Anonymous Story: Why I Can’t Write “Me Too” But I Need To

Anonymous Story: Why I Can’t Write “Me Too” But I Need To

I have to write this anonymously because I can’t write it publicly, I can’t. I just can’t. My mom is on the there, my dad, my sick grandma. Let alone all the people I’ve hidden this from for so long. I can’t write “me too” on Facebook because I just can’t.

It started when I was 15. I met a cute boy and I was naive and everyone else I knew was losing their virginity. You see, I went to this private school for middle school, and even at young ages, they were all cute and had nice hair and wore makeup. I didn’t. I felt ugly and awkward at all times and my mom didn’t let my shave my legs until 8th grade. When I went to high school, I lost the braces, got contacts, and invested in a hair straightener. So back to 15. I guess you could say the night started off consensual enough over texts. But he showed up to pick me up and I was already nervous.

He showed up with a friend. It was the first time a boy had ever picked me up from my dads. He warned them that nothing better happen. My dad’s an alcoholic. I took it as a loose threat because he was drunk but still knew something was wrong. I just laughed nervously and 15 year old me told my dad to stop embarrassing me.

We didn’t even go straight to the party. Just down the street. The boy I thought liked me convinced me that I had to have sex with both of them. I knew it was wrong but what I was I going to say? I know them both to this day, and I’ve never told either one of them that it was my first (and second I guess) time.

In my mind, I needed to justify this. Needed to prove to myself that they liked me at all and I didn’t totally just ruin my life. I kept spending time with them. Even to the point that rumors swirled at school. I lost all my friends at school and only depended on the guys more. The rumors got worse the sexual things got worse. I simply became a vessel for their friends and I couldn’t say no. They were all I had. I was trapped. All of their friends. All of my innocence. All of my (so called) friends gone over just speculation that at most times wasn’t even as bad as what was happening to me. I felt like I had no choice. I felt helpless. I felt trapped. They were the only relationships I had for a while. I couldn’t fucking bear to be alone. I should have just been alone.

I told one of them I was thinking about killing my self (at least he told me not to). I discretely cut myself for a while (couldn’t let anyone find out). Drank too much too young (didn’t really care what happened to me). This happened for years. I couldn’t bring myself to leave no matter how many times I said “no” or “I can’t do this” or “why” or even just felt scared.

Thankfully, I went away to college, and it stopped. I got distracted. Life was better I guess. It still haunts me. This story still tells nothing even of what happened. If you looked at me now, you’d think I was probably fine, just maybe drank too much. Do I think about it? Yes. Does it affect me from having normal feelings about sex? Yes. Does it affect normal relationships? Yes and they don’t understand why. When I finally get a normal relationship, I dread the question “so how many guys have you been with?” or “tell me what you want.” You see, it was never about what I wanted, so I don’t have an answer. I literally don’t know. I never was asked and don’t know how to communicate it. I almost get a panic attack because I don’t know how it’s supposed to be about what I want? As for how many guys I’ve been with – that question paralyzes me. I have to lie. How could anyone understand what happened and not be disgusted and run away? I nervously say my planned answer but feel like anyone that’s heard it knows it’s a lie. I can’t let it ruin my life – again.

So yes, #MeToo. But I don’t want anyone’s pity. I feel ashamed and disgusted and stupid for not stopping it after I’d go home crying every day. I just want to feel strong for myself on this for once for saying something.



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