Once? Twice, fine. Three times? Maybe. Four, Five? Pushing it. This was 12, my 12th try at finding someone right for me. Michael (x2), Maria, Luna, Matthew, Candace, Denae, Geo, Alaska (x2), Kaitlyn, Pascal, Sammantha. Consider that I started dating at 15, and that I'm 20 now. In five years, I've pushed through 13 actual relationships (We're not including my various crushes that were crushed). That's roughly 60 months, and out of 60 months? 17 of them were spent together with Sam. That's almost 30%, a third of my entire time spent desperately searching for comfort was with Sam.
I don't even know what to make of that to be honest. Today would have actually marked a full year and a half, but I guess it doesn't even matter at this point. I should probably stop thinking about things like that, because it's not going to help me.
...
...
It's not working, I honestly can't help myself. I guess I'm a glutton for self-inflicted punishment. I'm sick today as well, sick and tired - sick both mentally and physically, and emotionally tired. Honestly whilst today wasn't as nearly bad as I thought it might have been, it's still a painful reminder that seems to haunt me wherever I go. I could hardly stand myself yesterday, and was quite literally afraid to go home. I didn't want to go to bed (Because once again I was afraid of what I might think about) and I didn't want to see the tomorrow because I was terrified. I was terrified that I might try and do something again, that I might seek out something easy and just let myself slip away. Honestly, thoughts of suicide have been constantly plaguing me for the past twelve years. I should probably see a therapist about that but I always end up making some excuse that "I'll never actually follow up".
I guess that's out the window - since I've been to the hospital once already - isn't it? Lately my mind has been drifting back in time, thinking about my school years and I'm honestly surprised by some of the things that I did. At my elementary school, there was a large kind of sprawling C shaped hill really close to the street. During recess, everyone would rush out to hang with their friends... But me? No, I'd walk over the hill and to the other side, where nobody would go. I'd sit there for the entire duration of recess by myself, void of interaction... With nobody knowing where I had gotten off to. I was afraid, intensely afraid of people and what they might do to me. The way they'd stare at me, and talk about me... It made me sick to my stomach and weary, so much so that I would forego social interaction entirely to seek out some amount of solace.
I'd never really thought about that much until this point, it suddenly just ended up in my mind while I was thinking. I've had a difficult life, but I had always assumed I had just quietly sat and endured it all... Not that I actually left and tried to physically escape it (even if temporary). All of this only serves to remind me of something much worse to be honest... Something I've been ashamed of for the longest time. Something I've constantly lied to people about, to friends, to family, to lovers, to physicians. A lie that I had spoken so much that I had buried the actual evidence in myself, so far down that it never came to mind. I started to believe my own lie, and I guess it's about time I come out and say the truth.
I'm not a virgin.
No, I'm really not. You can re-read that all you like, it's not going to change the facts. It's something I've kept buried and something I've been deeply ashamed of for the past six years. It was late, and my friends and I had decided to put up a tent in the backyard which we'd "camp" in. Not really an unusual thing, since plenty of kids do it... Two of my friends, one of them was a bit strange and had a horrible family relationship... And the other was already drinking and smoking, and was more than a little bit of a player.
I never really thought much about the circumstances and situation I might be putting myself into, I was 14. It got out of hand, for stupid reasons. A "harmless" game of truth or dare that wound up becoming something completely different. I ended up naked, on my hands and knees... With two horny boys in the same room as me. It's not hard to piece together the rest of it to be honest, I'm sure anyone would be able to. I eventually stumbled out of the tent, maybe fourty some minutes later... And tried to throw up. I tried, and tried... Dryheaving, but nothing would come up. I was scared, and ashamed... And tried to wash the taste from my mouth with the garden hose. I didn't know what time it was, or what I should do. It was 2AM, maybe? I didn't want to wake up my parents and get in trouble.
...I went back into the tent, and slept. My blankets and belongings I had brought out covered in the smell of sex. It made me feel sick to my stomach, all of it did... I slept with my clothes on, huddled in the corner with the tent... And I never spoke of it again. I acted like none of it ever happened, I continued being friends with these people for a year or so... But I never said anything, not a single word. I was sworn not to, because if any of us said anything we'd be beaten.
So, that's it.
That's my big dirty secret, finally brought into the light. I'm not proud, I'm ashamed. Ashamed that I was so naive and stupid to let something like that happen to my body, and ashamed that I am still living with the after-effects of it to this very day. My medical problems that I spoke about a long time ago, they stem from this event. I still bleed and suffer the very real, physical and emotional scars from what happened to this second.
These are the sorts of thoughts that terrify me, the memories I might think about... And the reason why so many nights I'm scared of going to sleep. My mind wanders whenever I lie in bed, and more often than not the things that come to mind... The feelings I experience, and the urges I have to just end it all are frightening.
I don't really have much else to say.
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