Trigger warning, this blog will get very deep and sensitive topics of sexual assault; mental illness and emotional abuse will be present from the start.
So I guess this title was a fitting way to start and pretty much says it all. I was abused. My abuser is only half a year younger than me, but age doesn't mean anything in this sort of issue, I just felt the need to address his age because it started when we were sixth formers and I was a year 13 and he was a year 12 and he failed that year, so he's finally in year 13 now. I didn't want any confusion when I mention things along the line.
I actually blogged about when I first met him and reading it back is kinda funny because at the time, Giraffe was the one causing me heartache, yet nothing could ever have compared to what my abuser caused me in 3 years. Here it is: http://thedailycomplains.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/heartbreak-hotel.html. My personal highlight:
First of all, some guy was talking to me and my friend, asked our names, and then said our friend was "fit". Thanks. I did spend forever on my hair today, I did spend hours in the bathroom trying to look good and I did repeatedly make myself sick to be thin. But hey, if my friend's fit, then that's fine. Fine. In case you're wondering, no, I do not like this guy; I've never met him before.I think that was a good sign that whatever happened between me and him, it was also going to be doomed, but alas, Giraffe was my heart breaker then and anyone else was my knight and shining armour. It's strange looking at this because I think I am showing very early signs of BPD. I wouldn't be surprised if by this point, I was starting to develop it further and this incident pushed it more. Ah, but even compared to now, it was all so simple. My abuser was a mere stranger who knew nothing about me nor I him. Can we go back to then? Granted, I was self harming, purging, extreme dieting emotional wreck, but I'm still all those things now, just labelled as 'Emotionally Unstable'.
My abuser was vulgar to a lot of women. He hit on them, showed them pics of dicks and vaginas, kept asking them to send him nudes, made them touch him, touched them sexually even though they said no. Hmm, that's sexual assault, right? Until I got into my second year of university and part of the SU, I didn't know what sexual assault was - I thought it was merely rape and that was it. So when my friend confided in me that he had touched her and barricade the door so she couldn't leave, whilst I thought he was a sick vile cunt, I and her were relieved it didn't go further. When she told me straight afterwards, I pleaded with her to stay away from him and to report him. The latter didn't happen because she was afraid that people would judge her, but the first happened. She stayed away and I look up to her for being brave after it, I would have crumbled - I had so easily over a fucking rejection note after all.
I didn't stay away though and that's why I think I deserved the abuse. I knew his reputation and what he did to my best friend, but I couldn't stay away. It was as I described earlier, every other guy was my knight and shining armour and he paid attention to me. He didn't tell me I wasn't pretty enough and he certainly didn't reject me - he was pursuing me. He was viewing me in a sexual way and I felt like I was winning at a game I didn't understand. He spoke to me like the guys I fantasised about in television or movies - he was the bad boy I thought I needed since the nice guy didn't. I'm such a walking cliché! I didn't realise what he was doing was wrong though. He spoke about my breasts in front of everyone and my friend - the friend he assaulted. He knew my breast size before my name. I was flattered at the time that I was getting the so called taste of what I thought was normal. I was happy, finally. But I wasn't really. I needed more and I became more desperate for love and attention - the classic Borderline signs.
He finally added me on Facebook the final day of April and I accepted it the moment I saw it when I woke up. Even took a picture of it! I had it now. I went through his profile immediately, trying to understand him and win his heart the way he was winning mine. I needed saving from Giraffe, the "spawn of Satan" in my eyes at the time. I didn't talk to him yet though, I was too anxious to make that move. I never approach guys, that's just not my thing given how anxious I can be. So I waited and then I bit the bullet and just did it. I asked him if he listened to Nine Inch Nails' Closer and then the gate was opened. Had I opened it or did he do it long before that? The gate? The sex gate...
