By an anonymous contributor
The first time we had sex I was so scared. It was in the loft of his garage and I felt so far away from anyone. I remember thinking that I should just give in because that way I won’t get hurt. If I fought back or resisted there would be no body to hear my screams and I was unsure what he would do. So I let it happen. This is the most regrettable thing I have ever done to myself. I feel that I am not even a victim because I let it all happen. I know I didn’t deserve it but I could have stopped it, maybe. I am the one that told him it was okay to treat me like trash, thus I am the one that open the gates of hell. After the first time we had sex he became more eager for more. It felt like he was never happy unless we did something new every time. He started slapping me and pulling my hair. One time when I resisted the hair pulling he stopped fucking me looked in my eyes and grabbed my throat. At first the choking was gentile. Gentile but still terrifying although I could push him away easily. Later when we ran out of “new things” the choking got harder and soon I was wearing turtlenecks and scarves to school to cover up bruises on my neck. When I would try to push him off he would whisper in my ear “I can tell you like it rough. Women always act this way when they like it”. The sex got so rough that often I would bleed afterwards. I showered every time he left but I still felt dirty. I wanted to crawl out of my skin but I couldn’t so I would scrub my skin dry. Trying to get this feeling off of me. Soon after the choking started he would also bound my wrists or ankles together with scarves he would wear. He would tie my wrists together and tie them to furniture or just to my ankles. I never had bruising from this but my level of fear increased dramatically at this point. I could no longer push him away or resist him. My one level of defence was taken from me. I was too scared to even talk. I felt frozen. Sometimes I would cry but that never stopped him. He would just roll my body around like an object. Where ever was most convenient for him. He did whatever he wanted to me and I felt helpless to do anything. After the experimenting with bondage I never fought back. Even with the bounds off I didn’t think anything I did would make a difference. He was in charge and I was common trash. I felt lost. I turned my emotions off the best I could which I think was part of the reason I stayed the year and a half I did. I got into a rhythm. When we started dating all my friends left me (because they didn’t like him) so he was the only person I could talk to and that took interest in me. It’s embarrassing to even write about it. I feel ashamed and embarrassed that I stayed and let this carry on for so long. I’m embarrassed that it happened. Sex is so personal it is embarrassing to think, talk and write about this. Although I have so much emotion around this I’m sick of obsessing over it. “I want to break free” as the infamous Freddy would say. I want to be an advocate and share my story but I also don’t want to be my story. I want to live past this. I want to be more. I want to make a change.