Toxic Relationships, Sexual Assault, and Trauma

I wanted to take some time and reflect on my past. As the title says, I will be discussing my past with toxic relationships, sexual assault, and trauma. These topics are things that weigh on my mind almost daily, and as a result I feel pretty broken as a human being. While many of these things are humiliating to me and quite often reduce me to tears, I still want to let them out in attempts to heal and give insight as to why I am the way that I am, and in hopes that my story can potentially help someone else. 

For some background, I am a 29 year old female, and I am from a small town in the state of New Hampshire. For those who want silly side notes, I’m a Scorpio, an ENFJ personality, and a Ravenclaw. And with that knowledge, I have never been in a real romantic relationship, where I have been considered a significant other. 

In the summer of 2009, I lost my virginity to a friend of mine, who we will call ‘L’. It feels weird to say ‘lost’, because I know exactly where it went and we had planned for it to happen. In hindsight, I know now that I was not ready. Even back then, I knew I wasn’t ready, but I was just sick of hearing all of my friends talk about their first times. That being said, I’ve always considered myself mature enough to know what I’m feeling. And while I knew I wasn’t ready, I just wanted to get it over with.

He was very sweet the entire time, and he was patient with my nerves. I blocked most of the experience out as I became older, as I was only 18 at the time. And that is nothing against him, that is just myself as a person who has my own coping mechanisms of dealing with trauma. The experience itself wasn’t anything to write home about, and I think a huge part is because I was so in my head the entire time. On the way back home, as means of trying to be funny and seem like I wasn’t overly nervous afterwards, we were texting and I asked what he would do if I turned out to be pregnant. (The chances were virtually nonexistent because he didn’t finish inside of me or even on me, but still, I felt the need to bring it up.) What I wasn’t prepared for, was his response.

“Honestly, I would probably kill myself.”

And while my crush on him was very small and we were not a couple in the slightest, this was still devastating news to receive. This is someone who was truly one of my best friends at the time, and knowing that the idea of having to deal with me on such a grand scale would drive someone to death – really isn’t a great feeling. We talked off and on after that for a few months, but I quickly withdrew myself from the picture due to family obligations and the recession of 2009. 

With this recession, I was the only source of income in my six-person family for a while. The burden was massive but I was happy to be responsible and help in any way that I could. I was proud to provide for my family, and out of respect for my parents and not wanting them to feel lesser, we did not tell my siblings at the time that I was the brief bread winner. My siblings were too young to work at that point, and I already had a falling out with one of them, so they probably would not have cared to be nicer or helpful.

Fast forward a couple months to the beginning of January 2010. I’d freshly turned 19, my store had just survived one of our craziest Christmas seasons, and within days of New Years, I’d been let go, permanently. I was beyond devastated. I bawled to my mother when she picked me up from work. I felt like such a failure; not only for now being out of my helpful position with our family, but also for being let go over a $10 sale. She assured me that I showed far more character for crying over a cashier job than most people would. 

I frantically began applying for other jobs. I didn’t want to let down my family, and my parents were also scrambling to find work. I was terrified that we would lose our home. I didn’t want my family of six to be a burden on anyone else. A week after being fired, one of the managers from that store had messaged me and asked if I wanted to babysit for him since I was out of work. He only lived half a mile away from me, so getting there was simple. It was going to be quick money, so I took him up on it.

I arrived with a small bag of things I’d need for myself while there: a couple snacks, a wrestling DVD, a spare shirt in case the baby threw up on me, and my mom’s flip phone in my pocket. The manager, who we will call ‘M’, greeted me with a smile and let me in. He showed me around the living room, and we took seats on opposing sides of his couch. I greeted his baby, who was in a high chair, gave a pet to his dog, and I asked why M hadn’t left yet. He said he had a little extra time before he had to leave and he asked what DVD I brought. I told him, and he mentioned that he was a huge wrestling fan, so he urged me to turn it on. After turning around from the DVD player, I noticed that he had moved to my side of the couch. It was odd, but maybe he wanted a better view of the tv. 

For reference, I am very naive. I truly strive to see the good in all people, and I blindly assume that everyone has a heart of gold. People don’t just hurt other people, right?

We chatted for a few minutes, commenting on the match that was playing. I checked my phone every so often, wondering just how long he would be staying while I was supposed to be on babysitting duty. I didn’t want my day to be dedicated to babysitting if I wasn’t actually needed, because I was still looking for a job. He continued moving closer to me, and he soon began touching me. At first I simply asked “What are you doing?”, to which he responded, “Nothing, what are you doing?” I wasn’t sure how to react; maybe he was a very touchy and affectionate person, how would I know when all I’ve done is work with him? I didn’t know him outside of our store.

