I have always censored my journals, worried about someone getting ahold of it and judging me for my horrific thoughts. I was recently raped, and it is hard for me to call it that. Its hard because I always thought of rape as something that happened like a predator pray scenario. I was raped by a boy who I loved. I loved him in the intoxicating way where I would have done anything for him. He was the person I planned to marry I thought that I was in a loving caring relationship. I thought that after having shitty taste on guys I found the perfect guy. He was sweet and funny and smart, and I just connected with him. The thing is because I labeled him as the good guy, I let a lot of slide. Things I would not have previously. See we had an undeniable chemistry, even when we were kissing it was intoxicating. I felt like I could not stop I wanted more. Maybe my first red flag should have been not even a week in we got in trouble with the cops for making out in the back seat of his car. The second one should have been that I risked my parents trust by sneaking him into the house. The third was a month into our relationship he was already pressuring me into sex. The only reason I escaped it was because I remember condoms. I thought because I was more experienced than him that I was tainting him, that I was the issue through the relationship. I thought this when he told me his parents called me toxic and when he would do things that I did not agree with and I felt shitty for being mad about something he did wrong. I remember I suspected he was cheating on me and instead of easing my worries he helped that girl get a job and made me feel crazy because he said he loved me why would he cheat on me. It sucked because I had been cheated on by other guys in the past and he knew this. He did not try and ease my mind at all, yet when he had insecurities, I was the one who had to make him feel better. When we broke up, I was exhausted, I was sick of carrying both of our burdens. I guess I did it because I was hoping for the boy, I fell in love with to come back. I missed the laughter the playfulness and yet when that was gone it was a lot of fighting and I felt like I was the toxic one the one who initiated the fighting. My parents would ignore my problems with him because they thought I was overreacting; the thing is there was so much I was not telling them. They did not know I was looking for a way out and was too scared to leave. I wanted to know how to leave, and I could not figure it out. People thought I was going to marry him, and I felt trapped and figured I would because I did not know how else to escape it. I loved him more then I loved myself so when we broke up, I was forced to learn how to love myself. Then I was forced to learn how to love myself and cope with a rape.

I am not great about keeping up with how I am feeling. Recently in therapy my therapist asked why I continue to defend him. It was such as simple question, why do I defend the person who hurt me who made me feel useless, unworthy, unlovable? The reason sounded more horrific than I cared to admit. I felt like I was the abusive one in the relationship. In hindsight it sounds ridiculous but whenever I had a problem, I wanted to speak to him about it. Yet somehow, I would feel guilty for even bringing the problem to him. He would make me pity him, or worse bring up the fact that it was always ME who had a problem. It sucked because everyone in my life would tell me he was too good to me, that I just walked all over him when I felt like I was tip toeing around the real issues. Its sad because now I could have an issue and suddenly, I feel like I cannot communicate these issues to the people that are important in my life because I am the problem. I was raped and it was horrific, it is the very thing that keeps me up at night. I was also the victim of some extreme manipulation and I have not felt like myself in a long time because of it. Prior to him, I felt as if life was like floating on my back waiting until I hit land and now, I am trying to float on my back in a category 5 hurricane with a backpack of bricks on my back and I cannot help but wonder if the kicking is even worth it. I know how terrible it sounds but I am lost confused and have been thrown for a loop because I never thought I would be in this scenario and even 6 months later I am still struggling with the very real fact that I was raped. I was raped by someone who I loved and cared for and no matter how much I wanted him to be my person he just was not. It was nice because my grandmother who had been in an abusive relationship said that its easy to think relationships should be hard, but they should not. It should not have to be a constant fight to be with that person, now there will be disagreements and arguments but it should not feel like an uphill battle every single day. It was refreshing to hear that because I have always sort have idolized the relationship she has with my grandfather, I honestly do not know if she would have found something that amazing if she had not been through her situation. Not to justify it but I think that it gives clarity on what is a red flag when you have never thought to look for one. It is also difficult for me because I know that my grandmother’s abuser is out there, I know that he has never had to pay any repercussions, that he has since had daughters, still is drinking alcohol even though he clearly had problems, yet my grandmother struggled for the better part of a decade. She had children with her abuser and honestly that is where I feel lucky. I did not have his children and I have no reason for his contact. Yet he gets to walk free and if he wanted to rape another person he could, and I have not done a damn thing to stop it except panic in the middle of the night.

I have learned that I now have an issue with rape culture. I mean obviously rape should bother me. It should bother anyone. Part of me believes that I was raped because he was trying to keep me and thought that if he did it, he could keep me because I would feel powerless. What is bothersome is that I was raped by someone that was seemingly normal. He was not your stereotypical bad boy; he was the nerdy boy who loved to code and wanted to be a programmer. It is weird to normalize him because all I want to do is villainize him. He is the villain in my story; however, the cultural phenomena are that rape is okay. Viewing women as objects are okay, I mean it seen every single day when we talk about catcalling, when we talk about women’s bodies, when porn is a norm, and when consent is more of a taboo then sex itself. I am 19 and I have had more talks with my parents about sex itself then I have about consent. In sexual education class abstinence is taught to avoid pregnancy which in it of itself is inherently flawed, yet the same principle of consent preventing rape is not applied. I am mad for thousands of reasons, I am mad because I am a victim, because I know other victims, because being a victim is the most powerless feeling, most isolating feeling in the world. To continue this, I am mad because today a little boy ran up and poked my boob. The parents should have ridiculed him, they should have been furious with him; instead, they laughed. I was sitting there thinking this little boy should know better than to run up to girls and touch them. He should have known not to randomly touch strangers. Yet the next thought in my head is that his parents do not understand that. They do not understand the very importance of consent. Yes, he is young but that shows how young this nature is enforced in boys. What is even more infuriating is I could not say anything because I do not want to overstep and tell parents how to parent, yet at the same time I did not want to get in trouble with my boss and get fired. I would rather stay silent about rape risk my job. That is how horrendously intertwined rape is in the country. It is more often to be heard about how sexual assault will ruin a man’s career then it is to hear about how rape ruined a women’s life. How one day she was just a girl and suddenly, she is a victim, and she must fight to survive. Fight the anger, pretend everything is fine when she cannot even breath in her own skin, how being in a room feels uncomfortable and hugs are violating. No matter how much I shower I never feel clean because I still remember the feeling as if it were currently happening. Yet while I suffer from all this fear and this anxiety, I still am in denial about the very fact that I was raped.