It was one of the times that the other councilors had decided to leave me alone with Angel that I actually opened up to him. The day was over, the kids asleep across camp, and I was lonely, so I went to the lounge by the lake, and tried to just be a background figure in the group. However, I was quickly noticed and once Angel walked in they all made excuses to leave. When I tried to follow any of them they all said that they didn't want me there, or that they wanted to be alone. With nowhere else to go, because my cabin was being taken by Kelly and her friends, I finally just stayed with Angel. I gave up and sat beside him.
It was awkward at first, but he was always good at making me smile and making jokes. I was always good at pretending everything was okay so that's what I did, and soon we were both having a great time! There were some movies in the room and an old, cube TV with a VCR/DVD player hybrid, so we decided to watch a movie I believe was called Star Dust. I quite liked the movie. Since the lounge was in a different building from the one with the children, and the doors were locked so that only the councilors were aloud inside, we watched it loudly as it got later into the night.
He let me lay my head on his lap and, though I was alright at first, when I noticed what... I was doing instinctively as the credits began, I started to cry. I was never allowed to lay on John's lap without having to do one of his 'favors'. So, being so comfortable on the couch, I forgot who I was with and I touched him. Angel had never done anything like that and all I could think of was how I was just like John; stealing the innocence of another. I also felt bad, because even though John and I weren't together I felt like being so physical with someone else was wrong.
This is when Angel finally started to ask all the right questions, as if from a script my heart wrote and needed him to read. He was the first one to say, "No, how are you REALLY." He just asked me to tell him everything and I did. I was so desperate for hope, for someone to save me from myself. I sat on his lap in the fetal position and told him about everything, about my father, about John, and about how I felt and about everything that they did to me.
Tears rolled down my cheeks like a broken damn on a mountain top. It was exhausting to say all the things that kept me back, that set up a wall in my mind, and when I finished I was completely and utterly exhausted. Retrospect proves that at the time I was too involved in my own emotions to consider how it would have effected Angel, or how I could've completely doomed myself by being so open to denial. And if you ever read this Angel, I'm truly sorry for disregarding you. I just felt that at the time, I needed to be selfish and look out for myself because no one else would.
That night was a blur of tears and apologies as I cried into his chest, but he never rejected me or stopped what I was saying to ask any questions or to wonder when, why or how. He just waited and listened, and that's all I really needed. I never needed input or any recognition for my pain, I just needed to say it out loud so I couldn't ignore my thoughts anymore. And he did nothing, and that was everything to me.
Once I had a moment, he helped me crawl to the larger couch, and he lay behind me, arm around my waist, and the other stroking my hair. I curled up in front of him and bawled until I passed out.
It's how I learned that talking really was more important to my own survival than suppressing my feelings. It forces one to face reality. Which sucks but is so important because reality is the worst torture and the most rewarding.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Part Eight: Leaving John
It was about this time that my sister walked into the cabin. In these cabins there were two bunk beds, so four beds. I was sitting by myself and the other two on their own bunks up top, so Kelly, lets call my sis Kelly, took up the last vacant bed.
We tried to keep talking about John, but Kelly soon became distant, frustrated and very angry. She had previously claimed that John had pushed her down the stairs at home, and had hit her. Now, I love my sister, and I'm obviously not the biggest fan of my ex, however, I can't back up Kelly because there's no proof. I have been there for his verbal abuse as he called her a fat cow, and other not so nice things, so I can confirm that, but I have little to say about physical abuse she claims happened. I'm not saying it never happened either, but I don't remember ever leaving them alone so I can't pick a side on that matter either way.
She promptly left upset and the other two girls looked almost as frustrated as Kelly was. They told me to break up with John, and that's all can really remember about that time in the cabin.
After that, I remember crying in my own cabin, alone, and texting John that I couldn't be with him anymore because my coworkers said so... It was a coward's thing to do; break up with him while he was training for cadets in Quebec while I was in Alberta hours away, and initially blaming the break up on others, but I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to admit that I was as broken as I felt; that I was so hurt and crushed and how sad that I was. I was sad, depressed and I let my pride blind me. I had convinced myself for too long that everything was the way it was supposed to be and that being with John was what I had wanted and deserved... I wasn't ready to admit I had a problem and that I needed help.
Because our hours were different it wasn't until the next morning that I received a distressed message, asking in pure despair, why. How I could, so suddenly, abandon my post as a slave, a girlfriend, as a... I don't even know what I want to admit I was... I told him that my coworkers were right and that the relationship wasn't working out.
It must've been only a day or two later that every councilor in the camp knew that I had just broken up with my boyfriend. Now, it's at this point I wish I could say that someone hugged me or asked if I was okay, but the trend continued where everyone just perused their own ideas, forcing their ideas among each other and ignoring my agony.