He continued to touch me and I continued to move away, and I eventually reached a point where if I moved any further, I would be on the floor. He continued to touch me despite the multiple times I asked him to stop, and he stuck his hand between my legs. He did not let up and I was terrified, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could see or feel me trembling with fear. This man was 6’6 and over 300 lbs. I’m only 5’8 and I was maybe 180 lbs at the time. I began wondering if I would be able to fend for myself against a person of his size. He had guns and other hunting equipment mounted on his walls, so what would happen if I tried to defend myself? 

Amidst my dilemma and fear, his dog had shattered something in the other room. M was quick to jump up and go check it out, and I bolted. I ran out the door and shut it as carefully as I could – don’t want the baby freezing in the middle of winter if I left it open – got in my family’s car and drove home. While I only lived half a mile away, the road was slick and I feared I wouldn’t make it home in the conditions. It felt never ending. 

When I got home, I turned off the car and bawled. I left my belongings there, I felt stupid for not knowing how to handle myself, I felt like nothing was going right. I felt humiliated that I wasted my time, and that I went on false hope for a paycheck, only for that to never happen. I feel like I felt every negative emotion that someone was capable of feeling at that moment. I took a few minutes to attempt to compose myself before heading inside. My family seemed surprised that the babysitting gig was so brief, and I merely said that M’s plans had changed.

My sister, who was only 13 at the time, recognized that something was wrong. She followed me to my room and I broke down in her arms. She of course was shocked, and she recommended that I block him on Facebook, as that was our only means of communication back then. I agreed, and she helped me login since it was difficult to see through my tears. My shock was amplified when I discovered that I had an unread message from him, sent only mere minutes before.

“If I had known you were leaving so soon I would’ve taken you to the bedroom sooner.”

I felt sick to my stomach. How could he have possibly even thought that I would be interested? And why would he be interested in me? He had a wife, a new baby, a sweet dog and a well paying job. What in the world would he want with a 19 year old? I was quick to realize that my questions didn’t need answering, considering he assaulted me in front of his infant. I felt so disgusting, I wanted to claw my skin off to be rid of the touches and marks he left despite my countless attempts to stop him. 

I reread the message over and over, my sister still with me. He must’ve noticed that I was online because he messaged me again.

“You left your stuff here.”

I was not going to be lured into stepping foot near him again. I let go of my need to keep my belongings and wrote back.

“Keep them.”

I did not report the incident, which was a mistake. I was terrified that no one would believe me, at least not anyone with the power to do something. I didn’t even know where I could possibly report something like that in the first place. Did the police handle things like that? I didn’t know because I’d never experienced that before.  I couldn’t report to his store because I didn’t work there anymore, and the assault took place off the property. I couldn’t reach out to his wife because I didn’t know her name and I didn’t want to spend time on his profile. I couldn’t even tell my parents because so many of the things we needed to survive were at that store where he worked. Any time I was forced to pick up supplies, my sister came with me. A mere 13 year old was ready to defend my honor.

The situation broke me. I cried myself to sleep almost every night. I wondered what I did to deserve it, if I was professional enough at work, if it was karma for being so naive. I wondered if he ever came clean to his wife, if I was the first person he sexually assaulted, if he felt any guilt.

A year later, one of my friends began working at that store. She knew of my experience and could at least guard herself with the knowledge that he wasn’t safe to be around. She told me that all the young girls who worked there thought he was a creep, and that in itself was a hint of validation that I wasn’t wrong for thinking illy of someone. 

During the summer of 2011, I received a call from a woman. She was part of HR at the store I used to work at. She asked if she could talk to me about M. She told me that she had gotten my number from my friend (who confirmed the same day that she did give them my number). She asked me about my experience and I explained with every detail I could muster. I was crying within minutes, repeatedly apologizing in case my emotions would make me difficult to talk to. She assured me that my feelings were valid, and that without much detail due to privacy that multiple reports had been sent to them about M. She also said that while she couldn’t contact me about any results that may transpire, to keep my ear open from my friend. 

Within a month, he was fired. I do not know if he was fired from just that location or their entire company, but it was a sense of relief. I felt awful that I wasn’t the only one who experienced things so scary, but I was relieved that someone believed me, even despite the year and a half that had lapsed. He moved to another part of the state, and my stomach still churns whenever I drive past the town’s welcome sign. I do not know if he is still with his wife or what happened.

