Me, too?
As I saw more and more of my friends joining their voices in the "me too" trend, I couldn't help but think back and wonder if I needed to join them. At first, I brushed it off. I'd never been sexually harassed or assaulted. I don't get guys leering at me or catcalling or bugging me online. Sure, I'd had some creeps when I attempted OKCupid, but nothing really that could be considered a personal attack. Just general skeeviness.
It kept nagging at me. There was something. Something that I dismissed at first. It wasn't harassment. It wasn't assault. It just wasn't. It wasn't even physical.
But it was abuse.
It was slow. So gradual that I didn't even realize how bad it was until too late. And although it never felt "innocent," it definitely didn't feel like it was that bad. After all, it was only over text. How could it be bad if it was only in my mind? Furthermore, it was consensual. I agreed, I initiated, I kept coming back. Clearly I wasn't, couldn't be a victim.
I was 13. He was a couple years older. If you know me, you know the story. I don't need to share it here. This isn't about blaming anyone or calling anyone out or rehashing the past. It's about understanding.
Again, I was 13. Innocent and naive. I knew nothing about sex, and I was content that way. I was firm and fixed in my convictions and my beliefs. It didn't happen all at once. The analogy of the frog and the boiling water is overused and actually fairly inaccurate, but the concept works in this case. He never truly pushed or cajoled or forced. I let myself sink further and further because I knew it made him happy, and making him happy made me happy. I didn't realize I was drowning until I had been for several years.
I justified, I rationalized, I excused. It was all text. I wasn't doing it because I liked it. It wasn't real. Everything was fine. But all the justifications didn't silence the voice inside me that made me feel shame. That made me hide my phone from whoever was around me. No one really knew what was going on. To this day, no one really does. I've hinted and spoken in general terms, but no one knows how bad it really was.
I didn't even realize it until it was going on for years. I didn't see how it had changed me. My standards had fallen, and the floodgates opened. Sexual content didn't bother me anymore. My media choices changed. Movies and TV show preferences altered. What used to make me feel nauseous just became ordinary and left me unphased. I never truly sought it out or took pleasure in it. I merely shrugged it off as if it didn't matter.
And it wasn't just sexual content. Nothing bothered me. I sloughed off gore and language as easily as I did sex scenes. Again, I didn't crave it. I didn't seek it. I just...was numb to it.
I finally and forever cut contact when I was a junior in college. Arguably one of the hardest things I have done; I'd fallen into a helpless pattern. We'd be in contact for months at a time, then I would attempt to wise up and end things. But, inevitably, I would reach out again and again. It wasn't the behavior I needed, it was the connection. This was someone I was talking to every minute of every day, as much as I could. This was someone whom I had known for years, had poured my heart to. No one knew me as well as he did, and I thought it was the same with him. I could predict with accuracy exactly how he would respond to what I said. Removing that from my life has left a hole I have yet to fill.
I miss that more than anything, having that one person you know will listen and talk to you. Even though it has been several years since I spoke to him, I still think about him. What would he think of this in my life? How would he help me get through this? You get used to having someone like that in your life. Missing them is like missing a limb; an instinctual reaction has you still thinking it is there, you can use them.
The issues I have continue to this day. I have fought and struggled to regain my sense of self, my standards. But what is broken cannot be fixed. Not completely. I can shut it out and pretend like it's OK, but it's not. I am changed. It has changed me. It has affected each of the relationships that I have had since.
I doubt myself. Do I really like this person, or do I like that they like me? Am I happy because I am happy, or because I make them happy? Where is my line? Where do I stop it? There have been times I crossed a line, and I bitterly thought that it would have made him so happy to hear that I was becoming just as bad as him. I don't know if I will ever completely trust myself and my emotions again. I still feel the temptation to backslide. It would be easy. Too easy.
I could easily blame him for the way I am. And I do. He definitely aided the corruption of a naive teenager. But because this happened, I cannot say how my life would have been without him. I obviously let myself be corrupted. Was the instinct in me all along? Would it have merely been someone else, another catalyst? I cannot say and I will never know. All I do know is that my life has been irrevocably changed and altered, skewed and perverted.
