I've been asked to share my experiences, and a way to cope with these things.
Just to recap, I was raped a year ago. The man who did this was my boyfriend. This is a long story, and parts of it are blurred by my memory.
How we met? I honestly don't remember. I don't know why, but it's not there. I do know this: he was the kindest man I'd ever known, and I thought he was perfect.
I remember parts of the relationship. He was very kind- seemed to know what to say, when to say it, and how to make me love him. Perhaps I'm twisting things, but looking back it seems like it was almost manufactured. I'm not sure. I wish I had some knowledge of that.
I was, as many of you know, highly unstable. I was extremely vulnerable, extremely trusting, and I needed someone that was there for me- physically and emotionally. That person was him, it seemed. All the love I could get everywhere else seemed to be lacking in emotion or lacking in physicality, due to distance most often. He was very affectionate, hugged me a lot, kissed me a lot, and seemed to relate to me extremely well. This makes me, in hindsight, rather wary of myself.
I forgot to mention. I was, at the time, 13. And he was 22. or 23. I really am not too sure, now I think of it.
He liked to show me off to his friends. I was a pretty little thing to have on his shoulder. There were times when he would take me to his house, and he'd have me... model?... for them. He was very proud of me, and never tired of telling me how much he loved me, doing me little favors and giving me little gifts.
One event, however, stuck in my mind. He had a rule with his friends. Look, but don't touch. At some point, one of his friends was flirting with me. I didn't quite understand it all, I am actually rather unaware and inept at such things. (I'm not a social person, especially anymore.) My boyfriend, when he found out, beat this man. I wasn't a witness to it, I thank the gods, but I certainly found out. He beat him with a wooden chair, and because this fellow broke the rules of what I suppose was a sort of club (I was largely unaware of the goings-on of this thing) nobody seemed to confront my boyfriend. He told me that this was more proof he loved me, that he would never let anyone hurt me.
Around this time he had started touching me, treating me more sexually. He told me that he wanted me to be happy, and that if I loved him I'd want him to be happy as well. This made him happy, so I let him. I may have been young, but I wasn't a child. I knew this was wrong. But I wanted to do everything he told me, to prove to him I loved him.
I really did love him.
One night I was at his house at a party. (In case thou wondreth, my parents were unaware of my nocturnal escapades. The specifics of my escapes aren't going to be disclosed because I'm not telling you this so you'll go do it. Figure it out on your own.) I got drunk. After everyone left, he asked me to get in bed with him, to cuddle. He asked me to take off my clothing. I was drunk, I wasn't thinking. I did so, and I got in bed. Soon enough, he was getting ready to fuck me. I told him no, that I didn't want to do it.
This is where I lose it. I don't know what happens here. I can't remember a damn thing until maybe a day after, or maybe as soon as it was done. I honestly don't know.
The lasting effects of this?
For a very long time I couldn't mention this to anyone, I was terrified, sickened, and destroyed. Only recently did I come to terms.
I do not know what love means. I have become, according to many, either entirely controlling or entirely submissive. This is not healthy. I do not understand what it means to love someone. In theory I do, but it isn't something I can wrap my head around- or my heart.
My memory has lapsed more and more over the past year, and while I find myself remembering more about this happening as time passes, there are times I'm not aware of two days past, thinking it was a dream or just losing the memories. This is, I believe, a result of the trauma.
My self esteem has lowered largely, and though I'm on the road to recovery I'm still not there. The fact that it lowered was impressive, since I hated myself already.
I had become all but a whore. I'm rather sad to say that for a while my body was up for grabs by the nearest man. This was bad. I thought I was no better than a rag doll.
I was in a deep spiral of hate and misery that I didn't want to leave already, and this sent me deeper. I never wanted to have real help, because that would mean responsibility for myself.
If anyone has questions, ask. My eyes are burning from the computer screen. I can't write any more.