He has tried to send me friend requests on Facebook a couple times, however I always block him, and have made my profile private within the last year. I still wonder why he would think that friending me would be appropriate, or why I’m even on his mind for him to think of doing so. I don’t know if he feels guilt and wants to apologize, if he’s angry and wants to threaten me – I simply do not know, and ten years later, I don’t want to know. I have no desire to speak to someone who has terrified me of being a person.

At the beginning of 2013, I began attending indie wrestling shows with my sister and a couple of our friends. It felt like a new chapter in my life that I could use to distract myself from the pain of the past couple years. It started off really wonderfully. I felt safe in a public crowd, and being surrounded by the people that I trusted with my story was definitely appreciated. We got to enjoy live action, I finally had inspiration to draw again, we got to meet fun characters. Everything just felt fun – a breath of fresh air. Within a few months, my sister told me that one of the wrestlers was hitting on her. At first we were grossed out since my sister had only just turned 17, and this person was in their mid-twenties. Then she showed us every new message that he would send her, telling her that her age didn’t matter and that he’d teach her how to be with a man. It was mortifying that this person was working on kid-friendly shows and treating a minor that way. 

My love for wrestling began to shift at that point. I only wanted to be a fan, I didn’t want to know the intimate details of these people. Within a year of attending shows, a promoter told me that he would train me to wrestle on the condition that I agreed to date him. It was disgusting. People began spreading rumors about myself and my group of girls – saying that we were ring rats. I felt mortified that I was being labeled as something so hurtful, and by people that I didn’t even know. I felt disgusted that yet another group of people only saw me as something potentially fuckable. I didn’t want anything to do with sex, given the fact that I had only been assaulted three years prior, and that I didn’t want sex period. I attended shows to be a fan, not to get personal with everyone. 

Despite all the rumors and being self conscious, I continued to attend shows purely for my love of wrestling and for the few good people that I had met through it. I strived to prove that I loved the sport, not the attention that I garnered as a female. For Halloween in 2013, I went as far as creating a full costume based on an old WWF wrestler, ‘Hawk’ from the Legion of Doom. Multiple wrestlers had liked the photo, and one whom I’d never met reached out, telling me that I ‘won the internet’. I thanked him and we began talking. He seemed like a great guy and he was really receptive of all my concerns about attending shows, my image, etc. He was very sweet and we soon began talking every day. He even went as far as wishing me well during a death in the family and sending his thoughts on Christmas. 

I began falling for his kindness. Finally, a male in my life who I felt secure enough to tell about my assault, to be 100% myself. He promised that he would beat the shit out of M if he ever had the opportunity. He made me feel validated, not only in my past but as the person I had developed into. I discovered his identity (he was a masked wrestler), and we continued to build our friendship. I will refer to him as ‘X’.

In January of 2014, I had developed a crush on him. I was surprised that I did, because I really wasn’t into boys or relationships growing up. It kind of felt like being a late bloomer in the sense that I was kind of ‘boy crazy’ over him. I was trying to get over my assault, which was four years ago at that point. And having always been someone who isn’t afraid to ask the difficult questions, I asked if he wanted to become something more because I was ready to put myself out there. He admitted that he had a crush on me as well, and that he would want to take things slow since I lived in New Hampshire and he lived in New York. It made sense, we were still getting to know each other. But I was thrilled that someone actually felt the same way for me. 

We met the next month at a show he was booked on. I had driven three hours to the show – posse by my side – and I was so excited to finally meet him. My friends thought it was cute that I was so smitten with someone, since I had never dated before. I tried to lay low during the intermission of that show, as I didn’t know what his prior obligations were and if he would be comfortable being seen with me. (I was still dealing with body issues and the fear of having the ‘rat’ label to my name.) When he caught sight of me, he jumped over chairs and weaved through fans to get to me. He jumped off someone’s seat and literally into my open arms. It felt like a movie. We hugged and he expressed how excited he was to finally meet me, and I could see his eyes lighting up behind the mesh of his mask. I felt so incredibly happy. 

When X went to tend to other fans, I found my way to his opponent’s merch table. I told him that he was one of the reasons I went to the show, and that he was really impressive. He seemed genuinely grateful and insisted that we take a couple pictures together. We spoke for a few minutes, and we exchanged social media. I felt happy to make someone feel appreciated. When I got home that night, he began messaging me. For the sake of the story, we will call him ‘Z’.

