You’d think that all the dating drama would be a red flag.
I’m not really sure what part of the lifetime of abuse I wanted to continue. I’m not sure why I thought listening to him for an entire lifetime would be ok. Back then narcissism didn’t have a name I knew. I knew the word, but my yet undeveloped frontal lobe could not have predicted the pain.
He talked, I listened. He’d fight with me about dumb stuff, but I blamed myself.
Four months in (of course this was going to last forever right?) to save a rocky relationship and avoid breakup drama, I had sex with him. I thought it would be romantic. I thought he would hold me. I thought he would make sure I enjoyed myself.
It was more like rape though. Halfway through I was in so much pain I wanted to stop. He informed me that since I had consented in the beginning he could (legally) keep going, but he’d stop if I asked. I gave in to the manipulation. I let him continue and finish. He fell asleep. I think I left. I don’t really remember.
By the way, before you get your panties in a bunch, I get it, it’s not a real rape. I let him right? I hated every second of it though. He hurt my soul and I regret it to this day. Whether or not it is a real rape isn’t an issue. Whether it feels to me like a complete violation of my being is not up for question either. I don’t claim that any of what I’ve been through is the worst it could be, just that the compilation of these events into my life has hurt me. These events have made me into a different person than I would be without them. I’m not pressing charges I’m talking about feelings, even if they are irrational. I feel.
I hated him. I hated myself. I couldn’t believe it was that easy to lose your identity. It was so easy to forget who you are and what you want to be.
I hate him. I hate myself. I cannot believe the shitfest that is my life.
I threw my life away.
I hate him.