It was a Friday night and for the first time out of my four years in high school, I was actually getting to experience a night out like the ones you see in all the movies about high school kids. I was always the quiet one in school who barely went out so I thought it was about time I get out my shell. I went to a house party with a bunch of people from school, got wasted, made out with my girl best-friend on top of the washing machine and then proceeded to throw up outside the door at an AMPM around the corner before making it home for my curfew.

Sounds like a fun-filled night for a typical teenager right? Well it was until the one person I thought I could trust tried to take complete advantage of me. Never in the back of my mind did I ever think that someone I considered a really good friend, someone that I spent almost every weekend with along with the rest of our squad, would ever try to violate me the way he did. I remember him taking me to his house so I could sober up before I went home since I didn’t want to get in trouble for being drunk. I remember him hitting my head against the car door trying to get me out the backseat and after that my mind jumps to him being on top of me kissing me despite me saying no over and over. Maybe it was God looking out for me but my phone ringing and someone walking into the house stopped him before he took things all the way without my consent.

I had never been so happy to go home and after that night I never looked at him the same. I no longer considered him a friend and every time he tried to hangout I ignored his calls. I remember getting the courage to confront him about what he had done and he tried to make it seem like I was imagining things but I know for a fact I wasn’t. Even as a 17-year-old with alcohol in my system I knew what was going on and that what was happening was wrong and I didn’t want it. Even until this day that night is so damn vivid as if it just happened yesterday.

As much as I can’t forget about that night I also can’t forget how it changed me, I became more promiscuous. I wasn’t a girl that had, had many sexual partners at that age. Sex wasn’t something I was really into nor did I want to be, for reasons I won’t state in this post, maybe that will be another story for you guys….

Anyways I got into this mindset that if a man was just going to take it I might as well be the kind of girl that gave it up instead of it being forced on me. In a way, I guess it made me feel like I was taking back my power. It made me feel like I was no longer the victim. The more sex I started to have, the more I attracted toxic guys but I didn’t want to stop. Part of me felt addicted to the feeling for a while. I can remember telling one of my male friends that I thought I was a sex addict and I was acting like such a hoe. As much as he tried to assure me I wasn’t, I knew I was acting completely out of character. Everything I was doing I knew deep down it wasn’t me and I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt the need to act that way but why change it, I thought.

Most of you would probably think that after being assaulted I would want to stir away from all sexual acts but to my surprise what I was experiencing was normal. In a lot of cases, women who have been raped and sexually assaulted tend to use sex as a way to cope with the trauma. It becomes a way to numb yourself of the past situation and make you feel like you are worthy, beautiful and wanted by another. Becoming more promiscuous can be referred to as hypersexualization.

hypersexuality employs frequent sexual initiation as a means of dealing
with most negative effective states, including loneliness, fear and sadness.

 

As I mentioned, my taste in guys got worse and worse to a point I wasn’t even happy with with myself. Every sexual thing I was doing came from me feeling like I HAD TO or I’d be tossed to the side. I wanted to feel like I mattered even if it that meant I got treated like crap, at least I wasn’t alone but guess what? I was still being taken advantage of. My mind was weak, which made it easier for guys to have control over when and what they got to do to my body. Even when I knew I didn’t want it they found a way into manipulating me to do things. I hate it and I constantly prayed, looking for ways out of every situation. Eventually me having sex had nothing to do with what happened to me in the past but it became a coping mechanism for everything else in my life. If I felt lonely calling up someone I dealt with fixed the problem, if I was sad I’d find comfort in another’s arms and especially if I became angry or upset with I figured I’d have sex to forget about it and I’d be in a better mood for a few days. But nothing about sex has or will ever fix what’s going on in my life.

I’ve gotten to a point where sex is actually becoming nonexistent, not because I don’t like it but because I need it to have true meaning behind the act. I’ve matured and I no longer want to give myself to others hoping that they’ll accept me for who I am and not just for what I can provide. I want to build a true connection with a person and not walk away feeling upset and used. I thought giving my body away gave me power but now I’m taking it back.

I told this story to let women that have dealt with a trauma like this and reacted in the same way know that it is okay and you aren’t alone. You’ll find a way through it but the healing will take time. You may see a person you aren’t used to but trust you’ll find yourself again.

 

 

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