount of crying, the tiredness, the pain, and blood loss.
I wish I died that night.

I told Michael about how bad I relapsed, and he offered me a day dedicated to me, so I could feel better.
And I actually cracked a smile when he offered that to me.
He's never done that before, maybe things will start getting better. He offered to get food and I could go to his house and just sleep and he would cuddle with me. It sounded so nice.
It was something I dreamt of, and he would finally give it to me.

He picked me up later that day, and we grabbed some food, and I was so happy. Maybe this will help distract me, or maybe help me forgive him for the things that he probably didn't even realize he did.

What I wasn't expecting that day, was getting high. He occasionally always brought it up, but I never agreed because I was nervous, and didn't trust myself being high around him.
After talking about it enough, I agreed to having some edibles with him, only under one condition.
No sex.
I didn't feel comfortable with the idea of sex while being impaired. Well, because accidents can happen, and that was the last thing I wanted.

We both ate the candies Michael had, and just relaxed. I didn't feel anything at first.
I wasn't sure how long it was supposed to take, so I just closed my eyes.

Within around half an hour, I started feeling the effects of the candy.
I was giggly and bubbly and cuddly.
I felt a bit numb, and was enjoying the fact that I wasn't overcome by sadness.
Or was focused on the fact that this boy had forced himself onto me during our prior time together.

Michael started becoming handsy as usual. And I was too out of it to even react.
My body felt light, and I just remember that I was on my side, and my pants were pulled down once again.

My reactions were slow and everything felt almost dream like. I wasn't sure if it was real life or not.

Once again, he was in me and I was just his rag doll.
I whined and just let it happen again.
Putting on this mask to please him.
My whole body hurt again, I bled again, and I had tears staining my cheeks.
I had drool dripping from my mouth as I couldn't keep my mouth shut, for Michael kept his fingers shoved in it to keep me quiet.

I was intoxicated and so unaware of reality.
And Michael couldn't control himself.
I remember my words were slurred as I told him to just go for it, just use me.

I felt no need for anything anymore.
That's all I was anyways, a sex doll.
And that's all he wanted right?

That night, after leaving his house, that was the first time I had ever even worried about being pregnant.
But I didn't show him one bit of fear.
Because I know if I freaked out, he would too.
I laughed it off, and made jokes, saying to not worry.
I was terrified what he would do, or how he would react if I was pregnant.

I even took a test without anyone knowing, and it was so hard to do, at 18 years old.

I struggle to go back and think about it all.

The pain, the stress of being 100% alone, and knowing I was alone.
Knowing I couldn't tell a single soul in the world.
I have never felt more alone, in my entire life.

That was a burden I carried with me, and in my chest and my heart, until the moment I upload this piece of this story.
The fact that, NO ONE, would have ever guessed what I've gone through, hurts.

A few days before Christmas, I almost killed myself.
I took some pills, but not enough apparently.
I felt sick and dizzy, and was laying in my room, crying so hard and staring up at the ceiling.
My vision in and out of focus, and my head pounding.
I grabbed a heavy chain from my jewelry box, that was meant for wallets.
The chain itself is probably around 15 inches, and is about as thick and a finger.
A bigger chain.
I wrapped that chain around my neck and tugged so harshly, that I bruised my neck.
I wrapped the free end of the chain around the corner of my bed frame, and started choking myself.
I felt myself gasping for air, and my body was weak from taking the pills.
Everything was turning black and i felt my breaths get shorter.
Finally, what I've been waiting for.

But right before I could pass out, the chain itself snapped, and broke.

My head dropped and smacked the nightstand below my face.

I cried and cried because, well fuck I cant even kill myself properly.
Within a few minutes, I passed out from the exhaustion and just everything that happened.

I woke up the next day, feeling sick.
My lips were cracked and bloody from me picking at them in my sleep, my eyes were bloodshot, and the faded bruise around my neck was a soft red.
I just got up, washed my face, and put some make up over my bruises neck, and went along my day like nothing happened.
I mean, how would I even tell someone about that?
About everything?
About why I feel so lost at this point?

I didn't tell anyone, and I kept moving, pretending that I was okay, and kept acting like I wasn't breaking more and more every day.

Christmas Day, Michael came to my grandmas, and spent that time with us.
It was okay, you can tell everyone didn't care for him much, but only tolerated him to make me happy.

No one would think bad things have happened from how happy we seemed to be together.

No one would've even thought, that there was a good possibility, that Christmas of 2018, could've been the start of me not being apart of it anymore.