Please note: If you are related to me, you might be upset by this entry. If it's going to piss you off, I'd rather you just not read it.
I was hesitant about writing this in my blog, because of a certain segment of the audience. I've decided, though, that: 1. I am 33 years old, and am not dependent on people who would be upset by this, and 2. I really have nothing to be ashamed of, even though other people may feel differently. So, I'm going to tell this story, and if it's upsetting or shocking, that's not my problem. It's been my problem for over 20 years now, and it's about time I lay the cards on the table.
Let me start by telling the later part of this story, because it reveals just how I viewed my own value, and how young and foolish I was.
I had a friend, I'll call this friend M (not his true initial), who was fairly interesting, and who had experienced a rough life. M actually dated my friend Michelle for a period, but he and I were just friends. One day, I was going to meet M at the mall to see a movie. I think I was 16 at the time, maybe 15, not sure exactly. Anyway, M was broke (per usual), but I knew someone who lived nearby, so I suggested we walk over and see if I could borrow money from this person, F. Now, there was absolutely no reason for me to even want to see F's face, but at the time, I blamed myself for certain things because I really thought I was a worthless piece of crap. F politely chatted for a moment, told us he had nothing to loan, and we went on our way to just hang out and chat, since we couldn't see the movie. F, being a vindictive, spiteful asshole (I'll explain why in a moment), hatched a plan to have his mommy (who came home while we were chatting on F's doorstep--we did NOT enter the house) call my parents and tell them a lie. His mommy did not KNOW this was a lie, but that's neither here nor there. She called up and told my father that M and I had come over to F's house and asked if we could have sex in the house. Not only was I not interested in M in that way, but F's house is the LAST place I would want to do that in.
Didn't matter, though, I was grounded and made to feel like I was a disgusting, worthless whore. I don't remember much of what happened after, except that I was really just wishing I had the guts to hang myself, and I was able to have Monica call F's mother and tell her the real story, and have F's mother call my parents and retract the bullshit. That didn't matter either; my parents thought F's mother was lying or something THAT time, and I was still a dirty whore.
But wait, why would F do such a thing? What had I done to offend him so? Well, this is the part that's going to be a big bomb, because I've only told a few people about this--my past and present husbands, my long-ago significant other Dean, and a female friend that I'm not going to name.
F was pissed off because, even though he had been after me to do so since I was TWELVE YEARS OLD, I would not willingly have sex with him. He got what he wanted once, when I was young, terrified, and unwilling. People can crow all they want about, "If you really don't want it, you'll fight and scream," but unless you've been a frightened pre-teen who's faced with someone who's bigger, stronger, and doesn't accept no for an answer, you do not the fuck know what it is like. My warped little child's mind actually feared getting punished for being found in that situation more than what was going on, and feared being punished if I told anyone. After, I pretended it hadn't happened, and subjugated that experience as much as I could. How to explain that I didn't want F as a friend anymore? How to explain that I hated him? And, of course, F took my lack of acknowledgement of the event as my condoning it after the fact, despite protests before and during, and thereafter hounded me for a repeat, occasionally becoming angry and demanding at my continued refusal. I was careful not to put myself into a position where I was alone with F ever again.
Even so, I felt just as violated by the cruelty he inflicted later, and the irony of being punished for something I didn't do--because I wasn't WILLING to do the very thing I was being punished for, was just overwhelmingly painful and awful. I believed at that moment, and for a long time after, that there really is no justice in the world, and that everything in my life will turn to shit because I don't deserve to be happy or free. It is a primary reason that I live my life in a constant cringe, waiting for some bullshit thing to take away my freedom and happiness. (I also picked up the idea that, it doesn't matter what I do, I'm going to get punished for something whether or not I did it, so I might as well have the enjoyment of committing the crime._ I don't really know how to overcome it, but acknowledging the source is probably a good first step, along with constantly reminding myself that, now that I am an adult, and I am free to go where I please and associate with the people of my choosing, no one can sever me from my social life over some ridiculous, vengeful bullshit.
You can call me a dirty whore if you want, but I'm going to get in my car, go where I want, and spend time with friends. I don't have to hate myself, or think that I am worthless anymore. I can love myself unconditionally, even if I'm fat, disgusting, stupid, or a slut--and anyone who thinks those things of me is free to go and find someone less abhorrent to care about. I've got me, I've got my husband, and I have a lot of friends that know otherwise.