Despite the pain they’re filled with, so many of these posts are beautifully written. I’ve always wanted to turn my hurts into something hauntingly lovely in its fucked-up-edness, Lolita style, but my story still feels ugly. Enough for now just to write it down.
three years, beginning when I was fifteen, I was in a verbally, and
occasionally physically, abusive relationship. We believed that we loved
each other and that we would get married, and it never occurred to me
that abuse happens even in high school, even in your first relationship,
even when you are practically still children. When I was with him I
felt dirty and empty and useless and scared, and I didn’t realize how
wrong it was until years later. That’s not really the problem anymore,
though; just how the problem arose.
The problem is that in
fictional portrayals, the abused girl realizes her strength and
immediately finds a man who respects her and loves her – when from what
I’ve seen, bad relationships are followed by self-loathing, sexual
recklessness, and shattered confidence. I know that I have not had it
nearly as hard as many of the people posting to this site. I know. But
too many times I’ve woken up the morning after and cried on my floor,
brushed my teeth, scrubbed my skin, and brushed my teeth again. Too many
times I’ve been too scared and confused to try to say no, or I’ve been
ignored when I do. Too many times I’ve been screaming in my head and not
known how to scream out loud.
My body is mine and I want it
back. You can’t touch it unless I want you to, and if I don’t want you
to, don’t try to convince me. I’m sick of not feeling like I can respect
myself and I’m sick of not feeling like others should respect me.