As I had previously said, I had been quite flustered by Angel's attitude toward me, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by the other staff. So, when the word went around, most likely spread by my sister and her friends, that I was single, everyone started to avoid me and Angel. Every single time I walked into the councilors lounge, they would all leave if he was there, saying things like, "We should leave you two alone to talk." and other stupid excuses like that.
I am currently with Angel and this all happened 3 years ago now since it's 2016. But since I ended up with Angel, many of those staff members proudly told me how it was their idea to set us up and that's still SO frustrating. If any of them had just stopped and thought for one freaking second that maybe I was HURT because I'd just broken up, that maybe I could've had at least one other person to hold me and tell me that it was all going to be okay. If any of them had actually thought it through instead of putting it all on Angel, then maybe it would've been easier for me to heal, and for him to understand. Instead everyone forced us to be alone so all we had was each other, and I don't thank any of them for that. I didn't need a boyfriend! I needed a mum, a dad, a hug-a freaking friend! They were more interested in starting a camp relationship than starting up my heart again.
But I guess in the end I was just stuck with him to talk to about everything because I did need to talk. I honestly can never pay back how understanding, honest, open, and helpful he was to me when I was finally so distraught by everything that I just poured my soul to him. And I know that if he had rejected me I wouldn't be here today; if, after everything, I had told him what I did and he denied me I'd be dead. He was my last hope, my last chance and he saved me, that's why he's my Angel. I know that might seem a bit extreme, but given what my current situation was, I'm not surprised if I had acted that way. I was done with being insignificant.
We tried to keep talking about John, but Kelly soon became distant, frustrated and very angry. She had previously claimed that John had pushed her down the stairs at home, and had hit her. Now, I love my sister, and I'm obviously not the biggest fan of my ex, however, I can't back up Kelly because there's no proof. I have been there for his verbal abuse as he called her a fat cow, and other not so nice things, so I can confirm that, but I have little to say about physical abuse she claims happened. I'm not saying it never happened either, but I don't remember ever leaving them alone so I can't pick a side on that matter either way.
She promptly left upset and the other two girls looked almost as frustrated as Kelly was. They told me to break up with John, and that's all can really remember about that time in the cabin.
After that, I remember crying in my own cabin, alone, and texting John that I couldn't be with him anymore because my coworkers said so... It was a coward's thing to do; break up with him while he was training for cadets in Quebec while I was in Alberta hours away, and initially blaming the break up on others, but I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to admit that I was as broken as I felt; that I was so hurt and crushed and how sad that I was. I was sad, depressed and I let my pride blind me. I had convinced myself for too long that everything was the way it was supposed to be and that being with John was what I had wanted and deserved... I wasn't ready to admit I had a problem and that I needed help.
Because our hours were different it wasn't until the next morning that I received a distressed message, asking in pure despair, why. How I could, so suddenly, abandon my post as a slave, a girlfriend, as a... I don't even know what I want to admit I was... I told him that my coworkers were right and that the relationship wasn't working out.
It must've been only a day or two later that every councilor in the camp knew that I had just broken up with my boyfriend. Now, it's at this point I wish I could say that someone hugged me or asked if I was okay, but the trend continued where everyone just perused their own ideas, forcing their ideas among each other and ignoring my agony.
As I had previously said, I had been quite flustered by Angel's attitude toward me, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by the other staff. So, when the word went around, most likely spread by my sister and her friends, that I was single, everyone started to avoid me and Angel. Every single time I walked into the councilors lounge, they would all leave if he was there, saying things like, "We should leave you two alone to talk." and other stupid excuses like that.
I am currently with Angel and this all happened 3 years ago now since it's 2016. But since I ended up with Angel, many of those staff members proudly told me how it was their idea to set us up and that's still SO frustrating. If any of them had just stopped and thought for one freaking second that maybe I was HURT because I'd just broken up, that maybe I could've had at least one other person to hold me and tell me that it was all going to be okay. If any of them had actually thought it through instead of putting it all on Angel, then maybe it would've been easier for me to heal, and for him to understand. Instead everyone forced us to be alone so all we had was each other, and I don't thank any of them for that. I didn't need a boyfriend! I needed a mum, a dad, a hug-a freaking friend! They were more interested in starting a camp relationship than starting up my heart again.
But I guess in the end I was just stuck with him to talk to about everything because I did need to talk. I honestly can never pay back how understanding, honest, open, and helpful he was to me when I was finally so distraught by everything that I just poured my soul to him. And I know that if he had rejected me I wouldn't be here today; if, after everything, I had told him what I did and he denied me I'd be dead. He was my last hope, my last chance and he saved me, that's why he's my Angel. I know that might seem a bit extreme, but given what my current situation was, I'm not surprised if I had acted that way. I was done with being insignificant.
