Year Two, Part One
F and I became really good friends and I had agreed to start seeing him exclusively when he came to town. We took things slow and we really had a good time when we were together, didn’t need anyone else around. It was only after we had sex that his true self came out and I found out he was just like Z. F threatened to take me to Z if I didn’t do what I was told, he didn’t beat me as much and it didn’t hurt as much when he had sex with me. I almost started to like the way he treated me because that was all I knew from guys. I was almost brainwashed to think that they really did have feelings for me. When I was alone, I tried to do what normal 14 year old girls did. I went to dances, talked with my friends on the phone for hours, had crushes on boys, even tried to date a few. I knew that F would hate it if I had another boyfriend but I just didn’t care. I wanted to be treated like a person and not a peice of shit. None of those relationships lasted because I never knew what I was supposed to be doing and what was normal. I was too scared to kiss them, hold hands…just be a girlfriend. They’d break up with me because I was such a freeze but I could never tell them why. I was so torn. I had gotten back into drinking every chance I got, twice every weekend and as many drugs as I could put through my body. That’s when I started cutting and burning myself.
First I did it because it was a release of the pain I was experiencing….something different. Then I did it because it became a routine. A guy would break up with me, I’d pull out a lighter and something metal, heat it up and put it on my skin. Or I’d grab a kitchen knife and just slice a bit into my arm/leg/hand. It became as easy to me as smoking was. It got to the point that F would call and I’d just be numb to everything, I was even able to pull handfulls of my hair out without feeling a thing. I needed to mask the pain I was experiencing in real life, nothing was doing it for me. I always wore baggy clothes so it was never a problem when it came to hiding it.
In the winter, I’d only see F when the weather wasn’t bad the week previous. He was always scared of winter driving but he loved to snowmobile and snowboard in the area too much to stay in the lower mainland. His eyes always lit up when he saw the snow we had…one of the genuine things I’d liked about him, his passion. Anyway, I had turned 14 and he was starting to make comments about things that happened with Z. Like when I had gotten pregnant and had to have an abortion. I didn’t mention it to anyone and it still hurts me to this very day to think about it. So that’s the last time you’ll hear anything about it from me. F started telling me how much of a whore I was and that I was useless. He started telling me that I could never satisfy him the way he needed to be satisfied. He told me that he’d get more use out of a 50 year old crackwhore than me. The verbal abuse would go on and on until it just didn’t make him feel like a man anymore. That’s when he’d hit me. F was the kind of guy who’d rather beat you with your back turned so you never knew where he’d hit you and that you’d remember him everytime you sat or moved. I’ll never forget how hard it was to participate in P.E class or even walk between classes. I prayed something would happen to him on a trip up here, something had to happen to him other than a speeding ticket. What if they got a tip that he was transporting drugs between here and the coast? What if he would drive too fast in the canyon and he’d hit a semi truck head on? What if, what if, what if. Why do I put myself in these positions? Why do I always go for guys who use me? Why do I attract idiots? Why, why, why.
I remember the last time I saw F before the year ended. He’d driven up to spend a few days at relative’s house and gave me a call. His family was out for the day going sledding and getting some skiing in so he wanted me to come over there. He came to pick me up and made sure I was dressed proper and looked my best. F stopped at the bus station and walked inside, I had no idea what he was doing but only the worst thought was in my head, he was there to pick up Z. I knew I’d be dead if that were true. F was carrying a bag, it was a big duffel bag and it looked really heavy. He got halfway to the car before I realized that Z wasn’t there. He tossed the bag into the seat behind him and we drove off. I never said a word the whole way out to his relative’s place. The look in his eyes scared the shit outta me, so hating, evil and empty. I walked in and the place was beautiful, everything was top of the line and looked brand new. We walked downstairs and into the far corner of the basement into the room he was staying in. I never saw any pictures on the wall, no decorations, no feeling whatsoever. The room was bare with the exception of a bed, dresser and a chair. F tossed the duffel bag onto the chair and opened it. I stood in shock that the bag was filled with Vodka bottles, a big ziplock bag of pot inside a coffee tin, random women’s clothing and at the very bottom of the bag; rope, duct tape, torn sheets and a video camera.
