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.
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