coming to terms with what my ex did
i was 18 at the time, it was my first time having a partner. he was nearly 17 at the time i was closeted for so long, and when i found him, it was already strange. he had slept with my cousin and neither one of the told me. until months after our relationship started (after he already took my virginity) he used me for sex a lot i would drive to his house he lived over an hour and half away i was so naïve and just wanted to be loved so badly. i think part of me thought because i never told him no it was fine? he had also been SA in a different relationship so i was like he would never do that to me. on sunday i came to a deep realization when me and my now partner of almost 4 years had been drinking.
i was 18 in a tent with 8 or 10 other people (all much younger then me, i was a senior and they were all underclassmen except for my ex and one other person) it was a big ass tent) when he pulled my pants down under the sleeping bag and i remember going ice cold, i felt so disgusted i was pushed up against a 14 year told while he slid inside of me. i thought i should want it i remember it hurting so badly. tears fell down my face and he asked me if i wanted it and i didn’t respond so he just continued. i feel so disgusted and mortified. i hated every second and i couldn’t make a noise because i knew i would been seen as the disgusting one i was the only one 18 at the time i should have known better i should have stoped it. i felt like it was my fault for doing it for so long. and i’m still mortified to tell anyone because i still feel like the freak and the disgusting one. there were many other times where he would do something without asking or just push me into something. but i never said no… i never pulled away… so i dont feel like i can say it was SA. but that one time in the tent… i cant get it out of my mind. as stupid as it should i wrote a poem… and i have no one to share it with so here. i just needed to get this out its been almost 6 years and i feel like i’ve just opened a new wound i don’t know what to do.
Trapped in a tent,
no escape.
Bodies everywhere,
breathing, shifting, laughing,
close enough to touch.
Friends.
People I barely knew.
Your hand slipped low,
gripping my waistband,
pulling downward
like it meant nothing.
I remember staring
at the fabric above me,
following the seams
with my eyes
so I would not have to be
inside my body.
I closed my eyes.
Stayed quiet.
If they heard,
they would look at me differently.
Your forehead, damp with sweat,
pressed against my back.
I went stiff.
You pushed into me
and the whole world narrowed
into pressure,
into pain,
into the sound of people talking
a few inches away
while I disappeared.
I bit my lip hard enough
to keep the noise in.
You tore into me
while my body was pressed
against someone else beside me.
I kept thinking:
don’t let them notice.
don’t let them see.
don’t let them know
what is happening to me.
You asked if I wanted this.
The question floated somewhere far away,
muffled, underwater.
I said nothing.
I could not make my mouth work.
Too afraid they would hear me.
Too afraid they would call me
a slut,
a whore,
like silence somehow meant yes.
You kept moving.
Deep enough to hurt.
Deep enough to split something open
inside me
that never healed correctly.
I felt no pleasure.
Only the desperate need
for it to end.
Eyes squeezed shut,
counting seconds,
counting breaths,
waiting for you to finish
so I could put myself back together
before anyone noticed I was gone.
And afterward,
something inside me stayed there,
trapped in that tent with you.
After that night,
every time someone touched me,
my body remembered before I did.
Sex became something to survive.
And afterward,
I cried quietly in bathrooms,
into pillows,
facing the wall beside strangers
who thought they had done nothing wrong.
Sometimes I did not even know
why the tears were coming
until I felt them already falling.
Like my body was mourning
something my mind
still refused to name.