I posted yesterday. I fear I will be posting a hell of alot in this community.
When I was twelve I got in with the wrong crowd. When I was thirteen a eighteen year old guy called Marc and I started a relationship together. I was too young, too naive. Too stupid. He raped me for months on end. He would tie my wrists behind my back and hang me by them. He dislocated both of my shoulders on various occasions. He broke my wrist twice, four of my fingers, three toes, dislocated my kneecap, he was the reason for my skull cracking twice, the reason for all the cuts and bruises.
It went on for four years.
After a time, I fell pregnant. I was confused and terrified. I didn't know if it was his, or my own fathers. I went to him. I cried on his shoulder. I loved him. I can't understand it, and I never will. But after all he'd done, I still loved him. He told me he'd make this better, that we would work it out.
He hung me by the wrists every day for what seemed like months, but was only a week or two. He punched me, kicked me, hurt me in any way he could think of that would damage the living creature growing inside of me. He made me do pregnancy test after pregnancy test. And everytime it came out positive.
He was a med student. He was a fucking disgusting monster. He performed an unorthodox, inexperienced abortion on me. I thought I was going to die. After a while. I hoped I was going to die.
I've had two miscarriages since. Both as a result of rape. I think I'm infertile now. I would be very shocked if I wasn't.
I'm schizophrenic. Sometimes I lose control and I think that my baby is still alive. I think that someone is going to hurt it. I'm scared. I don't know what I'll do. I'm scared because when I lose control I really lose control. And all I want in the world is to get my baby back. And I don't know what lengths I would go to to do so.
Thanx for reading.
If there's anything that should be in the cut that I missed, I'm so sorry and if you comment I will change it straight away.