Truth is…

This has been a blog I’ve written and deleted many times over again. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s something I need to get out of me. It took me almost 10 years to confide in my own parents, but I’m more than ready to share now, because I’m tired. I’m tired of this hanging heavy as a cloud over my head. I’m ready to let go and release this energy that’s been raging inside of me for so long. I’m ready to share with the world what happened to me when I was 16 years old. 

In order to begin, first you have to understand I was raised a certain way. I was raised to believe a woman is only intimate with a man she’s meant to be with forever. I went as far as to tell my best friend, when we were 14, that I wouldn’t as much as hold his hand, should I date a man I’m into when I’m older. I wasn’t interested in kissing anybody I wasn’t serious about, because what’s the point? My friend thought I was off my nut! 

The year is 2006 and I met a boy I was completely infatuated with. I was 16 and he was far more experienced than I knew. He was at least 3 years older than I was, hence over 18 (which I was not). I told him my boundaries, yet he was persistent. He kept trying to kiss me, despite the fact I kept telling him I was against it. Kissing was definitely not my thing, nor did I want it to be. I was still under the impression that only boys who loved me could be entitled to certain things. Kissing seemed to me to be one of those perks. This boy just didn’t get the hint that I wasn’t into that because he stole my kiss at least three times before I let him take it. 

I don’t remember the day, but I remember what I was wearing and why we are all assembled that night. My aunt had MS and we were all to walk in the fundraiser the next day on her behalf. There was at least 6 of us there, sleeping in my cousins living room after spending the night creating personalized t-shirts specifically for the event. 

My mother had bought me underwear while I was in the fifth grade that didn’t quite fit me. I was 11 at the time, so I kept them in the back of my drawer. As a 16 year old, they finally fit, so I wore them that day. They weren’t particularly cute, they just fit, and that’s what I remember the most. I had no idea that I’d remember them for the rest of my life.

Later that night, while everyone was asleep, my new boyfriend was next to me as we slept in the living room with everybody else. I woke up to him running his hands up and down my thighs. He advanced to other places that were far more intimate and despite the fact that I pushed him away, he kept going. Half asleep, I tried to ignore what was happening and tried to fall back asleep after my feeble attempts of fighting him off. Again, I was 16 and naive. I woke to him shoving his fingers where they do not belong. When I fully awoke, I froze. There was nothing I could do, as the damage had already been done. All these people were around me, yet none of them noticed what was happening to me. Stunned, I laid there. What else was I supposed to do? Something was happening to me beyond my control. What else was there to do? I pretended to like it. It’s all I could think of to gain some kind of control. I pretended I liked what he was doing to me, because I genuinely thought I had to. You don’t fool around with boys unless he’s the one. Yes, I hated myself then, and I hate myself now for thinking that was ever a “thing.” 

I stayed in a crappy relationship I wanted no part of for nearly 4 years because I felt stuck. I used to joke with my closest friends how this guy was my “Lon” if you’re familiar with The Notebook. I hated everything about him, but the thing I hated the most was that fake laugh he used when we was around anyone I respected. The, “hu-hu-haaaa” It makes me want to vomit just to think about it. 

I went above and beyond to please this asshole, and in the end, do you know what I got? I got a loser guy, who was beyond 18, which I was not, who used me and manipulated me to think he was my everything and he ended up cheating on me with some girl he worked with; A temp, like Ryan from The Office. Do you have any idea how it felt to find her car parked outside of his MAMA’S house? (Fuckin loser still lived with his mama.)

My friend was there with her dad, since we both had driving permits, and nothing more, since we were under age. They both agreed it would be a good idea to talk to him before I jumped to any conclusions. Maybe they were just friends and he was showing her around town, after all they were close to the same age and she was new to the area. We drive 30 minutes out of town to get to the party he already promised me she wouldn’t be at. We get there and not only is his ex girlfriend (who he lost his virginity to) there, but so is she. He basically shoves a piece of liquor laced watermelon in my mouth (which he knew I was against) and told me that I’m crazy. 

You better believe I went back to his mama’s house where I stuck my foot into the other girl’s fender, and so did my good friend. We both took a piece out of that car and drove off, but not before I walked into his mama’s house. I walked in there and asked her wtf was going on. She told me she knew he was flirting with some other girl and warning him against it. He was staying up really late (to take a post work nap on my mama’s couch) in order to talk to this summer girl. I was appalled and took all my things back after a heavy heartfelt goodbye to his mother, whom I adored. After that, I left a nice reminder not to mess with someone else’s man on her car before I went home.

The next day I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. My mom knew he was messing around behind my back, and so did the rest of the world. When he called me later that day, I was thinking he was calling me to apologize. You know what happened?

“Hello?”

“Hey…Did you put that dent in Megan’s car?”

“The what?” 

“Did you. Put your foot. Into Megan’s fender?”

“How can you even ask me something like that? Should there be a reason why I should put my foot in her fender? How dare you ask me something so outlandish?”

“Okay, well, I believe you. I looked at the damage and you don’t have the shoes to make the mark somebody else made.”

“How generous of you! Oh, by the way, we’re done.”

So there it is. I dated a boy beyond 18, when I was 16, who used my body for his own personal gain. He used his ex-girlfriend as leverage. He’d tell me things like, “She was too small for me, whereas, you’re just right.” How the fuck would he know? 16 year old me didn’t ask that question. He’d say, “She used me because she wasn’t a virgin when we met and let me know it,” like he was any better. He constantly pointed out the fact he wasn’t a virgin and I was being stuck up. Evidently my boundaries emasculated him somehow. Looking back, I want to scream at myself for being so stupid as to feel, “trapped,” just because a man went somewhere I thought only my husband was ever supposed to go. I put up with nearly 4 years of mental, emotional, and sexual abuse because I felt I was unworthy of love from another man because this piece of crap took something from me against my will. 

Please don’t teach your daughters their worth with a man is in their virginity. If their virginity is taken from them, they won’t feel like they can confide in anyone. It’s been 16 years, and I only just told my parents what happened to me. I was 16 years old when my innocence was stolen from me in a room full of people—a room I thought to be safe. There was no drugs nor drinking. Just a boy next to a girl in a crowded room, and I’d give anything to undo what’s been done. I was raped at 16 in a room full of people. I can tell you in great detail what I was wearing, what thoughts ran through my mind, what I wished anybody would’ve done. I can tell you what he told me the minute he was done. “I’m sorry, I was asleep. What happened?” I hate his guts. Kesha was right when she said, “Some things only god can forgive.” But, I’m trying. I’m trying really hard. Sometimes I hate myself for trying so hard because he doesn’t deserve it. He has a family—a wife, little girls, and parents that love him. I can’t help but hate him. If only his parents knew… 



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