Part Seven: Torture Before the Hope
This is where my story comes to full circle. You see, though John was very sexual and sexually abusive, he had never had sex with me. You'd be surprised at all the things we did without ever actually participating in intercourse.
I had planned on having my first night of sex on my 18th birthday in my bed where I felt safe, giving my virginity to someone I truly loved. I'm sure if John had waited till then he would've had me forever, but he got greedy, and he got excited, and in a moment of sexual tension and self indulgence, he made the biggest mistake he could have ever made.
We were fooling around, naked, in his parents' large master-bath when he shoved my head beneath the water by the throat, thrusted himself inside of me, counted to 3 out-loud for me to hear, and then he removed himself, finishing on me as I came up gasping for air.
As I write this my heart hurts and tears threaten to take my vision from me, and though, when I read this, I may be emotionless, I will never be able to truly push aside the pain and hurt I feel from someone I loved and had dedicated so much money and time into. He had my heart and my soul and shattered it. With the things that happened between him and my father, I had felt like my virginity was the last piece of innocence I could grasp onto when I had nothing else to keep me standing strong. But when he stole it-no, when he tore it from my hands, when he RAPED me, when he violated EVERYTHING I had left of my childhood, I felt my world literately shatter. He broke me, and that's when I truly realized how fucked I really was...
Sorry for throwing a pun in such a serious topic and emotional sentence, but I've never been one to want to cry or be sad. I'm afraid that if I do start crying, I might never stop.
So, something I haven't mentioned is that from when I was little to this point in my life I had attended a summer camp, and I had already signed up to be a councilor after that incident at the end of grade 11 in 2013. If I had not attended the camp for another year, John would've been suspicious of my irregularity. So, I went that summer. Summer camp was ideal for John because I was always following a schedule and he could keep tabs on me. It was ideal for me because I could follow his command and wishes and still be with the children I had always loved to be with.
This is where I met a real angel. The first person who actually truly cared. I'll call him Angel to be a little humerus in this story. Angel and I quickly became friends in the first week of camp. He made me laugh, giving me attention in ways I had never received from anyone before. My heart seemed to turn into a dancer every time he would sit with me on my bunk bed, brush my arm or even laugh from across the camp. He was a guaranteed smile every day. Of course he wasn't perfect, but he was perfectly flawed and the only one with ears actually built to listen to the heart. I didn't get along with anyone else from camp and they all were very cliquey and judgemental, but he made it one of the best summers I've ever had.
Two people, who were hardly my friends, were friends with one of my sisters who attended cam with me. And, one night, I went to their cabin looking for my sister, but running into them. This was the first time anyone had ever been truly human with me.
The two started to talk about relationships while we waited for my sister, which was fun, but after a couple moments they addressed me. I'd never had anyone talk to me about what I thought, about what I wanted, or even how I felt further than "How are you?" me saying "Fine." and then them saying "Okay.". So, when they asked to talk about John I was so excited to be included that I started talking, speaking about anything and everything. I didn't just blab about the sexual abuse; I'm not stupid, but I did talk about the verbal abuse and the daily routines. When I first talked about it I was actually praising John and all the things he let me do, but swiftly and very suddenly, I became... Embarrassed. They told me how wrong the relationship was and that was when I realized how outsiders would have seen us if they had ever paid attention. That's when I understood why I couldn't talk to anyone besides John and his friends.
Maybe that was why everyone ignored me or pushed it off when I said something about John. It was just too much for anyone to be comfortable with or strong enough to talk about. I don't know why but I always feel regret when I look back at how many people could've known and just chose to look away and pretend that nothing was happening. Sometimes I wonder how long the abuse would've really lasted if someone had just talked to me earlier, if someone had just paid attention, if someone had DONE something! ...If III had been strong enough to do something...
I guess if I could pretend everything was peachy-keen when I was in pain I shouldn't be blaming anyone else for doing the same thing when they saw my pain. People usually don't want to admit when they're sad anyways when we can just pretend there's no suffering in our hearts and on our bodies.
I had planned on having my first night of sex on my 18th birthday in my bed where I felt safe, giving my virginity to someone I truly loved. I'm sure if John had waited till then he would've had me forever, but he got greedy, and he got excited, and in a moment of sexual tension and self indulgence, he made the biggest mistake he could have ever made.
We were fooling around, naked, in his parents' large master-bath when he shoved my head beneath the water by the throat, thrusted himself inside of me, counted to 3 out-loud for me to hear, and then he removed himself, finishing on me as I came up gasping for air.
