The Girl Who Cried Rape

I don’t feel safe in my own skin.

There is something so devastatingly hurtful about being raped that I know no one else will ever understand, to lose that sense of security as a person. To have your heart ripped out and placed on display for everyone is so devastatingly hurtful and painful unless you experience rape you won’t ever understand. I am reminded of this again and again as Eric and I lie on his bed kissing, I want to lose myself in the motion. I want nothing more than to be lost in his kisses but there is something bubbling beneath the surface that makes me want to cry.

That pain from what happened to me is bubbling up within me and I am unable to focus on anything other than the fact that Eric's hand feels familiar and familiar is bad, familiar means awful things. I have never really thought of myself as a victim, but tonight with my boyfriend inching to touch me in places that make me sick I see the world for what it really is, fucking awful]/i]. And I am a victim.

“Stop” I mumble into Eric’s lips, he pulls away but I can see something on his face that reads as hesitation, something that tells me this is more difficult than I can ever understand and for a terrifying second I think he isn't going to stop. He does and I feel awful for thinking such traitorous thoughts against the boy who loves me.

Not that he has told me he loves me, just that he likes me… a lot. And late at night with the feeling of boys ripping at my heart that sounds a lot like love and for now that is okay. I hate feeling like this because it seems ever since Eric and I kissed he takes every moment I am sad personally. As if it is he and not me that has caused all this which makes it so much worse. I want to both kiss him a thousand times until he understand and yell at him to leave me alone but neither seem appropriate with him staring at me like that.

I think I want to throw up from sickness and sadness but I can’t. I am too emotionally drained to do anything as taxing as vomit. I don’t feel safe laying on this bed with Eric but there is nothing I can do about that, I could get up but a part, a tiny part of me, my heart I think, wants to stay here and live with uncomfortable because maybe then Eric will tell me he loves me. Maybe if I give him my broken body and soul he will tell me the words I am desperate to hear.

I feel sick again and this time I am going to throw up, but again nothing, not even words, escape my tired lips and I feel overwhelmingly sad like my heart has just shattered into a million pieces and I know why, because no matter how much I give to Eric he always wants more, and I’m not sure I have more to give.