Hard Knock Life Pt.2

Here come the rainclouds.

It is supposed to be inspirational to hear about a person who overcame such great odds despite all the horrid events they have been faced with. I am told frequently that I am that inspiration for others. However, they have no idea what suffering is. What they do know about me is unfathomable to them. But yet, it goes so much deeper. A scar that never heals. More so, multiple.

We all remember those Good Touch, Bad Touch speakers that would come in once a week to teach the class to distinguish sexual abuse from normality. We were told about the "uh oh feeling." It is hard to believe that it can be that simple. But it really is that simple, right? It should be. What about when you think back on events years later and you know what was going on, but you cannot disregard the feelings that you had at the time? Logically, I can say that I know what happened. It is pretty black and white. But, I am still flooded with fond childhood memories of this person. So, how can I hate this person? I cannot even bring myself to admit that something really happened. Then the day came when my youngest sister mentioned something happening to her. But, she didn't know who it was. It was dark. I immediately remembered my occurence. I wanted to scream out the name. It had to have been....but I could not imagine that someone who cared about us so much could do such a thing. So, I said nothing. I was still young at the time, so I try to not blame myself. But it goes without avail. Something I will never forget. Something I will always carry around with me.

Girl talk always finds itself on the topic of whores and sex. One moment, a girl is carrying on about the biggest whore she can think of, and the next she is talking about the guy she personally hooked up with the night before. It is really hard at times to be a girl. No one wants to be labeled a whore. But what qualifies as a whore? I find myself pondering this question often. Some people say it depends on the guy count. Others, the age the girl started. This leads to one of my least desireable screw ups in life. A month shy of my 15th birthday. Yes, "shy." As in, still 14. What the hell is a 14 year old doing having sex? This was during the time my home life went crazy. I started putting all my time and effort into my first real "relationship." He was my release from the craziness. At the 6 month mark, it happened. I do not care to go into the event. Or the relationship period. I was a one of those stupid little girls that stayed with the guy that throws her into walls at school and degraded her on a regular basis. It is crazy to think of all the things a person will do to feel loved and cared for. Especially a girl.

After one commits the act, it only seems natural to do it again. I mean, you cannot take your virginity back. You are already tainted. It does not matter if you have sex with one guy or twelve. Your "Christian" friends are still going to look at you like you are damned to hell. I didn't make a habit of it. My next steady boyfriend and I dated for a year and a half. We loved eachother, so it should have been alright. WRONG. He was a perfect little Christian boy, so by the time it was over, I TEMPTED HIM. So, being the sinful present day Eve, I was rejected by my perfect little church going friends once again. That brings me to my last serious relationship. We were in love. I do not regret it at all. And I will never appologize for it. Most people look down on me for the other instances, but I refuse to go into them. It will only further jade my mood. In my defense, I really cared for every guy I chose to do it with. Except for one. Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes sex really is just SEX. It isn't always planned. Sometimes things just happen. I am done trying to defend myself on it.

Like previously stated, girls tend to do some really ridiculous things to feel loved. I cannot explain why we do it. I have been all but forced to do some extremely horrible things. And afterwards, I have felt that a whore and a worthless piece of shit. It makes me think of rape victims. I could not imagine being raped. It is too horrid to imagine. I read about these girls and how they often times feel that it is their fault, and that is what tears them up the most. Then, I think back on my experiences. I don't want to undermine rape victims, but I cannot help but to feel as though my past was so much worse at times. I mean, I actually allowed it to happen when I didn't want it to. I just sat there and let him do whatever he pleased. I didn't scream. I did nothing more than cry. As though someone could possible reach out a hand to help. I made no noise, and I told no one afterwards. Silent voluntary rapes. Not possible, you say? Try it out sometime. Then tell me how you feel afterwards.