Z, for lack of a better term, came off as a complete fuck boy. He was funny and nice, but he had no shame in discussing his personal life with me. I only saw him as a friend, which he knew. Any time I mentioned X, he would scoff and tell me that X wasn’t worth my time. Z wanted me to come visit him, but I never did. He lived in Philly and not only did I not have my own car, but I wasn’t interested in anything more. He would get drunk almost nightly, and he called me during these times just to talk or rant in my ear. Sometimes he would keep me up until 3am, knowing full well that I had to be up by 5am. Me being the nice person that I am, never hung up on him because I never wanted to be seen as rude.

Any time X would come up in conversation, Z would make it a point to tell me that Z was the one calling me, not X. And it was true – X became harder to get a hold of, but I still had hope given the personal things he had told me. Z even insisted that we would get married one day. Despite how drunk he always got, he remembered things that X didn’t remember. I began to feel torn for multiple reasons. Z, while loud and obnoxious, let me into his life. He was open about his family issues, his personal issues, and always said he wanted to see me. X, on the other hand, was private about quite a few things (which isn’t to say that privacy is wrong). He would dodge questions about what we were and how he felt about me. Part of me felt strung along, part of me understood that distance made things more tricky, and part of me wanted to hold hope that I was just overthinking.

By the end of 2014, a referee from some of the indie shows I attended reached out to me. (For reference, this man had a crush on me, and I was open about my crush on X. He was persistent, but I refused every time.) When he reached out, he sent me a link to a Facebook profile. I was confused, as he had written: “I’m sorry you had to hear this from me…”

When I clicked on the link, it brought me to the very public profile of a girl from New York. Within a couple scrolls, I found out that she was X’s girlfriend, of a year and a half. I was absolutely mortified. There was everything laid out – pictures with each other’s families, date nights, even a promise ring. I cried so hard. I was so humiliated that I had finally worked up the courage to put myself out there, only to be played by someone who wasn’t honest. I had wasted an entire year on false hope.

After telling off the referee (which was rude, but I felt that he only told me out of spite that I wouldn’t date him), I sent the profile to X, with no other context. He had tons of excuses, the biggest one being that he felt trapped in his relationship for fear that if he left, his girlfriend would kill herself. I felt slight sympathy since I knew people with that mentality, but I expressed how awful and stupid I felt. The couple months leading up to that exposure had me wondering if I was in love with him. I had to be, right? I had to love someone if I was willing to drive eight hours in a borrowed car just for a few moments of his time at random wrestling shows. I had to love him even if he still wanted to take things slow, if he assured me that we were dating even if we weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, right? That was love? Giving your all for someone even if they can’t meet you halfway?

I stopped talking to him. He apologized repeatedly. He messaged me every couple days. I didn’t speak to him for a few months despite all of his attempts because I wanted time to clear my head and because of the guilt I felt from pursuing a taken man. At one point I found out that a show he was on was in a really dangerous weather path, and I bit the bullet to tell him that I hoped he would return safely, even if only so I could kick his ass if I saw him. His responses were quick, like he didn’t want to talk to anyone but me. He told me how much he missed me, how much he fucked up and that he wanted to try again with me. I expressed that the last thing I wanted was to be a home wrecker or the cause of a breakup. He said he understood, and that he would spend every day fighting for me. 

He asked if he would be allowed to come visit me, and I was surprised that he wanted to considering I always came to him. He said he could take the bus and we could make a weekend of it. I flat out told him that I would never see him if he was still in a relationship because no one deserved that. He called me for the first time in knowing him, and he gave me the dates of when he vowed to show up. I was shocked, but hope began to bloom in my stomach with the notion that I was worth changing for.

When I arrived at the bus station, he told me that he broke up with his girlfriend on the way there. I couldn’t help but feel guilty that I had been the reason they broke up – even though he was a blatant cheater – and I felt bad that he had waited so long to end things. He didn’t show me his messages to her but I wanted to have faith and took his word for it. Our weekend was great, and I felt like things were finally starting to turn around for me. We went on a date and he even told me that he couldn’t wait to grow old with me. 