As I write this my heart hurts and tears threaten to take my vision from me, and though, when I read this, I may be emotionless, I will never be able to truly push aside the pain and hurt I feel from someone I loved and had dedicated so much money and time into. He had my heart and my soul and shattered it. With the things that happened between him and my father, I had felt like my virginity was the last piece of innocence I could grasp onto when I had nothing else to keep me standing strong. But when he stole it-no, when he tore it from my hands, when he RAPED me, when he violated EVERYTHING I had left of my childhood, I felt my world literately shatter. He broke me, and that's when I truly realized how fucked I really was...
Sorry for throwing a pun in such a serious topic and emotional sentence, but I've never been one to want to cry or be sad. I'm afraid that if I do start crying, I might never stop.
So, something I haven't mentioned is that from when I was little to this point in my life I had attended a summer camp, and I had already signed up to be a councilor after that incident at the end of grade 11 in 2013. If I had not attended the camp for another year, John would've been suspicious of my irregularity. So, I went that summer. Summer camp was ideal for John because I was always following a schedule and he could keep tabs on me. It was ideal for me because I could follow his command and wishes and still be with the children I had always loved to be with.
This is where I met a real angel. The first person who actually truly cared. I'll call him Angel to be a little humerus in this story. Angel and I quickly became friends in the first week of camp. He made me laugh, giving me attention in ways I had never received from anyone before. My heart seemed to turn into a dancer every time he would sit with me on my bunk bed, brush my arm or even laugh from across the camp. He was a guaranteed smile every day. Of course he wasn't perfect, but he was perfectly flawed and the only one with ears actually built to listen to the heart. I didn't get along with anyone else from camp and they all were very cliquey and judgemental, but he made it one of the best summers I've ever had.
Two people, who were hardly my friends, were friends with one of my sisters who attended cam with me. And, one night, I went to their cabin looking for my sister, but running into them. This was the first time anyone had ever been truly human with me.
The two started to talk about relationships while we waited for my sister, which was fun, but after a couple moments they addressed me. I'd never had anyone talk to me about what I thought, about what I wanted, or even how I felt further than "How are you?" me saying "Fine." and then them saying "Okay.". So, when they asked to talk about John I was so excited to be included that I started talking, speaking about anything and everything. I didn't just blab about the sexual abuse; I'm not stupid, but I did talk about the verbal abuse and the daily routines. When I first talked about it I was actually praising John and all the things he let me do, but swiftly and very suddenly, I became... Embarrassed. They told me how wrong the relationship was and that was when I realized how outsiders would have seen us if they had ever paid attention. That's when I understood why I couldn't talk to anyone besides John and his friends.
Maybe that was why everyone ignored me or pushed it off when I said something about John. It was just too much for anyone to be comfortable with or strong enough to talk about. I don't know why but I always feel regret when I look back at how many people could've known and just chose to look away and pretend that nothing was happening. Sometimes I wonder how long the abuse would've really lasted if someone had just talked to me earlier, if someone had just paid attention, if someone had DONE something! ...If III had been strong enough to do something...
I guess if I could pretend everything was peachy-keen when I was in pain I shouldn't be blaming anyone else for doing the same thing when they saw my pain. People usually don't want to admit when they're sad anyways when we can just pretend there's no suffering in our hearts and on our bodies.
Part Six: Maxs' Betrayal
John asked me out the day after valentines day; about 3 days after I met him. I had heard from others how bullied John was, being called a faggot and being ignored or verbally abused by other students. My heart became sickened by his suffering. So, to stop him being called gay and a loser, I said yes.
I know this went against my plan to be with Max, but I couldn't see John suffer from bullying like so many have suffered and decades of our cruel inhumanity. This was also before the abuse started, so I put John's feeling over Max's.
To celebrate our relationship he took me across the street again and this time he hit me. Not across the face or anything. He was never outright abusive, EVER. He was, however, sexually abusive, and soon enough my breasts were shades of green and yellow and blue where he would slap them for his sexual satisfaction. Random places on my arms showed fingerprints from his grip were starting to show too, and that's when I finally realized my plan might actually work. I would leave John because of his sudden abuse and I would go to Max, explain what happened, then Max would take care of me. He would be a hero and I would be free!
That's what I thought before I went to talk to Max. During the one class we shared together, welding, I went to confront him. I don't even know why I took welding, but it was definitely fun. Anyways, during one class, when everyone was busy in their welding booths, I went into his once his acetylene torch had turned off and the weld was done. I told him what happened and waited.
I had expected a hug or a look of fear in his eyes, or even some sign of sympathy, pity, ANYTHING, just SOMETHING to show I had him and I didn't need to be with John anymore! I was swiftly and severely disappointed.
