Hi, I'm new here. I'm 20 years old. When I was 15, I had an experience that is still haunting me. I was on vacation with my family and other family friends of ours whom I grew up with. One of them, a boy a year older than me, i had had a crush on for as long as I could remember. He always flirted with me in our teenage years. He was a big guy, and strong, played lots of sports. This summer was the first year that we had started drinking. The first night we were there he got really drunk, belligerent, and violent. His younger sister, a year younger than me, was drunk for the first time and fell of her chair and started laughing. He walked over and picked her straight up to her feet by her neck and started screaming in her face that it wasn't funny. The next night he came and found me on the beach. We were talking a little and then he started kissing me, which I was okay with, even happy about. He started touching me which I was again okay with. I had hooked up with a few guys before, maybe 2, but I was a virgin. And then he pulled down both of our bathing suits, and... went for it. I was shocked. I hadn't even considered having sex with him and the idea that he would just try do that without asking if I wanted to or saying anything came out of nowhere to me. I tried to pull away but he was on top of me and held me close to him. I said "no" more than a few times, but I didn't scream or punch him or cry or anything. I just kept saying no, I even tried to reason with him saying that we couldn't, that we should get condoms and do it another time (knowing full well that would NOT happen.) I don't remember it hurting much, I think because I was fairly intoxicated. But I remember trying to like it. After he wouldn't stop, I just sort of resigned myself to the fact that it was happening, and for a while even said that I had "lost my virginity" not that I had been taken advantage of. Something I always forget to mention, and even forgot just now (I went back and added it) is that the next night a bunch of us were on the beach drinking (though I was not.) He came down incredibly drunk from where he had been, and he and his sister started yelling at one another. He started hitting her and knocked her to the ground and she started crying. I screamed at him to stop, as did a few other people, but he turned around to me and said "Shut up, you stupid whore." I immediately started crying and ran off. His cousin, who didn't know the extent of it but had some idea of what had happened, at the most that we had "had sex", followed me and held me and tried to console me. He said something like "Don't worry about him. Now you know you just need to save that for people who you care about" and I wanted to scream so many things, about how I'd cared about him for so long, about how I didn't want to do it in the first place, about the bruise on my arm where he pulled me back the first and only time I struggled to get away.
I eventually broke down to a friend of mine who nonchalantly asked about my vacation. She had a similar experience with an ex-boyfriend of hers (that I didn't know about until after I had told her what happened to me) who used to make her have sex even when she said she didn't want to. But again, she never screamed, or cried, or hit him, or struggled. She just said no, and he didn't listen. She found out years later that she may not be able to have children because of her internal scarring from those experiences. And only then really came to terms with how wrong the situation was. What she told me, that is one of the only things that has kept me (somewhat) sane the past few years, is that I shouldn't have had to do any of those things, that he created a situation where I can somehow kick myself for not fighting hard enough, but when it comes down to it I shouldn't have had to fight at all. Sometimes I honestly wish he had beaten me up, or covered my mouth, or done something that would make me feel like I had less control in the situation, make me feel less like there was so much more I could have done. For me, that's been the hardest part, thinking that there was so much more I could have done, and not knowing WHY on earth I didn't fight. I think part of it has to do with how well I knew him, and another part that I didn't feel like my life was in danger. But neither of these explain it well enough to ease my guilt.
In the years after my experience I became promiscuous, using intercourse or other sexual acts as a validation that someone wanted me, or even that someone cared about me, though that often was not the case by any means. I would sometimes cry during, immediately after, or in the car ride following sex with people, even with people I at least thought I loved. I've seen a few therapists about it, none of whom helped very much or even really seemed to understand my dilemma.
I had an experience 2 years ago in which my (now ex-)boyfriend was tickling me and held me down by my wrists. This spark just sort of went off in my brain and before I even realized it, without thinking, I had kneed him in the balls (as hard as I possibly could have) and started crying. I considered this a trigger, though didn't learn the term until much later, but what I'm confused about is that it wasn't really a flashback or anything. It was more like an instinct or a reflex. I did it completely thoughtlessly. I had another less triggering but more upsetting experience with my current boyfriend. We were playing around on the couch, wrestling sort of. He's obviously a lot stronger than I am, just by looking at us. But I was determined to get free or to somehow gain control over him. It was a much more deliberate thought process. In the end he made me say that I gave up before he let me go, which I eventually did grudgingly. I sat panting and slowly just got more and more upset and started crying, one of those cries where tears just pour out your eyes despite how much you try to hold them back. Again, it was a much more conscious experience. I just couldn't shake the fact that at any time, any man could hold me down if he wanted to. It was a hopeless and disheartening realization.
I love my boyfriend more than I ever thought possible. He knows about all of this, and is so incredibly caring, to the point that it makes him really upset sometimes. But I guess I just don't have anyone in my life (anymore, that other friend and I have lost touch over the years) who at least somewhat understands. I had more questions in that regard, but I've already written way too much so I think I'll save those for another day. Sorry to take up so damn much of your time if anyone actually read this whole thing.