During the autumn, I went to a wrestling show and ran into Z. We had great conversations and he was fun to hang out with. He told me that the referee from before had asked if I was Z’s rat, and that Z threatened to beat him up on my behalf. We began discussing my art and potential designs that I could help him with, and we took our conversation outside once it got too loud with the matches going on. He put his hand down my pants, even after knowing about my sexual assault and my loyalty to X, and I almost broke his arm. He tried apologizing to me over text, telling me how much he loved me and that he was in love with me, and how much he wanted to be with me. Within 48 hours, he had a girlfriend. When I called him out on his talk of love, he said that he couldn’t be with me since I wasn’t local.

It wasn’t long until I found out about a third female in the picture of X’s life. During the time that he was dating his (then) girlfriend and myself, he cheated on both of us with a new girl. I once again felt so disgusted that I had been blinded by hope and my naivety. His final goodbye was when he sent me a SnapChat – which he had never used in his life – to send me a picture of him and his new girl making out. I’ll never know if he sent the photo himself or if she did, but it was not how I anticipated spending my Christmas in 2015.

In February of 2016, I reached out to X’s ex-girlfriend on Instagram via DM. I told her that I was probably the last person she wanted to hear from, and that I was incredibly sorry for being involved with someone taken – even though I didn’t know for the first year. I apologized for every ounce of hurt that she had suffered because of my existence, and that I would be ready to talk if she ever wanted to. She wrote back and told me that I was the only one that had apologized to her. She also told me about every awful thing that X did to her. She suffered the lies, the mental games, and she even had a miscarriage by his hand. I was stunned, and grateful that he and I never did anything further than making out. We continued to piece the full story together and we both got closure from one another.

Back then, I was upset that I didn’t mean more to him. But as I got older, I’m more and more thankful that I wasn’t. If we had seen each other more frequently or more seriously, I can only imagine how I would’ve been treated. I can’t even fathom experiencing the things his ex went through. 

I’m happy to say that she is now one of my best friends, and that we’ve hung out on multiple occasions. She has visited me far more than X ever did, and I’m so glad that she and I had a silver lining with their portion of the story.

In regards to Z, we’ve spoken a handful of times since 2015, but not much. We had tried rebuilding our friendship after he hurt me the first time. Things were looking up but once he got another new girlfriend, she made him cut off all contact with females. At least she knew that her man wasn’t talking to anyone, but I also felt slightly betrayed that once again I was on the back burner of any relationship, even if only platonic. In 2019, he resurfaced and made contact with me again. Amidst catching up, I found out that he had also been seducing my sister at the same time he was pursuing me. I have not spoken to him since. I can’t understand how he could refer to me as someone he was in love with and wanted to marry, yet had no problem trying to get sexual with my little sister. All in all, I’m glad he’s in the past.

On New Years Eve of 2015, another man who had a crush on me had asked me to be his girlfriend. Given all of the bullshit I had been through, I just wanted to feel cared for. This man wanted to be an actual boyfriend, and I was touched. We shall call him ‘N’. I agreed, and I was honest about still being hurt by X’s actions. N had expressed sympathy and said he was there for me, which I was grateful for.

The first three weeks felt like heaven compared to the past two years. He would call or text me every single day, he told me how much he loved me and how thankful he was that I finally gave him a chance. He said he wanted to start a life with me, and wanted to move to FL. He had so many ideas about our future and I was flattered that someone wanted to be with me. I sent him money to help him pay for his nephew’s medications after he told me that his sister was killed. I did everything I could to help him feel the love that he tried to give me. But, after three weeks, he vanished. He stopped speaking to me, even though he would post online. I reached out when I knew he’d be awake or online, but he never contacted me. I felt defeated and confused.

A couple weeks after that, my father was diagnosed with stage four cancer. That in itself is traumatic.

A few months after being ghosted by N, Instagram showed me a list of ‘people you may know’. To my surprise, N was on the list, and with a profile I’d never seen before. I clicked on it, and my surprise turned to horror. His page was full of photos from his real life: his wedding, his kids, his parents. I was blown away that once again, someone had lured me into their life without a care in the world for me. I sent him a screenshot of the page and he finally replied. 

“I’m sorry. I still love you though.”

Given how much I’d been through, I can tell myself with great confidence that I don’t count us as ever being in a relationship. It was fluke built on lies. I never got my money back, and I never got answers as to why – just a weak apology. He later deleted all social media. 

There was another guy in 2017 who had befriended me, only to later express a crush. I told him that I had zero interest in relationships, but he was persistent. He began using common emojis I’d use on my photos when he wanted to speak about me online without using my name. He ignored all of my pleas to stop trying to further our relationship because I only wanted to be friends. He wrote a long winded text to me, describing in brutal detail how he wanted to get through every layer I was wearing and take me for himself. I was disgusted and blocked him.

