A Letter to the Boy who Hurt Me

I wish I could have recognized your abuse when we were together; maybe I could have helped you see how harmful it was, for both of us. But I wasn’t meant to play that role for you. I hope you’ve learned something since then, and that you haven’t treated anyone else the way you treated me. But, if you abused another the way you abused me, maybe they needed to learn the same lessons. It’s not an easy role to play, and I thank you for everything I learned from our time together. And, what I learned is how I don’t want to be treated. When I came to my senses, severed our connection, and asked you to leave my life, I had finally become aware of some of the abuse I suffered throughout our three years together; and since then, I’ve recognized even more.

I was so unhappy with you, to the point where you thought I was mentally ill –I would burst into tears for seemingly no reason; but there was always a reason. I felt like I couldn’t talk to you, or be honest with you. It seemed like every time I spoke up, about anything, it would somehow become my fault –you were always right, and I was always wrong. You would say my name with that disappointed tone, and I felt guilty for having said anything. So, things started to pile up. I stopped asking you to treat me differently, and I stopped standing up for myself. I resented you like crazy, and then I would resent myself for resenting you.

I’ve come to realize that I felt only negative emotions and judgement from you. Instead of love, the primary emotion was disappointment, and the only positive one was jealousy. Sometimes –whether consciously or not– I would create a conversation or situation that would make you jealous, just to feel loved by you. And that tactic to get attention has been a hard habit to break.

Much of the mental and emotional abuse I suffered throughout our relationship has been acknowledged and healed –or at least I’m working on it. But the most pervasive and harmful trauma I experienced with you was sexual abuse. It’s taken me years to see the depths of that form of abuse, and it still impacts me today.

You sexually abused me. You raped me. Right from the beginning, you pressured me into sex, and you continued to push me for three more years. I may have agreed most of the time, but only after manipulative tactics that made me feel like I had to. And there were times when it was obvious I didn’t want to have sex with you. I told you “No!” I cried. I didn’t even pretend to enjoy it. I tried to push you off. I said stop. I begged you. I begged you to stop. But your begging always came first.

If you initiated sex, and I said “No,” or “I’m not in the mood,” you would turn over and pout; and I was afraid to find out what would happen if I didn’t give in and say yes. I’m not sure if I thought you would hit me or yell at me, but your disappointed look, silent treatment and pure disgust at my decision to say no was enough to scare me into saying yes.

Before I met you, I was afraid to have sex. I was self-conscious of my body, and still afraid of the sexual trauma I experienced as a kid. I had a purity ring on when we first met, and I even lost a best friend because I wouldn’t have sex with him. I felt pressure from you, but I still wasn’t ready, so I compromised. I asked you to wait until I was 17 –less than four months after we met. But you wouldn’t wait.

Do you remember the first time you got a blowjob? Because I’m still traumatized from the first one I gave. We had been together for less than a month. We watched a movie with my parents, and they were barely out of the room when you took your penis out, climbed on top of me, and shoved it in my mouth. I had never seen a penis in real life, and it happened so quickly, I barely saw it forced onto me. It wasn’t a decision for me. You decided to whip it out, while I came to a realization seconds later that I was giving a blowjob. And the sexual coercion only continued from then on.

Do you remember when you lost your virginity? Because I don’t. We were still months away from my birthday, but you kept sweet-talking me –telling me, “Just the tip.” This went on for weeks; you forced your way in, further & further, and I realized we had done the thing that I wasn’t ready for. I hadn’t enjoyed any of it, although I’m sure I pretended to. The first time I felt a little bit of pleasure from you inside me was when I finally had to admit that we had sex. But that presence of pressure and lack of enjoyment is still impacting my ability to fully feel the pleasures of sex.

I went through a rush of emotions when I realized I wasn’t a virgin anymore. I was sad and upset, embarrassed and regretful, yet also excited to have accomplished this new milestone. But I had to take that ring off, and I felt ashamed. I had been wearing that purity ring for years, and I had taken pride in the fact that I openly told interested boys that I wouldn’t be having sex with them. I had been so strong for so long, but then I felt weak. I felt like I wasn’t worthy of that ring anymore, and I never would be again.

You gave me a ring of yours, but it wouldn’t fit on the same finger, and it felt wrong. I wore it the entire time we were together, and even though I didn’t recognize it at the time, it was a symbol of how you convinced me to have sex with you. You manipulated me, and I allowed it.

I’ve been able to recognize this abuse as rape for a while now, but only recently have I realized that I’ve hated myself for it. I blamed myself for accepting your abuse. Of course, it’s not all your fault. I agreed to the abuse. I could have pushed you harder when I wanted you to get off of me and out of me. I could have broken up with you anytime within those three years. I could have ended the abuse by walking away. I could have hit you. I could have spat in your face. I could have done something to stand up for myself. But, I was meant to suffer that abuse, and I was meant to stay for three years.

I’ve thought of reaching out to you directly, but I’m not convinced that it would really help. I’d like to tell you all of these things, and more, but I’m not sure if that’s my role. You taught me so much about how I don’t want to be treated, and I’d like to show you why those behaviours were wrong. But I’m not convinced it would do any good.

Maybe you’ve learned. Maybe you treated someone else that way, and they walked away. Maybe you got your heart broken. Maybe your friends told you how awful you could be. Or, maybe you’re the same boy who hurt me all those years ago. I will contemplate it more, but I don’t think I’m supposed to help you in that way. If I was meant to, then I hope you were able to see your abuse on your own. And maybe, when I have truly healed from those traumas, I’ll be able to see your face, feel compassion, and do what I can to help. But, for right now, if we came face-to-face, I don’t think I could hold back from punching you in the dick, or running away. I still hold so much anger towards you. I comprehend some of the reasons you behaved the way you did, but that doesn’t stop me from hating you.

Sincerely,

The Strongest Woman you'll Never Meet.