Year One, Part Four
People have asked me why I’ve decided to start writing about this when it happened over 10 years ago. The reason is, I’m not afraid anymore.
When F was filling me on the way home, I wanted to die. See, Z wasn’t 15 like he told me he was. He was really 17 and had gotten out of Juvie for beating a 12 year old girl after he raped her. He spent 3 years in and was released 6 months before we met. His parents didn’t want us dating because they were afraid. I had never met them because he had his own car and drove back and forth to 100 Mile every week or month. Basically whenever he wanted to get away from his parents, he just took off no matter what his PO or parents had to say. His family was rich so they didn’t worry about paying his way out of trouble. Anyway, back to what I was saying. I asked F if there was any way he knew of that I could get out of this without getting hurt even more. I had noticed at that point that my jeans were covered in blood on the side where he stabbed me with the tip of his blade. F told me that Z had another girlfriend in Agassi who was 17 and very controlling. Surprising since he was the one who needed to have control over his significant other.
For a few weeks I had started to ignore his calls. I watched my back everyday when I was at school and tried to stay away from the drugs as much. I started getting letters from him, in which he was apologizing and telling me how much he missed me and loved me, that he’d change and stop being so mean and abusive. I never knew what to believe. I had went to a mutual friends house one day and he was there. I immediately turned on my bike and started home once I saw his car. I was too late, he chased me down the driveway and begged me to stop. I couldn’t help but stop since he stood right in front of me. I couldn’t stand to look him in the eyes, for everything he’d done to me, I was still ashamed that I was such a “fat ugly whore”. He asked if we could go for a walk and talk about things. I’m not sure why, but I agreed. We headed over a hill and got into a grassy area not too far away. Big mistake. He got very defensive when I asked about the girl in Agassi and told him I didn’t want to be with him anymore. Z clenched his fists harder and harder with each word I said. I was actually standing up for myself and letting him know how much he hurt me. I had also told him that F filled me in on everything about Juvie and the girl he had beaten and raped. I looked into his eyes and said “I can’t be with you, I want to live my life. Stay away from me”. I turned my back to walk away and before I knew it, I was face down in the dirt and he was punching me in the back of the head. I could feel him ripping out handfulls of hair and taking all his anger out on me.
He flipped me over on my back and held me down. He screamed at me about how mad he was that I thought I could get away. Z said that the only way he’d ever let me go is when I die. I’d never escape him and he’d make sure of it. I started to cry and he punched me. I passed out. When I awoke he had my pants off and was wrapping his belt around my wrists. He had waited for me to wake up before he raped me. He covered my mouth with one hand and put the other on my throat. I felt trapped, I couldn’t breath. It hurt so much. He was always too big for me and everytime we had sex I would bleed a little, even more so when he would rape me. He took his hand off my throat and punched me in the ribs and then my face. I passed out again.
When I awoke this time, he was sitting on my chest having a smoke. I tried to tell him I couldn’t breath and he just put more body weight on my chest. I begged with all I had for him to get off my chest and he wouldn’t move. I bit my cheek so I couldn’t cry, anything to keep back the tears. Finally he got off my chest. He ordered me to get dressed and clean up before we went back to our friend’s house. When I saw a window of opportunity, I got on my bike and rode home as fast as I could. When I got home, I locked the door and closed all the curtains making sure all the windows were locked. It was when I closed the bathroom door that I heard a car pull up in the driveway. I sat in the bathtub and didn’t make a noise. Z knocked on every single window and I’m sure he tried to get in a few times too.
I told my parents that I didn’t want to talk to Z anymore and that any letters that were addressed to me from him, just have them returned to sender. It took several months and various attempts to reach me for him to get the point. At that point F started contacting me. We met up for a movie and coffee every month, making sure that Z was nowhere in sight. We got to be really close and it was really nice. On my 14th birthday he sent me a card with a letter. The letter stated that he had feelings for me and that he hoped that we could see each other when he was in town. Z had apparently moved after dropping out of high school and that he had completley forgotten about me. I couldn’t have been happier.
