I was 14 years old



My "first time" was when I was 14, nearly passed out an incoherent in a closet at a friends house with 7 other people just outside the door. I was drunk, and he was my boyfriend at the time. I don't know if any of my friends intervened. I just remember being outside the house crying while my friend asked me if it was "good".
When I came back to high school the next day, one of my friends (and a boy I really liked) approached and said there were rumors going around that I was easy.
I spent the rest of my high school experience drinking, smoking pot, and trying various ways to stave off feeling like a miserable piece of shit for something I couldn't even remember doing.

I hesitated to call it rape until I was 20 years old, when I confided in my husband. For some reason, opening up about it ended up being the catalyst that spawned our divorce. This was a good thing, as you should always be able to confide in your partner. I'm in a much more stable relationship now, but I am still healing every day. My rapist was a mutual friend of all of my friends, and I just had the courage to remove him on Facebook, 16 years later. I was so concerned with looking like a bitch that I stayed friends with him there and regretted it every day. I finally had to courage to remove him and ignore the backlash from my so-called friends who never stopped him that night. I feel like a new woman. I know that chapter isn't closed quite yet, but knowing that I've put the book down is a good start.

-Lou

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