If I would’ve had access, I would not be here sharing this with you.
**Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Mental Illness.
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**Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Mental Illness. 〰️
In deciding to blog about our life, I knew some of the things we’ve been through and the things that are hard to talk about we would have to find the courage to share those parts of our lives. We can’t just give you the good, the beautiful, and the magical without giving the trauma, the toxicity, the scary, and the things that helped sculpt who we are. But I also decided we would do it in our own time, at our own pace and in a way that both honored the people we’ve become while also being transparent about who we used to be. I decided it is time to tell the story of what I experienced at thirteen, ultimately being transparent about the way I lost my virginity. I was thirteen and he was nineteen, a few months away from turning twenty. This story is difficult to tell for a multitude of reasons, starting with the way I was treated, ending with it taking years for me to come to terms with the facts. Including but not limited to the fact I was groomed and raped. I will not disclose his name, not to protect him or his peace but to protect mine. The last thing I want is to pull people from the woodworks from that time or anyone involved in what took place. But I do want readers to take it in to either prevent history from repeating itself or to help someone, even if it’s just one person to feel less alone.
In order to fully understand how the events transpired, you need to understand that my depression slammed me like a ton of bricks at the ripe age of eleven. I had just started middle school, sixth grade. I had classes with none of my friends, I felt like I was drowning in a world that wasn’t built for me, and I had parents that thought mental illness was a “bad day” that you power through. I began to self-harm, act out in school resulting in suspensions, and my grades were in the toilet. I was misunderstood and the human equivalent of a buoy in a Category 5 Hurricane. These words are chilling to the bone, but they’re truthful and need to be said. If I would have had access, I would not be here sharing this with you.
He came along the way the sun comes out every morning. All of a sudden, I was consumed. My every thought rotated around him and what I could do for him. Should I text him twice in a row so he knows I’m interested or should I make him chase me as to not come off too eager? Should I send him nude images like he asked? If I don’t, someone will. But I had never done anything like that. Sure, I had “fooled around” with my previous boyfriend at the movie theatre a couple times and let him run his shaky hands up my shirt a couple times. But this, well this was out of my depth. He was mature and edgy and experienced. I wanted to be those things too, even though he said I already was and I believed him except in the shadows when the doubt creeped in. He was the first person to acknowledge my mental illness, to understand it, to see it, to tell me it was okay, to tell me there was nothing wrong with me. He was going to whisk us away. He was working on getting a place for us, somewhere I’d never have to feel alone again, somewhere I wouldn’t have to hide my scars, somewhere I’d never have to feel shame for needing to put the blade to flesh just to feel something, somewhere I could be loved unconditionally. We texted for months, talking and sharing about our lives. Now that I think back, it was me talking and sharing about my life. We finally met in May of 2011. He invited me to see Hangover 2, the R rated movie that I couldn’t buy a ticket to see. He had the ticket waiting at the booth for me, I remember thinking how mature I must look. How cool am I that my boyfriend had a ticket waiting for me? We barely talked, he had two friends with him that I wasn’t even introduced to. It was because he didn’t want anyone to think it was weird, that they wouldn’t understand and he’d get in trouble. I was told to come in after the movie started and he directed me to leave before it ended, never allowing them the opportunity to see me. I had to protect him, I couldn’t risk losing him. Nobody understood our love. My own modern day Romeo & Juliet.