Year One, Part Three
Those words echoed in my head for months after that, things only got worse. He held me down and slapped me, calling me names I’d never heard before. He rolled me onto my stomach and told me to keep quiet. He’d grabbed a knife from his dresser and put in on the night stand. He’d also grabbed a few belts and started tieing them to the bedframe. He screamed at me to get on my back and take off my clothes, if I didn’t do it fast enough he’d to it for me and I’d regret it. I hurried as fast as I could but he was already upset with me. He jumped on the bed and punched me as hard as he could in the stomach, grabbed my shirt, ripped it and pulled it over my head. My pants were next and they were off just as fast. He cut my underwear off with the knife, nicking my skin several times and smiling each time, my bra came off when he tore off my shirt. I begged for him to stop but he told me “shut the fuck up whore” everytime I opened my mouth. He tied my hands to two belts, tugging them to make sure I couldn’t get away. After that, he tied my legs to the frame as well, higher up towards the middle so my legs would stay spread. He undressed and stood at the end of the bed staring at me. He repeated the phrase “you like being filthy whore don’t you?” and “how can you stand being so fat and ugly?”. Z grabbed his knife before laying next to me on the bed. I started to cry when he jammed the tip in my leg and twisted slightly. It didn’t go in far enough for stitches but it still bled pretty good. He took the knife from my thigh and looked carefully at the blood, he wiped it on my cheek and told me how beautiful I looked covered in my own blood. He got up and sat on the chair across the room, looking out the window at his “friends” on the lawn.
There was a knock at the door and he told them to go away. He came back over to the bed and got on top of me. Licking the blood off my thigh and running his tongue to my chest. He bit down as hard as he could on my left nipple that I had honestly thought he was going to bite it off. Somone knocked on the door again and he screamed at them that they should go fuck themselves. They knocked again, this time he got up off the bed, grabbed the knife and went to the door. I couldn’t hear them whispering but I knew it wasn’t good. Z grabbed his clothes, put them on and told me not to make a sound. He left and locked the door behind him. F knocked on the door and asked if I was still in there. I was frozen, I’m not supposed to answer. F tried the lock but couldn’t open the door. Z came through the door, stripped once again and got on top of me. He said he was going to untie my hands but if I tried anything he wasn’t afraid of killing me. Z held my hands above my head while he raped me. I screamed for him to stop, I told him how much he was hurting me…that only seemed to add fuel to his fire. I’m pretty sure I blacked out.
I woke up to F pulling a shirt over my head. He had a warm cloth and he was cleaning off the blood on my ankles, the belts had dug into my skin while I tried to fight off Z. I looked into F’s eyes and started to cry. He told me it was ok because Z was gone for awhile. F passed me a beer and asked if I wanted to go for a smoke downstairs. I was too scared to look at everyone downstairs so we stood on the balcony on the 2nd floor of the house. After a long awkward silence, I told F that I wanted to go home and never wanted to see Z again. He told me he’d take me home as soon as possible and that breaking up with Z wasn’t going to be easy. On the way home he filled me in.
Year One, Part Two
As time went on, he treated me worse than I could ever expect. I was numb to everything, numb to his touch, numb to his words, even numb to the sight of him walking into the room. He’d call me at home and act so sweet on the phone, telling me how sorry he was for the last time and how he was in a bad mood because his parents didn’t want us to be together yada yada yada. I forgave him everytime, so young, so naive. After I’d give in and go see him, he’d be sweet until he wanted sex or a blowjob or even a kiss. Z would say “hey you, pig! get over here and worship me. If it weren’t for me, no one would know you”. I’d do what he said because I didn’t know any better. He’d make me do things to his friends so they’d know what it was like to be with a worthless animal, I’d never known how horrible life could be until he was around. But he loved me and he wanted me to become more experienced if we were going to be together for life. I was only 13, I wasn’t thinking about my future, he was “15″ and had it all planned out.