All I can say is me, too.
It kept nagging at me. There was something. Something that I dismissed at first. It wasn't harassment. It wasn't assault. It just wasn't. It wasn't even physical.
But it was abuse.
It was slow. So gradual that I didn't even realize how bad it was until too late. And although it never felt "innocent," it definitely didn't feel like it was that bad. After all, it was only over text. How could it be bad if it was only in my mind? Furthermore, it was consensual. I agreed, I initiated, I kept coming back. Clearly I wasn't, couldn't be a victim.
I was 13. He was a couple years older. If you know me, you know the story. I don't need to share it here. This isn't about blaming anyone or calling anyone out or rehashing the past. It's about understanding.
Again, I was 13. Innocent and naive. I knew nothing about sex, and I was content that way. I was firm and fixed in my convictions and my beliefs. It didn't happen all at once. The analogy of the frog and the boiling water is overused and actually fairly inaccurate, but the concept works in this case. He never truly pushed or cajoled or forced. I let myself sink further and further because I knew it made him happy, and making him happy made me happy. I didn't realize I was drowning until I had been for several years.
I justified, I rationalized, I excused. It was all text. I wasn't doing it because I liked it. It wasn't real. Everything was fine. But all the justifications didn't silence the voice inside me that made me feel shame. That made me hide my phone from whoever was around me. No one really knew what was going on. To this day, no one really does. I've hinted and spoken in general terms, but no one knows how bad it really was.
I didn't even realize it until it was going on for years. I didn't see how it had changed me. My standards had fallen, and the floodgates opened. Sexual content didn't bother me anymore. My media choices changed. Movies and TV show preferences altered. What used to make me feel nauseous just became ordinary and left me unphased. I never truly sought it out or took pleasure in it. I merely shrugged it off as if it didn't matter.
And it wasn't just sexual content. Nothing bothered me. I sloughed off gore and language as easily as I did sex scenes. Again, I didn't crave it. I didn't seek it. I just...was numb to it.
I finally and forever cut contact when I was a junior in college. Arguably one of the hardest things I have done; I'd fallen into a helpless pattern. We'd be in contact for months at a time, then I would attempt to wise up and end things. But, inevitably, I would reach out again and again. It wasn't the behavior I needed, it was the connection. This was someone I was talking to every minute of every day, as much as I could. This was someone whom I had known for years, had poured my heart to. No one knew me as well as he did, and I thought it was the same with him. I could predict with accuracy exactly how he would respond to what I said. Removing that from my life has left a hole I have yet to fill.
I miss that more than anything, having that one person you know will listen and talk to you. Even though it has been several years since I spoke to him, I still think about him. What would he think of this in my life? How would he help me get through this? You get used to having someone like that in your life. Missing them is like missing a limb; an instinctual reaction has you still thinking it is there, you can use them.
The issues I have continue to this day. I have fought and struggled to regain my sense of self, my standards. But what is broken cannot be fixed. Not completely. I can shut it out and pretend like it's OK, but it's not. I am changed. It has changed me. It has affected each of the relationships that I have had since.
I doubt myself. Do I really like this person, or do I like that they like me? Am I happy because I am happy, or because I make them happy? Where is my line? Where do I stop it? There have been times I crossed a line, and I bitterly thought that it would have made him so happy to hear that I was becoming just as bad as him. I don't know if I will ever completely trust myself and my emotions again. I still feel the temptation to backslide. It would be easy. Too easy.
I could easily blame him for the way I am. And I do. He definitely aided the corruption of a naive teenager. But because this happened, I cannot say how my life would have been without him. I obviously let myself be corrupted. Was the instinct in me all along? Would it have merely been someone else, another catalyst? I cannot say and I will never know. All I do know is that my life has been irrevocably changed and altered, skewed and perverted.
All I can say is me, too.
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