My Story Starts in July

all day i've been resorting back to apathy. numbness. i don't really want to keep going with this.. but i've got the rest of this semester to see this counselor and that's it. so i have to keep on it. i think i'm going to start at the beginning. the first time this happened. i think this is important because i never did talk about it much. i got through it in my own way. but yesterday during therapy i almost couldn't remember the details. it's a little bit blurry to me. plus, since bloop crashed last time, i lost all my writing from that period of time. So.. this brings me back to the summer between 8th and 9th grade.

That was the summer when we weren't in middle school anymore, and yet we hadn't gone to high school either. We were in a nowhere land between here & there. Scared and excited. I had two best friends: Chrissy and Brent. We had gone to different middle schools but were going to the same high school. We could feel it in our bones: it was going to be such an adventure. We spent all of the hot Tennessee summer floating in my pool or walking through the streets of our neighborhood.

It was July.

Brent's cousin from Texas had come to visit-- He was swimming in my pool with us. He was 16. Chrissy and I thought he was cute. We spent the afternoon flirting with him. And then we went home and got on AIM to chat with him. He was leaving the next day. He said he wanted to see me. And he wanted to see me alone. I made sure this was okay with Chrissy. She didn't care.

Part of me had to have known it wasn't a good idea.
But I was 13-- I was invincible.
Nothing bad was going to actually a happen to me.
I knew I had a boyfriend, but...
We were only going to take a walk in the neighborhood.
Just a walk.
Right?

The next morning it was so sunny and hot. We escaped from our houses though to take that walk. He kept flirting with me. I should have stopped it, but I kind of liked it. Boys didn't usually show me that much attention. Everything after we got back toward my house is blurry and not chronological. I have tried to piece it together. I can't. It's just a couple of picture-like flashes:

Flash one: We are in my garage. I'm sitting on his lap. I don't really want to be here anymore. My boyfriend is going to be so mad. He rubs my legs with his hands and comments on how soft they are. He sounds surprised and pleased. His hands are the very opposite; they feel rough. He forces his hands down my shorts. I grab his wrist. I tell him no. He doesn't stop. I start trying to reason with him. I have a boyfriend. Not right now. We're going to get caught. My dad is inside my house.. he'd kill you. The last one seemed to work.
He pulled me around the side of the house-- the side that has no windows. Pulled me to that corner against the house and the fence.

Flash two: He is trying to convince me to give him head. I don't want to do it. I keep trying to reason with him. I don't want to. It's broad daylight.. someone will surely see us.. He doesn't care. He knows what he wants and he's going to get it. I feel like crying. I tell him no. He puts his hand on my shoulder and pushes me down to the ground.
Shock.
His arms are so strong.
Stronger than mine.
I have no choice.
I could yell, but I'm too scared.
Frozen.
Fuck.

I did what he wanted me to do. I hated myself for it.


Flash three: He feels the need to return the favor. Such morals for what he had just done. *rolls eyes*. He has again shoved his hands down my pants. His rough fingers inside of me. This should feel good, but instead it's making me feel sick. Chrissy thinks something is weird. I've been gone for too long. She comes around the back side of the house. Keith sees her before I do. He pulls me close to him, acting like he's hugging me. My knees are bleeding. Tears are in my eyes. Chrissy knows something isn't right. She leaves in a hurry. He lets me go.


This is what I remember. Now that I write it out, I remember more than I thought I would. Chrissy knew from what she saw that it wasn't my fault. She knew more than me, I suppose. I was fairly certain I was at least equally responsible for this mess. Brent still doesn't really know what happened back there. I could have never dreamed of telling my parents. I've never been close to them to begin with.

When I wrote my first poem about it, I remember commenting: only the hot July sun saw the blood on my knees, the tears in my eyes, and the hollowness of Keith's very being.

I don't remember if I ever told my boyfriend. I do remember he broke up with me days after it happened. I remember feeling like he was the last thing I was holding onto. I started cutting that night. I'm not sure what prompted it. I had never even thought about it before.

I guess I'll save the coping events of the next two years for my next entry. Maybe reading back through it in detail will help me to understand what worked and what didn't work. I don't think this is helping an incredible amount right now... this whole journaling it out thing.. but I'm going to try to stay optimistic and keep trying to write it out.

<3

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