When I was 12 I had a boyfriend who was 4 years older than me. When I was 12 said boyfriend decided he wanted to have sex and me, being young and curious and having not a fucking clue what that really involved (largely emotionally although I knew the theory but wasn't ready for the reality), agreed, only to try and pull back consent when it was dark and he was looming over me and I felt trapped and scared. Only for him to try anyway, holding me down, until I got too loud (what with the crying and yelling) and he got scared that someone would come in. It took me about ten years to be able to call this attempted rape (I took back consent and he didn't stop).
Over the next wee while he worked on me. I don't remember the details anymore. But I know that I ended up feeling like I was being a bad girlfriend, a bad girl, a cock tease, that he would go away and everyone would know I was frigid and weird and... you get the idea, so I gave in. It's taken me 16 years, and a support worker, to get close to accepting that this was child abuse. 12yos are too young to make those decisions.
I was with him for 4 years, we had sex though out, and to me it was a chore, occasionally fun but usually boring and occasionally traumatic. It was something I had to do it because I was his girlfriend and it was my job. I also thought (sometimes think) that I was WrongDirtyBad and I was going to Hell for sinning. Jesus and his Dad were big figures in my head when I was a teen, probably because I still sort of believed in them. I'm over that religious stuff now (but I still worry that I'm wrong and that I'm going to hell for having sex so young even though, intellectually, I think all of that stuff is guff). I also think that God sounds like a complete arsehole and I don't want to believe in a misogynist who is pro-genocide.
My mother found out within a week. She gave me a talk about using protection but told me she wouldn't stop it. It was my decision. I was, sometimes am, really angry at her for this. My father still reckons he knows nothing. I have told him many times and he claims obliviousness everytime. I don't buy that he was oblivious- my 6-10 year old brother knew (he walked in on us), my 9-13yo sister knew (because she felt it meant she needed to lose hers early to keep up). I didn't mean to screw up my sister. I'm really sorry if I did because I love her and I want her healthy and secure and whole. I'm not sure how to classify this aspect of the whole affair- my support worked seems to think Mum and Dad were complicit in child abuse and therefore being Not Good Parents. Also, possibly, criminal. I don't want to blame my parents however. It makes me feel WrongGuiltyBad.
Also, we never did use protection. The Asshole didn't like it and, even though I kept telling him we needed to use condoms, he just point blank refused and I didn't want to be a bad girl so... it just added to the WrongDirtyBad. It also meant that I spent four years paranoid I was pregnant and too scared to check when I missed periods. This also means that, despite the fact that I am certain I had at least one miscarriage (it felt different, it looked different) I don't have a confirmation of this. Because I never checked I was pregnant. And I never took the strange bloody lump to the doctors to be analysed because I was fourteen and I didn't want to get anyone into to trouble: not me, not Asshole, not my parents. I also didn't want everyone to know- I was already being bullied at school, I was already being violently attacked. Hell, by that point I was already used to fending off stones being thrown at my body and had gone through the fun incident where boys tried to set my hair on fire. Arseholes.
The net result of all this is hard to quantify, to justify. I haven't had sex in years because, when I tried, I always panicked. I always end up remembering that it was dark and he was looming and I was scared. I always ended up feeling like, if I stopped, I would be bad, I would be a tease, that I had a duty (there's that word again, where does this idea of duty come from?) to finish what I had started. BTW, the looming dark panicking thing still happened when I was on top and the lights were on. It's an image that flashed in my head and made me panic. A few times it even happened when I was all on my own. I don't like male body parts, the idea of sperm makes me feel ill and kind of creeped out, and yet I seem to persist on being straight. Because I am straight just like gay people just are gay. It's what you are, end of story. I want to have children, but I don't want to have a man or, even, sex. I kind of like the idea of harvesting eggs and having it all done in a lab with lots of screening for disease and asshattery of the sperm. I feel panicked when men appear to be interested in me. I self sabotage when this happens, I make myself ugly for a few days and I stop going out because, get this, I'm scared. I have a feeling this may also be the reason why I screw up my every healthy eating plan.
I'm afraid all the time. I'm lonely. I don't really want to be around other people. I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to assume that anyone wants to be around me because I don't have anything interesting to say. I spend most of my time online where I still don't make any real friends because, well, why would anyone want to be friends with me. I want to get better but I don't know how. My mother says I need to stop thinking so much. My support worker suggests that I just go out and do things and try anyway. Sometimes I just want to wake up and be better, but that's never going to happen.
I have three weeks left of my support worker. I'm a bit worried about that although I'm not convinced that it's done a damn thing other than give me outside confirmation that, yes, The Asshole was bad, and the sex was abuse, and the way he treated me was abusive. I suppose that's something, that confirmation, but still...
It's a process right? And I just need to keep on working on it. Then, one day, I'll be ok.
12 years ago
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