After the storm

I want to start off by saying that this post is about sexual assault and my experience with it and moving past it. I know this is a hard topic for many people, myself included. It's taken me a really long time to come to terms with what happened to me. And it's taken even longer to be able to share it.

I was only sixteen. I didn't realize it was assault at first. Because it wasn't a stranger. It was my boyfriend at the time. We'll call him W. W was the first guy to ever really ask me out. He was my friend for a while before we started dating. He actually was dating a girl when we first started hanging out, so I felt really comfortable around him. After a bit, W and his girlfriend broke up, and he immediately asked me out. I was too happy to realize it was a red flag.

When we started dating, I had never even kissed a boy before. I had kissed a girl once in sixth grade, but it was a quick peck and she did it without asking me. So, I count W as my first real kiss. He was sweet at first. I like lists and charts and he made a scale of how comfortable he was doing sexual things, and I added to it. As someone who was raised as Catholic as I was, it never really occurred to me that I would have sex before I was married. But all our friends in relationships were doing it and eventually, W said he was ready. It was about four months after we had started dating. We had already said I love you. I figured I was as ready as I could ever be.

Side note, I was about a month into treatment at this point, which he was aware of.

As soon as we started, I knew it was a mistake. I was not ready to be with someone in that way. I hated that he was touching my body and I hated the way it felt. I hated that he was seeing my body. Afterward, he told me that he really, really loved me. I just nodded. I felt sick.

I ended up telling my mom, and she got really upset. She put me on the pill and took me to the doctor and all that stuff. But she made me promise not to have sex again because I was too young. I don't know if sixteen is too young to have sex, but I personally was not ready. So I agreed. I told W that I wasn't ready and that I couldn't just be the girl who came over and had sex in his basement. He said he understood and that he was sorry that it was a bad experience for me, and that he would wait until I was ready to do it again.

About three weeks later, we were hanging out at his house. We were watching tv and making out like teenagers do. Then at some point, W pulled away and asked "are you trying to fuck or what?"

I was shocked. I sat up and said that I told him I wanted to wait. And he told me that I was being selfish because I suddenly decided that I didn't want to have sex after we started. He also said that we were supposed to be in love with each other. That it was a way of expressing that love. And that it made him feel like I didn't actually love him. It made sense to me. He was just so hurt. So I said ok.

I said yes. Then the next time I tried to say no, he convinced me to yes. Every single time, W convinced me to say yes. I convinced myself it wasn't a big deal. Lots of guys are pushy. W loves me. He wouldn't hurt me.

After a while, I think I became ready to be having sex. So sometimes, I didn't have to be convinced. So this one time, we're once again on his basement couch making out with a movie on in the background. And I ask if he's in the mood. He said no, not right now. I said ok. We ended up cuddling and watching tv for a bit. About an hour after I asked, we're still cuddling. I was wearing a sweatshirt with a tank top underneath. I got warm, so I took it off the sweatshirt. It was really hard for me then and still is now to wear tight clothes. It was a big deal that I was comfortable enough with him to wear a tight tank top like that.

"Ugh fine. We'll have sex."

I sat up because I was confused. I didn't say I wanted to have sex. I actually no longer did. So I started to say that I didn't. Then he got up and threw me down against the couch, pinning my arms down. I struggled to get away. But he kept saying things like god you're such a tease. You want this. Lots of things like that. The next thing I know, despite the fact I am asking W to stop, he is not stopping. My pants are off and so are his. Suddenly, we're having sex. Except I'm just laying there trying not to cry with my hands still pinned weakly saying stop. We had a safe word. I said it. He still continued. I might be wrong, but I remember tears going down my face. He still went on.

I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to be over. Finally, it was. I left a little bit after that. I was shocked. For days. Weeks. I'm still shocked all these years later. Yeah, he had pressured me before that. But that time was different. I don't know all the differences between sexual harassment and sexual assault. But I'm pretty sure he raped me that day. At the least, he harassed me. Maybe assaulted. I always tried to suppress it.

W doesn't know that this is my take on what happened. I think to him I was just the first girl he ever had sex with, and the first girl he was ever in love with. That's what he said. I thought I loved him at the time. We dated for ten months. Most of my sophomore and his junior year. I finally broke up with him the summer before my junior and his senior year. He didn't understand it. W and some of his buddies ended up cyberbullying me for a bit after I broke up with him. Deep down, I think W did love me. I don't think he realized how messed up our sex life was. Or how I cried more than once because I didn't want to have sex, but we were having sex.

I was too unsure of what had happened. But I knew deep down that I had been violated. So, as a way to share with my friends but without actually sharing, I started this really messed up lie. I told some of my friends that I went to a party and got raped. Because it was easier to lie about that than tell the truth. I hated myself for that lie. I still am so disappointed in myself that I lied about it. But it was the only way to talk about the fact that I had been assaulted without telling my friends it was the guy that some of them still hung out with.

I bet that if W ever found out I felt this way, he would feel bad. But he would say he didn't mean to. But he did. So I don't know how to feel. I never have. I'm not even sure if what he did was rape. I just know that he had sex with me when I did not consent and asked him to stop. I know that it happened more than once. I know that it messed me up for a long time.

Because my life has never been the same. I heard it said once that life never goes back to normal after you get assaulted. That a new sense of normal happens, but that it's never the same. I think it's true. I'm more cautious now. Currently, I am dating a man with who I have a great relationship. I feel safe with him and can trust him. But I still am careful what type of guy I hang out with.

The whole l0ve language thing is something I've always believed in. Physical touch was always mine. I had trouble letting other people touch me before anything with W happened because of my body dysmorphia, but I always would be touching my friends and family. I had a lot of trouble touching people and being touched after this happened. I resent W for taking that away from me. Now, I've started to become comfortable with touching and being touched again.

People don't like to talk about how being assaulted affects you years later. They talk about when it first happens, they talk about preventing it and getting justice. They don't talk about how it sets you back in treatment for your eating disorder or how it makes you uncomfortable around guys even though you have four brothers and dad who you're really close to. They don't talk about how it kills you to be scared to hug your own father because your boyfriend hurt you.

Because it's like a storm. There's a buildup, a sense things are about to go wrong. Then it hits. Then it's supposed to be over, but all the trees have been knocked down just like you've been knocked down. It stays with you even after the storm. And it always will.