He asked to see, and when I showed him he said he needed to touch to understand. Confused I said yes. Of course what he said didn't make any sense, but I was so close to happiness I just agreed. Max was the one I wanted to be with anyways, and if that's what he wanted I assumed that I'd have to do this eventually anyways. After a few moments of groping and touching he told me to lower my shirt. That's when he explained to me that he just couldn't help me. John was his friend and it wasn't Max's place to deny a friend something they wanted.
I've never truly been angry about Max touching me because I gave him permission, but I've never been able to get over how he denied my cry for help. I've never been able to understand how he could've listened to me, seen the bruises and the pain, then just turned around to touch me and say I would just have to tough it out. I don't forgive him and I can't just overlook this. Even if he had not gone out with me, I went out with John for over a year. Max knew what was going on the entire time and did nothing. Maybe, one day I will grow to forgive, but not yet...
He was the first one to teach me just how much no one cared. He was the first one to show me how little I was and that what I wanted never mattered.
I know this went against my plan to be with Max, but I couldn't see John suffer from bullying like so many have suffered and decades of our cruel inhumanity. This was also before the abuse started, so I put John's feeling over Max's.
To celebrate our relationship he took me across the street again and this time he hit me. Not across the face or anything. He was never outright abusive, EVER. He was, however, sexually abusive, and soon enough my breasts were shades of green and yellow and blue where he would slap them for his sexual satisfaction. Random places on my arms showed fingerprints from his grip were starting to show too, and that's when I finally realized my plan might actually work. I would leave John because of his sudden abuse and I would go to Max, explain what happened, then Max would take care of me. He would be a hero and I would be free!
That's what I thought before I went to talk to Max. During the one class we shared together, welding, I went to confront him. I don't even know why I took welding, but it was definitely fun. Anyways, during one class, when everyone was busy in their welding booths, I went into his once his acetylene torch had turned off and the weld was done. I told him what happened and waited.
I had expected a hug or a look of fear in his eyes, or even some sign of sympathy, pity, ANYTHING, just SOMETHING to show I had him and I didn't need to be with John anymore! I was swiftly and severely disappointed.
He asked to see, and when I showed him he said he needed to touch to understand. Confused I said yes. Of course what he said didn't make any sense, but I was so close to happiness I just agreed. Max was the one I wanted to be with anyways, and if that's what he wanted I assumed that I'd have to do this eventually anyways. After a few moments of groping and touching he told me to lower my shirt. That's when he explained to me that he just couldn't help me. John was his friend and it wasn't Max's place to deny a friend something they wanted.
I've never truly been angry about Max touching me because I gave him permission, but I've never been able to get over how he denied my cry for help. I've never been able to understand how he could've listened to me, seen the bruises and the pain, then just turned around to touch me and say I would just have to tough it out. I don't forgive him and I can't just overlook this. Even if he had not gone out with me, I went out with John for over a year. Max knew what was going on the entire time and did nothing. Maybe, one day I will grow to forgive, but not yet...
He was the first one to teach me just how much no one cared. He was the first one to show me how little I was and that what I wanted never mattered.
Part Five: A Professionals' Opinion
A more recent therapist I saw in 2015 says that I should've expected as much. No one in grade 10 was able to help me and I shouldn't've asked them to be my parent and help me. This was from a THERAPIST. I'm telling you this now so you understand why I hate most therapists, psychologists and psychiatrists, and so that you know what a 'professional' thought of my situation.
As I said before, I'm going into more detail in my story later, however, for now, I'm only telling you what you NEED to know so everything makes sense in my timeline. If you listen to the more detailed story you will also understand why I couldn't ask for help from my stepfather or my mother. The people most people tell me I should've told first, but to this day they still don't really know what happened... I don't believe they'll ever TRULY know, or understand, and I don't even know if I want them to...
After Max's denial I stayed with John, and with his obsessiveness over me I spent almost every hour with him, separating me from my so-called FRIENDS and from any chance of reaching independence. He chose my classes, my next school, the names of our future children, where we would live and my future career. I was his sex slave, his tool, his trophy, and his dream-wife. Most importantly, I was HIS. No one elses'. From when I woke up at 5 in the morning to walk to his house, to when I was sent home from his house, I was his. In my dreams I was his, in school I was his and I will never forget the determination I had to never let him down. I did it all because I believed that he was the only one who actually cared. He was the only one who payed attention, the one who saw my potential and the one who never failed to point out my flaws. He was my Master, or my 'Muffin' as he preferred me to say so no one knew what was really happening. No one was there to care for me, except John. My parents, my family, my friends, Max, no one. I hate John for his abuse, but I still can't help but to stop to thank him for his love and dedication to me every second of every single day. One of my psychiatrists called this Stalk-home Syndrome, but I don't care what label you give it. I still hate and love what happened at the same time.