I can't remember when exactly, but my abuser and I were now in a Facebook talking kinda relationship now. We spoke about music and our mutual tastes - he often complimented my tastes and we shared music to each other - he was the guy who got me into Hollywood Undead after all! But then one Thursday, the rain was chucking it down and Ruby was talking to this girl Laura about relationship problems. Obviously this annoyed me given a) I was single af and heart broken and b) Giraffe was in the fucking room at the time making the pain worse. So I went upstairs. Well, first I walked past him and went upstairs. I was going to make myself sick I think. Anyway, I stopped because I saw him coming up the stairs and I just stood there, pretending to use my phone and wait by the window for him. He had to wash his hands, apparently. When he came out, the moment I had always dreamed of happened - he asked for my number! I had seen this done on television and film for so long that when it happened to me, I wanted to just throw myself at him and say, "take me, dammit!" I didn't, btw, I acted coy and gave it to him, he gave me his and he said he'd text me after I told him I didn't use WhatsApp. Shocker, he didn't text me.
After that, exams were on my mind and Giraffe's girlfriend had been revealed, so I was devastated and hurting myself more and more. Guess who was my saving grace? My abuser, obviously. He would ask how I was, acknowledge me, talk to me - everything I wanted and needed. Sometimes he ignored me in favour of my friends, but it didn't matter because he was a nice guy really. Yeeeaaah, every one of my friends (except one) disagreed as well as my teachers.. But what did they know! I said fuck it and I made every attempt to get him to pay more attention to me. I got WhatsApp, I acted sexy on SnapChat and I felt the confidence in me grow more and more everyday! All because he treated me like a woman!
...But then he asked if I was a virgin. It was June now and I finished my exams. We would talk late into the night and early hours. He asked if I was a virgin. How the fuck did we get here?! The gates were opened, remember. He asked, I lied and that cemented our future. I always remember that day because it was my first panic attack in a year. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't stop getting sick. I felt like a slut when he uttered those 3 letters. D.T.F. He asked if I was dtf. I didn't even know what that meant and when I searched it, I froze in fear and tried running away, but he kept messaging me over and over again. Shit, why did I lie?! I can't back out now, he's clearly interested, I can't stop now. Keep going. I asked if he was. He answered immediately - "if I am single, yes. If I'm not, no." I asked what he was and quickly, he replied - single. I panicked more and more, I wasn't ready for this. I phoned everyone for help, but it was late. I finally answered and said not now and he said fair. I sighed in relief, I got away with it. I hadn't though. My abuser wanted pictures, he wanted sex. Prom night he messaged me, he wanted pics. Not of my dress though. I tried being clever a few times - when he asked to see my "tits" I would say but the dress is so nice (it was btw) or send him pictures of a blue tit. We were now on WhatsApp now. The messages couldn't be avoided. They kept coming and coming (pardon the pun) and my abuser was getting annoyed. He DEMANDED pictures now and scared, I sent him teasers on SnapChat - it was the safest way to get him to like me and keep giving me the love and attention. This had to stop.
It did, somehow. I distracted myself with other people and became Depressed. Death was the only thing I wanted and thought about as results day got closer. Death was the only thing I needed. It wasn't until results day when the sex came back and I was greeted with texts that was clearly his suggestion we fuck. I was too depressed though. The week after, however, and I fucked up massively and I was now officially hooked after we started speaking about it and I could no longer hide.
I could go on with details for the next few years, but I don't think it will ever summarise what happened between me and my abuser. The thing that still haunts me is when I went back to the school and he backed me into the corner by the window, touched me and demanded I show him my nude pictures. I did because I physically couldn't escape now. When I showed him, he hit on my friend and I fell into a pit of severe depression and had another panic attack. This was only a few days till I left for Uni and this was not what I needed. He touched me. My body. I felt weird. Strange. It tingled. It felt wrong, but right. I thought that's all I was worth.
I wish I could change what happened because after that, my health declined and he played me like a fool. He told me what I could say, dress, what I should look like. When I was proud of something, he took it away from me. He played my illness and treated me like a game. He dangled sex in front of me as if I was nothing to him. There may be no physical scars, but every night I lay awake terrified to sleep because I can't face another vivid dream of him - of what he did and how people wouldn't believe me. He would change all the time, acting sweet one minute, and a vile monster the next. It hurts, everyday.
I was abused. I'm not a victim, I'm a survivor. But I was still abused.