When it happened the first time, I cried myself to sleep and made him promise it would never happen again. He made me think it was just a misunderstanding.

When it happened a second time, I threw him out and didn’t talk to him for days. Eventually he made me believe that this time was the last time.

When it happened a third time, it was easier to just give up…it was easier to do what he said than to resist and deal with the constant pressure he imposed upon me…it was easier to pretend like I was fine than to face the fact that I had been raped. I think it’s like when you’re in shock from a terrible accident and you can’t feel the pain until you look at your wounds. As long as I didn’t think about it, I could pretend like it never happened.

But I looked at my wounds, and now I can’t pretend. I’m not going to lie and say I feel better. I have no idea how to handle this.