So I’m going to try and finish what I started last night. Please bare with me if it gets scattered.
I dated James for 3 years. The relationship started out ok. Then the yelling started. That escalated into the physical violence.
Around the middle our of sophomore year, he wanted me to start sleeping with him. I was raised Catholic (in a very conservative parish too). I don’t believe in having a sexual relationship before marriage (which is probably why I’ll never have one, but that’s for another post). I told him no. And he was fine with that for a while.
But all his friends wanted to know why we weren’t sleeping together. In a way it was an insult to him. He was this big man and I didn’t want to sleep with him.
So the summer between our sophomore and junior years he raped me for the first time.
It was a hot July day. He asked again if I would sleep with him (after not asking for a couple months). I said no. And he got angry. He pushed me onto the couch. And he started to undress me. I told him not to do that. I begged him. I told him I loved him and I wanted to wait. But he did it anyway.
The only thing I really remember is the pain and me begging him to stop.
When he finished, I went home and took a shower. I felt so dirty and disgusting. And then I sat in my room and thought about killing myself. I came so close that day. I had that bottle of pills in my hand. I took about 4 of them and then I stopped. I have no idea why. In all honesty, I wish I had killed myself that day.
And here’s where I have to stop. I need to get some fresh air and try to compose myself. I’m shaking and I can barely breathe.