#not radical feminism but i have nowhere else to talk about this ok

[lettucedloophole]

TFW WHEN YOU SLAY THAT MOTHERFUCKING SPIRE

[taramaclaywasaterf]

@eboniidoll so this got a lot longer than I intended, I’m so sorry lol. This got into some deep stuff that I didn’t plan on talking about on here, but I figure it’s good to share, especially for anyone who could potentially relate.

When I was a teenager I was just starting to realize I was a lesbian and it was like my mind was physically rejecting it. I ended up getting into a “relationship” with a 20 year old man who was...not great, to say the least. I was broke growing up and my dad and I were constantly moving (I went to 4 different high schools in a matter of 2 years, freshman and sophomore) so I basically had no friends either. I was never in a school long enough to make any. So by the 4th school, I was pretty much desperate for ANYBODY ya know? And this guy, the 20 year old, he pretty much took advantage of that. I met him through some girl in my class when I asked who to buy weed from (lol.)

He started out pretending to be my friend, and when we got close, I ended up confiding in him that I thought I may be gay, but that I don’t want to be. Welp, he pounced on that. Then the manipulation and abuse started. He treated me like shit, but every time I would confront him, he’d start crying. Punching himself in the head. Threatening to kill himself. Even going as far as to get a razor and hold it to his arms, even cutting himself sometimes when it was really bad. And he’d do this for EVERYTHING. Even something as dumb as “hey ashed your cigarette on my jeans.” The switch would flick and he’d start crying and screaming “oh I’m such a fuck up, oh you don’t deserve me, oh I should just die, you’re better off without me, you’d like it that way, everyone thinks you’re better than me anyway” and bullshit like that. To the point where *I’d* end up having to apologize to *him* for him hurting me.

Then the rape started. First he started forcing me to kiss him. He’d grab my face, and if I said no, he’d pull the same “oh I’ll just kill my self” bullshit and start punching himself in the head. Then he’d go further. And further. And pretty soon, within a few months, he had me so exhausted that I just laid there and essentially let him masturbate using my body instead of his hand.

Then it got worse, and I think it’s because he knew he’d gotten me so worn down that I wasn’t going anywhere, you know? He started boasting about how he “turned a dyke straight” even though he KNEW I didn’t want anyone to know I was scared and unsure of my sexuality. Every time we had “sex” he’d say shit along the lines of “yeah my cocks so good even lesbians want it” and even “see, you’re not a dyke, you’re fucking me” as if him forcing a 16 year old to fuck him was an accomplishment. I started viewing sex as a punishment, and therapy has helped me realize a few things, but first let me explain what else happened:

First, I asked him to choke me. I’d started watching BDSM-type porn when our “relationship” began, and that’s where I got the idea. He’d choke me until my face pretty much turned blue.

Then, when he started hitting me in the face while choking me, I didn’t stop him. I saw it in porn, and I figured it was normal. I guess I kinda “liked” it. I “liked” it because it hurt.

Then he started hitting me across my face and my breasts, leaving bruises across my chest that I’d have to hide with high neck tops and concealer.

Then it was spinning me around, slapping my back and butt, and pulling my hair. And it all just kept getting worse. He started leaving bigger, deeper bruises. He started drawing blood. Never outside of sexual scenerios. Just when we were naked.

Whatever he wanted to do to me, I just...let him, in the loosest sense of the word “let.” I essentially just became a blowup doll for him to throw around and stick his dick in wherever he pleased, no matter how bad it hurt or if I bled or if I cried, and whenever I said no, he’d punch himself in the head, call himself ugly, cry about how he was such a fuck up, and say he was gonna kill himself.

I also started initiating “sex” with him for the first time, even if I’d wind up faking an orgasm and praying for him to hurry up and finish in the end. I even ended up aggressively initiating sex with him. It makes me want to puke just thinking about it. If we were sitting on the couch and other people were over, I’d literally suck his dick in front of those people, and I’d initiate it. Again, just thinking about it makes me want to fucking die.

During all this, he isolated me from everyone, even my dad. The few other friends I made, he scared them away. He painted this picture of me-like most abusers do- that I was the crazy irrational one. That I was the abusive one.

I was also watching more and more porn that featured women getting beaten, with the classic words like “forced” and “helpless” in the title. Again, I was a teenager. And this was pretty much all I did, especially when school was out for summer and was spending 24/7 at the guy’s house, even when he was out selling, because I pretty much had nowhere else to go. At that point, my dad had all but *told* me that he kicked me out. My dad changed the locks so that my key didn’t work, and wouldn’t answer the phone when I called him.

Basically, through therapy, I’ve realized that the reason I asked him to choke me in the first place was because I *wanted* to be punished. I wanted to self harm, even through sex. But then I’d watch the porn obsessively to convince myself this was normal. “See! I’m not crazy, these girls are doing it too! They like it, so it’s ok that I do, too!” I realized that, when I initiated sex, it was near the *end* of the “relationship.” It was my mind subconsciously realizing this was wrong. It was me trying to get my power back. It was me saying “no. This is MY choice. I’m gonna have sex on my OWN terms, not HIS.” It was stupid in retrospect, obviously. But I was young and going through a lot.

Then, I ended up getting pregnant. I found out the day before my 17th birthday, and by the time I found out, it was too late for an abortion. This is something I’ve never spoken about on here, and I really don’t like speaking about at all, but I had the baby a few months later, and gave him up for adoption. I’m actually still in contact with the adoptive family, and we get together every mother’s day. I text the adoptive mom often, and she’s actually one of the reasons I’ve gotten so heavily into radical feminism. She’s my hero, and she’s become a sort of mother figure for me as well. My own mother was abusive, as was hers, so she’s there for me. Even while I was in the hospital giving birth, she cared more about me and my health than the baby. They live about 6 hours away, so I can’t see her often, but she always calls and texts and lets me know that she loves me too, and says that she feels like she’s adopted both a son and a daughter (me.)

In the end, the guy is in prison for something completely unrelated, and he has zero contact with the baby (now toddler), something the adoptive mother promised me will be permanent.

I haven’t spoken to him in years, and hopefully never will. Thinking about it still makes me cry sometimes. I’m still not over it. It’s hard, and I’m still healing. But I know I am getting better.

I’m sorry that got so long, but there was just a lot to talk about. I’ve never really gone into detail about all of this on here before, but yeah. I’m not gonna go through and edit this before posting, so I apologize for any errors