I must admit that I do believe that life was so much easier when I didn't have to decide what to wear, what to eat or to make the hard decisions for myself.
No physical pain could ever outweigh the love I felt from him... Not until it was too late to reverse the effects it had on me.
As I said before, I'm going into more detail in my story later, however, for now, I'm only telling you what you NEED to know so everything makes sense in my timeline. If you listen to the more detailed story you will also understand why I couldn't ask for help from my stepfather or my mother. The people most people tell me I should've told first, but to this day they still don't really know what happened... I don't believe they'll ever TRULY know, or understand, and I don't even know if I want them to...
After Max's denial I stayed with John, and with his obsessiveness over me I spent almost every hour with him, separating me from my so-called FRIENDS and from any chance of reaching independence. He chose my classes, my next school, the names of our future children, where we would live and my future career. I was his sex slave, his tool, his trophy, and his dream-wife. Most importantly, I was HIS. No one elses'. From when I woke up at 5 in the morning to walk to his house, to when I was sent home from his house, I was his. In my dreams I was his, in school I was his and I will never forget the determination I had to never let him down. I did it all because I believed that he was the only one who actually cared. He was the only one who payed attention, the one who saw my potential and the one who never failed to point out my flaws. He was my Master, or my 'Muffin' as he preferred me to say so no one knew what was really happening. No one was there to care for me, except John. My parents, my family, my friends, Max, no one. I hate John for his abuse, but I still can't help but to stop to thank him for his love and dedication to me every second of every single day. One of my psychiatrists called this Stalk-home Syndrome, but I don't care what label you give it. I still hate and love what happened at the same time.
I must admit that I do believe that life was so much easier when I didn't have to decide what to wear, what to eat or to make the hard decisions for myself.
No physical pain could ever outweigh the love I felt from him... Not until it was too late to reverse the effects it had on me.
Part Four: Meeting John
It started when Max brought John by for the first time to our groups corner of the school, announcing him as Max's best friend. As you might remember from the beginning, John was the one who raped me, but let's just store that in the back of our minds for a second because we haven't got there yet. This was before then. This was now 2012.
About then was when I decided to put my "Get Max To Love Me" plan into action. I laughed at all of Johns' jokes in that high-pitched fake laugh I'd always heard all the other girls laugh in when they were with a boy they desired. And, sure enough, he started to smile at me and began to talk to me directly. We exchanged numbers and talked again during class through text.
As I look at it now I realize how much I had planned to use the emotions of this boy. I had preemptively planned to manipulate his emotions to get Max to like me in what was, in my mind, a full-proof plan. I've never apologized to John about this, but if you're listening now John, know that I am sorry for the circumstances in which we met, and I have no valid reason to excuse what I did. It was my fault, and I am sorry.
Now, when I explain what happened, I don't want anyone to jump up and say "Well, he obviously deserved a heart break, seeing as how he treated you." Because that's wrong. No one should be used or lied to, no matter what mistakes they've made. Not even John.
I had felt ecstatic that same afternoon, when he texted me to meet him in the hall. I was so close to a cuddle from Max, but I'd also never been texted by a boy before either. It was new. It was exciting! I had just turned 16 and I just got my first text from a boy! The adrenaline was intoxicating.
I met him between classes on the same day I had met him, and he proposed a game of truth-or-dare across the street after school to get to know each other. There settled a small but thick strip of trees and bushes that was usually claimed by druggies and smokers and the occasional couple. I gladly accepted. This was the moment I thought that I would finally have insured that John would be part of my plan.
However, I had once overheard my therapist telling my mum that most girls in my position became prostitutes. Realizing this I made the decision that I would never do anything for money, and if that's what he wanted during this game I'd walk away.
Now, because you know John and I dated, I need you to know that throughout the year and a half we dated, he had never asked me to do anything for money. He never prostituted me or sold me but that doesn't mean I never felt owned or used.
However, in the bushes behind school that day, it was my first day ever giving a guy sexual satisfaction. It had never crossed my mind that someone I had met THAT DAY would dare me to be his first girl to give him a blow job, but I closed my eyes and did what I assumed I was supposed to do. I'd never watched porn before that point wither so just seeing his 'bit' was a shock! I was not sexually attracted to him, and I didn't want to do it, and the whole time I wanted to cry, but I wanted to bait him so I could get close to Max.
That, and I was a victim of my fathers rape. Therefore, the whole time I pushed myself because I was on a mission to never be weak again. To be stronger. To not back down and to not say no when challenged, but in forcing myself to endure and to "become stronger", I sealed my fate with an abusive nymphomaniac who saw the opportunity to get what he wanted, and who would not let me go.
