Thursday, August 8, 2013

The Little Girl



  Today was a long and stressful day.  I woke up to my children drawing on the walls and my daughter’s Hello Kitty bedding with the only freaking highlighter still in existence in this house!  I dragged my ass all day, I could not muster any energy to save my life.  When I finally got to school tonight, it was the beginning of a new “mod” and I was freaking out about having to learn the software I’ll be using.  It frankly just didn’t make for a good note throughout the day.  I’m struggling to stay awake tonight, but I have this topic I’ve been mentally preparing all day and I need to get it out. 
  
Today I want to share my experience of when I lost my virginity.  It’s probably going to seem kind of random, but it’s VERY relevant to my history and how it contributed to my sexual past. ** I’m going to have to change a lot of names starting now. Please, please, PLEASE, if you recognize an event or you know who I’m talking about, PLEASE do not post anything in the comments about it.  Message me privately if there are any issues.** 

  I was 12 years old and in 6th grade, and my class had taken a trip early April to NYC to see the touristy landmarks.  It was rainy and miserably cold the whole time and we were relieved to go home and hang out.  My father, who was insanely protective and strict, didn’t know I was going to spend the night at my best friend Christina’s* house because he didn’t like her mother and didn’t approve of me being there.  Looking back now, I would approve of that decision.  Christina’s mother was a single mom, and she was a drug addict.  Christina was the middle child of three siblings and her older brother Phil* was two years older than us, and he was the biggest crush of my short life.

  That night after getting back from NYC, Christina, myself and two of our friends, Sarah* and Lindsay*, were excited to have a sleepover and hang out all night before we each had to go back home.  We had a night planned full of games like Spin the Bottle, Truth or Dare, Never Ever Have I Ever, and so on.  We had also gotten our hands on some of my mother’s Beginner Wiccan books, and we were excited to dabble.  Throughout the course of the night we played our games and even did some minor experimenting.  We started playing Truth or Dare, and Sarah dared me to go downstairs  where Phil was and kiss him.  They all dolled me up and got me ready and then practically pushed me down the stairs.  I went into Phil’s room where him and his friend were hanging out and told him what I’d been dared to do.  He told me to sit on his bed and for his friend to leave.  I remember a long two hours of making out and Phil trying to convince me to have sex with him.  I kept telling him “no” and “I’m too scared” but he was persistent.  Finally he wore me down and I think I just wanted him to like me, and to want to be around me so I caved.  I remember him telling me what I needed to do, how to do it, and so on.  I mostly remember a really painful and terrifying experience, and nothing at all what anyone would expect.  When it was over I got up and got dressed without a word and had a mixture of feelings that ranged from pain and shame to exhilaration about doing something none of my friends had done yet. 

  After my Dad died a month later, I remember feeling so guilty, because I was convinced he somehow knew and it had killed him.  Ironically, the afternoon I found him dead in our living room, the only place I wanted to be was Christina’s house.  I just wanted to get the hell out of there and away from death.  That night, Phil convinced for a second time, and I don’t even remember the experience.  I remember him being awful and mean to me afterwards, telling me I sucked and I was like a dead fish.  Looking back, never has the phrase “Let a man tell a woman she’s beautiful a hundred times, and she’ll never believe him.  But let that same man tell her she’s ugly once, and she’ll never forget.”  I think that that stuck in me.  I think I was so emotionally and mentally distraught and traumatized and just generally fucked up, and I just took what he said to heart, and carried it with me for many years.  I do feel that my sexual promiscuity played a huge part in the events that led up to my exploitation, and I think that although it’s a random and odd experience for me to share, it’s very important to recognize the pattern that would follow after this. 

 **The names provided have been changed to protect the identity of the people involved.

2 comments:

  1. Liz, I remember that. And when you told me, in grandma's living room by the pink couch. I was 10 at the time and I remember a few feelings... I was so honored that you told me, and not just Amy. That feeling made the other, fear, a little harder to deal with. I remember feeling confused about why you didn't tell a grown up, and I felt like I wanted to tell. I don't remember if you told me not to or if the conspirital whisper convinced me it was secret. I regret not blabbing though. And I think an important change that needs to be made in education of sex abuse is to teach kids to speak up. Not just victims, but 'witnesses'. It's a bigger version of the 'get a grown up' shtick we teach kids. I think the stigma of being a tattle, as well as just being uninformed re dangers to prevention efforts.

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    1. Honey, you were a baby. I had no more right to tell you that secret, than he had the right to give it to me. There's a reason children are so easy to victimize, and it's simply because they're sooo easily manipulated. But you're right. It has to stop, and it can only begin with proper education and love and confidence. I love you honey.

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