They’d take me to parties where everywhere you looked was a different kind of drug or alcohol. They’d encourage me to enjoy myself while they mingled with others. I’d sit there sipping my beer, hoping that no one would come talk to me so he couldn’t get mad for me “flirting” or being too nice. F came to talk to me and see how I was enjoying the party. We sat outside while I had a smoke and he’d tell me jokes. I was surprised how many people were doing this at 3 in the afternoon on a saturday, all I could do was just sit back on the step and enjoy a normal person’s company. Z came rushing out of the house and pulled F aside. Z was screaming at him for taking me out of the house without his permission. F told him I wanted a smoke and that he’d come outside to join me so I wouldn’t feel lonely. Z grabbed me by the face and told me to never leave his sight while he was around ever again. When I think about it, I can still feel his fingers on my jaw. I hated looking up at his stunning blue eyes and that bleach blond hair, no matter how scared I was of him or how upset he was at what I had done, I always melted when I looked into his eyes. He waited until I finished my smoke then he took me into the house. He had a big grin on his face while he pushed me up the stairs, I could see everyone watching from downstairs. Suddenly, the music got louder and people were rushing to get down the stairs as we went up. I remember the hallway, it went straight then off to the right. At the end of the hall was a door to a balcony and he slammed open the door right before that. He pushed me in and slammed the door shut. It looked like it could have been his room, nudie pics of women on the walls, alcohol advertisements all over the place, a big pot leaf flag on the window, a cracked mirror above a dresser with profanities written on each big piece. He told me to keep my mouth shut, then he pushed me on the bed. With his hand over my mouth he whispered in my ear….”you make a sound and anyone were to come up here, I’ll kill you with my bare hands”
Year One, Part One.
I was the tender age of 12 when I smoked my first joint. Months previous, I had no clue what drugs were. I loved the feeling I got, it felt great to fit in. I had never had that many friends nor had I had much luck with getting boyfriends. That’s when I met my “friends”, they knew so many interesting people and they all seemed to be interested in me. ME! WOW! That was so cool. I’d skip school everyday and get high, drink and laugh all day long. Soon those “friends were introducing me to their friends from out of town. I thought that was great, they thought I was cute too. I spent my free time with these people and had even told my parents that they were helping me with my homework and that I was grasping alot more in school thanks to them. If only they had known the truth, they would have stepped in and said something…done something!
A few months down the road and many drugs later, “Z” asked me out. How could I not say yes? He was handsome, like a greek god and so tall for his age. Someone my age who listened to all the kinds of music I listened to, he was caring, sweet, gentle, nowhere near the tough guy I thought he was when we first met. Things went great. He was my first everything. He even gave me roses. I soon turned 13 and he was there the following weekend to celebrate with me. He made me feel so nice, so loved, so pretty. He showed me ways of being loved that I had never experienced before. After that weekend, I felt so different around my school friends and I think they noticed it too. After the new year, Z began to change. He wasn’t so nice anymore when I called and he only came to the area once a month. I started blowing off my friends to spend as much time as possible whereever I had to go so I could be close to him or his friends. In the spring, he started telling me that I needed to give more of myself to him or he’d break up with me. I wanted to keep this hunk, he was the best looking guy around, he treated me so nice before, if I gave him more, he’d love me again. That’s when I lost my virginity and that’s when I lost part of my soul. The way he treated me after that was horrible, he’d call me names, point out my “many” flaws and push me around in front of his friends. It came to be something I would get used to as he brainwashed me into believing that this is how all relationships work. He even went so far as to make me do sexual things to him while he was playing video games and his friends watched. How humiliating and degrading. He would call me names when he had sex with me and tell me how horrible I was, telling me he’d rather be with someone half decent looking than me, the disgusting pig that I was. I soon became numb. How can I react and get mad at someone who loved me so much? He doesn’t mean everything that he said, he’ll just say those things to…..well that’s where I can’t come up with an excuse why.
The beginning
In the beginning there was alot of abuse; physical, mental, emotional and verbal. I was young, naive, ooooh so stupid. I was hanging out with the wrong people, doing drugs and having sex. I wish I would have known then what I know now, I wish I could go back and make everything go away and change the events that happened. I can’t. I accept that now.
Here is my story of the past. I chose to share it with others so they can use my errors and experiences to help themselves out of the same type of situations.