About then was when I decided to put my "Get Max To Love Me" plan into action. I laughed at all of Johns' jokes in that high-pitched fake laugh I'd always heard all the other girls laugh in when they were with a boy they desired. And, sure enough, he started to smile at me and began to talk to me directly. We exchanged numbers and talked again during class through text.
As I look at it now I realize how much I had planned to use the emotions of this boy. I had preemptively planned to manipulate his emotions to get Max to like me in what was, in my mind, a full-proof plan. I've never apologized to John about this, but if you're listening now John, know that I am sorry for the circumstances in which we met, and I have no valid reason to excuse what I did. It was my fault, and I am sorry.
Now, when I explain what happened, I don't want anyone to jump up and say "Well, he obviously deserved a heart break, seeing as how he treated you." Because that's wrong. No one should be used or lied to, no matter what mistakes they've made. Not even John.
I had felt ecstatic that same afternoon, when he texted me to meet him in the hall. I was so close to a cuddle from Max, but I'd also never been texted by a boy before either. It was new. It was exciting! I had just turned 16 and I just got my first text from a boy! The adrenaline was intoxicating.
I met him between classes on the same day I had met him, and he proposed a game of truth-or-dare across the street after school to get to know each other. There settled a small but thick strip of trees and bushes that was usually claimed by druggies and smokers and the occasional couple. I gladly accepted. This was the moment I thought that I would finally have insured that John would be part of my plan.
However, I had once overheard my therapist telling my mum that most girls in my position became prostitutes. Realizing this I made the decision that I would never do anything for money, and if that's what he wanted during this game I'd walk away.
Now, because you know John and I dated, I need you to know that throughout the year and a half we dated, he had never asked me to do anything for money. He never prostituted me or sold me but that doesn't mean I never felt owned or used.
However, in the bushes behind school that day, it was my first day ever giving a guy sexual satisfaction. It had never crossed my mind that someone I had met THAT DAY would dare me to be his first girl to give him a blow job, but I closed my eyes and did what I assumed I was supposed to do. I'd never watched porn before that point wither so just seeing his 'bit' was a shock! I was not sexually attracted to him, and I didn't want to do it, and the whole time I wanted to cry, but I wanted to bait him so I could get close to Max.
That, and I was a victim of my fathers rape. Therefore, the whole time I pushed myself because I was on a mission to never be weak again. To be stronger. To not back down and to not say no when challenged, but in forcing myself to endure and to "become stronger", I sealed my fate with an abusive nymphomaniac who saw the opportunity to get what he wanted, and who would not let me go.
Part Three: The Memories
The memory I had of my father was horrifying.
In the memory I was standing along a wall of an old place in BC where I used to live. I'd owned a dog there, and a cat named Simon, a name I haven't altered because I don't think saying his name brings harm to anyone. That's as much as I can remember about that home.
So, I stood along the wall with my siblings and my father sat on a couch across from us with his hands folded. He would whisper "Who's next?" and without hesitation, the four of us would struggle to push someone else forward. Trying to, at the same time, grip the wall behind us for any hope of being spared.
There were four of us siblings at the time, and I don't remember if the youngest of us was there but since this happened before I was six, I doubt someone 4 years younger than me would remember anyways. In my memory I let them push me forward so they wouldn't feel any pain, and all I remember thinking is that one day I'd be stronger. One day I would be pushing someone else forward and that I wouldn't be so weak. Then, maybe one day someone else would volunteer for this pain because maybe my siblings would feel bad and spare me. In the end I was angry at them all, but satisfied knowing it was me hurt and not them.
In this particular memory my father hurt me in a way I don't dare explain to the internet. What he did caused a scream of pain, soon followed by a spanking and a scolding for possibly waking my mother who lay sleeping just upstairs. She who was oblivious to what was happening right beneath her. That's all I remember in the memory, but, judging by how everyone acted in my memory, I know that this couldn't've been the only time it had happened. This also must've happened before I was 6 because he and my mother separated around when I had my sixth birthday.
I do acknowledge that memories are constantly changed and altered in our brains but I do believe this memory to be true because I don't believe I currently had the ability to make something like that up. And even, hypothetically, it was all a dream somehow, it still affected me as if it had happened.
I remembered it first fully in a dream, and somehow, when I woke, I knew it was true. I, of course, started to bawl confused and not knowing what to do about my disturbing dream. Coming downstairs to subdue me, my mother was at my side and I told her what happened. She decided to send me back to bed and in the morning I was signed up with a psychiatrist. I would see Selma, another falsified name, around my school hours and I saw her because she was a family abuse specialist. There was no legal justice to be done because my abuser had already passed and no one was threatened any longer by him.
