II've struggled for the last 3 years to define what happened to me when I was 19. My boyfriend and I had started dating when we were both 16. The stereotypical high school sweethearts. We were both popular and athletic, he played football and I was a runner. I went to all of his games. Wore his jersey and was known as "Brian's girlfriend." And to be honest, in my 16 year old mind, that was good enough for me. I was happy with him and we had a great relationship. Then I went away to college, leaving him at home for a year. I think that is when things began to change and our relationship started on the downward slope of abuse. And it has taken me years to even recognize that yes, it was in fact abuse.

It is hard to identify abuse when it is not physical. It is hard to understand that it still damages you and dictates your behavior. Brady began to get very jealous and controlling while I was at school. He didn't understand the changes in my life. I'm sure he was scared . . . he was always so scared that I would "leave him." So I felt the need to prove to him that I loved him. I cut off ties with many of my new college friends, particularly male friends. I spent more time with him. We spent so much time together that I had few friends at college and felt lonely and depressed when he was not there. Slowly he began making references about my body. He would compare me to other girls telling me that I was not as "toned", even though I only weighed 110 lbs. Then he told me my breasts were small and that I should get a boob job. All of this began to wear down on me. I felt so insecure. I didn't think that I was anything without him, which was so sad. I was beautiful, smart, and at one point in my life had been completely independent. I began to realize that the relationship was volatile but felt trapped. I had dated him so long and felt like he was all I had. This is a poem I wrote around that time:

How is it that something so malignant
Can bloom in such a way that
Makes it seem pure and good?
It fools you with its sweet perfume
That is really a poison,
Which calms you as it
Strangles you . . .

I wrote that poem around the time that it happened. I still have a hard time calling it rape, even though I know now that it was. I was 19 and spending the night at Brian's dorm. We did this often. He was a freshman at a small college and I had transferred schools, closer to him. I would go over to his dorm a lot and sleep in his bunk. Well this particular night his roommate and his roommate's girlfriend were there too. Brian and I had the lower bunk and he wanted to have sex. I said 'no.' I didn't want to have sex, especially with the other couple sleeping right above us. He begged me, "Please, it will be fun, like the old days. You used to like doing crazy stuff like that." I still said 'no' but he continued to beg and plead. Finally I gave in. I said fine. I had been laying on my side the whole time, my back to him. He simply slipped my pajamas down far enough to get access and started having sex with me. I didn't even move my body, I was still laying on my side. Arms crossed in front of me as he used me. At one point I turned my head and looked at him in shock, I even asked "are you serious?". That is when I started to cry. He kept going. I just lay there on my side. Arms crossed. Crying. Until he finished. He came inside of me and it was all over my legs. Once he was done he rolled over and fell asleep. He didn't even try to clean me up. I was still laying there on my side. Crying. Motionless. And he slept.

Finally I gained my composure and cleaned myself off and got out of bed. I was still crying and stumbled into the hall where some of the guys in his dorm were hanging out. I asked one of them to give me a ride home. I didn't even know him, but I got in his car anyway, I was just so desperate to get home. He was my savior that night.

When I got back, my roommate and best friends was still awake. I sat down and cried for 3 hours with her. She had gone to high school with Brian and me and was shocked and horrified that he could do something like that to me. I think I scared her, the way I was crying. She sat there with me and watched me cry not knowing what to say. The next morning I couldn't even make myself go to class, I cried all day, but I didn't understand what had happened. I felt like I had been raped but I had consented. I called a rape crisis hotline and told them what had happened. I couldn't even get through the story I was so emotionally upset. I asked the woman on the phone, "was I raped?" All I needed was for someone to tell me what had happened! But she told me she could not define it for me, that I had to do that myself. I didn't know how to define it, I didn't know how to cope with it. So I forgot about it. I stored it away. I pretended like it never happened. I told myself that I was simply too weak, that I gave in, that it was my fault . . .

I am 21 now and Brian and I have finally broken up and it was not until we were through that I began dealing with the emotional consequences from that night. I finally went to see someone about it just to get closure. Hearing her tell me that I was in an abusive and manipulative relationship was one of the most important things anyone has ever told me. It's seems silly that I couldn't label it that on my own, or even that the label was so important, but I needed her to validate my feelings. I told her I felt like I couldn't say I had been raped because I had ultimately consented, at which point she told me that I had not consented but that I had "given in". Hearing those words were such a relief to me. A whole new wave of emotion swept over me. I felt like I could finally grief because she had stated exactly what I felt deep inside. I didn't want to have sex with him that night. I simply gave in to him. I was tired of resisting him. I was tired of his manipulations. I was tired . . .

I felt it was important for me to share my story because I noticed that most of the stories on the site were of rape by physical force and I felt that I needed to share a story of my rape. A rape by coercion, manipulation, and emotional abuse. It's easy to hide the scars of abuse when you can't see them. It's easy to trick yourself into believe they aren't real . . . but maybe if other people read stories like these and read the definitions of sexual abuse and coercion they too will be able to understand and begin to deal with their pain. Thank you so much for this wonderful site.

 BACK TO STORY LIST