He remembered that he still had my email address and began apologizing to me through there. I told him about every single awful thing I had been through and why I wasn’t interested in being with anyone. He had taken my past attempts to stop him as ‘cutesy flirting’ and trying to make him chase after me harder. He even went as far as to tell me that he had a feeling that something terrible had happened in the past to me. The entire situation was very off-putting. 

Towards the end of October 2018, I discovered that in a moment of sleep deprivation and loneliness, I had created an account on a dating app. I woke up on Halloween in confusion to a notification telling me that I matched with someone. I was surprised to find not only that I had created a profile, but that the guy that I matched with was really cute. We had mutual interests in common, and he found it funny that I didn’t realize I had made a profile. As this is the one and only time I’ve ever used a dating app, I wasn’t familiar with the setup. He explained that the timer in the corner let us know how long we had until the app would close our conversation. I told him I wasn’t entirely comfortable with giving my number out yet, but we exchanged Facebook and Instagram info. 

After a few weeks, he asked if I would be comfortable going on a date yet. He said he would understand if I wasn’t, as I had opened up and told him about my past with assault. I told him I wasn’t ready yet and he was very kind and patient. We continued to talk into early 2019 and we developed a really great friendship. We were flirty but he allowed me to have my boundaries, which I appreciated. He asked me again in April if I would be interested in going on a date. It had been nine years since my first sexual assault at that point, and I was tired of letting my trauma hold me back. I was nervous, but I accepted, and we had our first date on May 4th. 

At this point, I was the heaviest I’ve ever been in my life. I was still dealing with body issues, and I was nervous that I wouldn’t live up to any expectations that he might’ve had. However, I felt a certain sense of comfort with him. He didn’t know me outside of brief social media and our conversations for six months – he had no reason to gossip about me nor any reason to lie about himself. He had been patient with me for half a year, and his blunt nature was refreshing in comparison to how many people had lied to me in the past. 

Given both of our living situations, we decided to book a hotel room together. My nerves were going crazy because this was the most daring I’d ever been with someone. He knew not only about my sexual assault but also that I had only had sex once in my life, almost ten years prior. I wasn’t sure what to expect with the date, and he too seemed as nervous as me. I anticipated our dinner to only last an hour or so, but we ended up having an awesome time and stayed in the restaurant for three hours. We were shocked when we saw the time. We drove separately to the hotel, and from there our night was very innocent. He was a gentleman and I’m still grateful to this day that he didn’t betray my trust.

We ended up going on a couple other dates, all within a few weeks of each other. During this time, he found out that his teaching apprenticeship wasn’t being renewed, and that he would have to move back to New York with his family to find work. We did our best to take advantage of our limited time, and he even met my family after our final date. He made me promise to visit him often and said he couldn’t wait to take me on more dates. I felt like I was on cloud nine despite knowing that neither of us were in a position to move forward with a relationship giving the timing. 

Part of me wonders what we could’ve been had I not been scared to date him back in November, but I guess I’ll never know. We still talk frequently, but we haven’t been able to see each other since our last date in June. At the end of the day, he isn’t looking for anything serious now that he has a new career that he worked hard to get to, and I too have no interest in dating. But I’m proud of myself for pushing out of my bubble of trauma and allowing myself to feel human for a month. 

It took me almost ten years to have sex after my first sexual assault. Part of me still to this day feels pathetic for letting it have such a strong hold over me, but I know that it wasn’t my fault, and that I didn’t deserve the things done to me. I know that I’m not perfect, nor will I ever be, and that I should stop feeling ashamed for it. I’m still learning to love myself and how to cope with my past. I’ve spent a decade crying over everything I’ve been through, and it’s exhausting. I may not be normal, and I know I’m still broken, but I’m proud of the distance I’ve come in trying to figure myself out. And I appreciate everyone who has helped me in trying to recover and heal. 

I still do not like being touched unless I initiate it. I still feel uncomfortable when conversations with guys turn sexual. I get frustrated when people ignore my story or my feelings just because they have an ulterior motive or agenda. I cannot express enough that ‘no’ means ‘no’. There is no hidden meaning, no reading between the lines. If I say ‘no’, I mean it. I beg that everyone please be more kind and open minded if someone wants to express their past experiences with you. You could save a life by not only listening, but believing as well.

Please stay safe.

-Jordyn