My mum asked if either of my sisters remembered anything but they both said no. My brother was never told about it. Since this happened at the begining of my Grade 10 term in September, no one knew me enough at school to see the change that happened to me. So, everyone treated me like normal.
I was very confused and ashamed, so I found a group of people at school who were very self-centered. That way I could sit with them and never have to talk or explain who I was or what I wanted. It worked well for quite a few months too! Well, until I became jealous of a boy in the group named Max. He was infatuated with a girl and I liked him. I had never liked anyone like the way I liked him... I had actually never liked anyone before I liked him.
I know that I'm still not going into detail about people yet but I promise I will. I just want to upload my full story in little detail first so everything has a general time line. It makes it easier for me to decide what to talk about first.
Anyhow, at this time I thought that, because him cuddling a girl made me jealous, if I cuddled a boy, then Max would become jealous of me. Then Max would leave her and cuddle me the same way he had cuddled her. In retrospect it was childish, and even idiotic of me but, for someone who had no childhood to recall or life lessons to call to memory, I did what I thought I had to do. It's not like I had anyone who could've taught me otherwise or who I could really talk to.
I know I just said I was seeing a specialist, but, you see, I hate psychiatrists, therapists and psychologists. Again, a story for another time.
The decision to manipulate Max was easily one of the biggest mistakes in my entire life but also one of the most difficult lessons I've ever had to learn.
In the memory I was standing along a wall of an old place in BC where I used to live. I'd owned a dog there, and a cat named Simon, a name I haven't altered because I don't think saying his name brings harm to anyone. That's as much as I can remember about that home.
So, I stood along the wall with my siblings and my father sat on a couch across from us with his hands folded. He would whisper "Who's next?" and without hesitation, the four of us would struggle to push someone else forward. Trying to, at the same time, grip the wall behind us for any hope of being spared.
There were four of us siblings at the time, and I don't remember if the youngest of us was there but since this happened before I was six, I doubt someone 4 years younger than me would remember anyways. In my memory I let them push me forward so they wouldn't feel any pain, and all I remember thinking is that one day I'd be stronger. One day I would be pushing someone else forward and that I wouldn't be so weak. Then, maybe one day someone else would volunteer for this pain because maybe my siblings would feel bad and spare me. In the end I was angry at them all, but satisfied knowing it was me hurt and not them.
In this particular memory my father hurt me in a way I don't dare explain to the internet. What he did caused a scream of pain, soon followed by a spanking and a scolding for possibly waking my mother who lay sleeping just upstairs. She who was oblivious to what was happening right beneath her. That's all I remember in the memory, but, judging by how everyone acted in my memory, I know that this couldn't've been the only time it had happened. This also must've happened before I was 6 because he and my mother separated around when I had my sixth birthday.
I do acknowledge that memories are constantly changed and altered in our brains but I do believe this memory to be true because I don't believe I currently had the ability to make something like that up. And even, hypothetically, it was all a dream somehow, it still affected me as if it had happened.
I remembered it first fully in a dream, and somehow, when I woke, I knew it was true. I, of course, started to bawl confused and not knowing what to do about my disturbing dream. Coming downstairs to subdue me, my mother was at my side and I told her what happened. She decided to send me back to bed and in the morning I was signed up with a psychiatrist. I would see Selma, another falsified name, around my school hours and I saw her because she was a family abuse specialist. There was no legal justice to be done because my abuser had already passed and no one was threatened any longer by him.
My mum asked if either of my sisters remembered anything but they both said no. My brother was never told about it. Since this happened at the begining of my Grade 10 term in September, no one knew me enough at school to see the change that happened to me. So, everyone treated me like normal.
I was very confused and ashamed, so I found a group of people at school who were very self-centered. That way I could sit with them and never have to talk or explain who I was or what I wanted. It worked well for quite a few months too! Well, until I became jealous of a boy in the group named Max. He was infatuated with a girl and I liked him. I had never liked anyone like the way I liked him... I had actually never liked anyone before I liked him.
I know that I'm still not going into detail about people yet but I promise I will. I just want to upload my full story in little detail first so everything has a general time line. It makes it easier for me to decide what to talk about first.
Anyhow, at this time I thought that, because him cuddling a girl made me jealous, if I cuddled a boy, then Max would become jealous of me. Then Max would leave her and cuddle me the same way he had cuddled her. In retrospect it was childish, and even idiotic of me but, for someone who had no childhood to recall or life lessons to call to memory, I did what I thought I had to do. It's not like I had anyone who could've taught me otherwise or who I could really talk to.
I know I just said I was seeing a specialist, but, you see, I hate psychiatrists, therapists and psychologists. Again, a story for another time.
The decision to manipulate Max was easily one of the biggest mistakes in my entire life but also one of the most difficult lessons I've ever had to learn.
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