I turned thirteen on July 8th, 2011. The last week of September I snuck out of my bedroom window while my best friend kept watch, he drove me to a little church down toward the end of my road and parked behind it. There was one streetlight in the front, excluding it we were in pitch black with nothing standing in our way. His car smelled like Black Ice Car Freshener and Axe. Mature. Within minutes he had his hands all over me, kissing me sloppily. It’s okay that he’s a bad kisser, he thinks you’re beautiful. It’s probably you, you don’t know how to kiss. He’s the one leading and you’re doing a piss poor job of following. My heart raced through my chest, my hands remained at my sides, tears prickled my eyes. Geez Elizabeth, stop being such a baby. You’re never going to be taken seriously like this. ding My phone was ringing off the hook, my friend was panicked that my mom was awake and she wanted me to come back. Thank god. I told him I had to go home, he put the car in drive without a word, and we drove in silence. All the while I tried to come up with the appropriate words to save it. It won’t always be like this. No, that’s stupid. Only a couple more years. Jesus, who is going to wait like that? I love you. You say that enough already. When he drove past the back road to go home, my heart fell through my stomach, out my ass, through the seat of his car, and dragged across the pavement with every passing tree branch. The way he was going took us to where I had no service, it was more “back woods” than I already lived, and there was nothing but darkness ahead. Within sixty seconds, he pulled over to the side of the road, unbuckled his seatbelt, climbed on top of me, unbuttoned my pants, slid them down, and had his hands between my legs. It happened so fast I barely had the chance to register what was happening before he was breathing heavy into my ear. He kept asking me if it felt good, I didn’t have words, he continued. I don’t want this, it doesn’t feel good, I want to go home, I’m scared. Stop being inexperienced, he will find someone that will do this if you won’t. Then he removed his hand, chuckled, and climbed back into the driver seat. I was home within three minutes, climbing out of his car whilst telling him how much I couldn’t wait to see him again. I ran up our mile long driveway, climbed through the window to my friend saying “I swear Elizabeth, she was awake.” I giggled, rolled my eyes, told her everything was perfect, rolled over facing away from her and silently sobbed into my pillow. What was wrong with me? It was supposed to be everything I ever dreamed of.
I didn’t hear from him for an entire week, text after text ignored, call after call ignored, sleepless nights crying myself to sleep, lying to my friends, mutilating myself for being so stupid, so inexperienced, so immature. Then late one night at about 9 p.m. my phone went off and my dreams had come true, his name was displayed across the screen and suddenly all was forgotten.
“Hey, sorry I’ve been busy. I’m free tonight, I can come inside to you.”
“Yes. 12:00?”
“Ok.”
I rushed to clean my room, to try to rid it of anything I didn’t want him to see. I only had so much time and so much space to hide things. Shortly after 12:00, he was climbing through my window and my stomach was through my ass once again. The way my room was set up, he climbed straight through the window and onto my bed or futon, it’s the same thing right? He took a glance around, chuckled the same way he had in the car. Without saying a word his mouth was on mine once again and his hands were roaming all over. He slid my shorts and panties down without a second thought, I don’t know why or where it came from but I pulled away and said “I don’t know about this.” He smirked, then whispered “It’ll be fine, trust me. Don’t you love me?” I frantically started repetitively saying “Of course I do, you know I do, don’t say that, of course I do, I do.” He turned his face from me and said “Don’t you want me?” Tears began flowing down my cheeks then a rustling outside my bedroom and my mom coughing had him sprinting to my closet and me pulling the covers tight to my chest, bracing to close my eyes if needed. He stood in the closet and held up a condom shaking it at me. I let the tears fall freely as the only light was the glow of the television, masking my fears and my immaturity. After about three or four minutes, he emerged from the closet. He climbed onto me and pulled the blanket over him, his mouth was between my legs as I clutched my blanket forcing my eyes shut. At the time, I didn’t know oral sex was such a common thing. I viewed it as taboo, unheard of. Nobody does that. Yuck. After the most grueling sixty seconds of my life, my stomach had flipped and began churning, my body was sweating, my hands were numb from clutching the blanket, every nerve ending I had was shaking, he pushed my legs further apart. With the condom in place, he thrust into me as I whispered “I don’t know, I’m scared.” I closed my eyes tight, then a minute or so later he withdrew from me and the futon mattress shifted as he moved. When I opened my eyes, he had already climbed out the window without a word. I shut the window quietly and locked it, sent him a text about how happy I was to have lost it to him, then I looked over and saw I missed my princess pillow earlier while trying to hide things. I hid it when friends came over, but somehow this time I missed it. I pulled it to me, texting my best friend that I was officially a woman and couldn’t be happier, I told her it was magical and everything I dreamed it would be. I spent hours crying that night, woke the next day and threw everything into telling everyone how happy I was, how amazing it was, how big he was.
What came next rocked me, but that’s for next time.
There is absolutely no shame in needing help, in asking for assistance, and in admitting you can’t do it on your own. It’s okay to choose you, ultimately that’s choosing your loved ones too.
If you or a loved one are experiencing a mental health crisis and need help, Call or Text 988, or click the link below for more information.