Hey it’s my face
I’m tired of giving my everything to guys. I’m tired of getting guys to a better place in their lives so they can leave me to achieve bigger and better things. I’m selfish. I can’t appreciate their thanks because I’m too busy being bitter that I’ve helped them get to where they need to be. I’m bitter that where they needed to be didn’t involve me.
So this winter break I wrote Aaron a letter telling him about the rape, explaining how that had prevented us from dating this summer, reminding him of all the good times we shared together, and asking him to consider giving that a chance once more.
I went to his apartment yesterday and after good conversation and some wine he sat me down and gave me great advice about recovery.
Unfortunately, he told me, he hadn’t been completely honest with me.
It turns out hes found another man and is in a happy and healthy relationship with him. I expected the worse thing he could tell me was that he wasn’t interested in my romantically anymore, but I very quickly realized that the idea of him happy with someone else was so much worse.
He told me that every date we went on and every inside joke and every pet name, all things that I interepreted as signs that he liked me, were simply displays of *friendship*. I was just a fun college guy he liked to have a good time with and fuck occasionally. I was never what I thought he was. He never loved me like I thought he did.
He wants us to go back just like we were and doesn’t seem to understand that I just can’t be around him anymore. It’s physically painful to be around someone you like so much and know that not only do they not share those sentiments with you, but that they actually have those feelings about someone who isn’t you.
Relationships and being alone have always been two major contributors to my anxiety and depression, so this blow took it’s toll. I can’t eat, I couldn’t sleep at all last night, and I find myself tearing up at the most random times. I’m scared to be alone and I’m scared that I might do something extremely stupid if I let my depression take control of me. But I’m also scared I’m smothering my friends and being too dependent on their presence.
I had to go back to his house to get my car today. I had to leave it because I was having a panic attack when I left his house and couldn’t drive myself. I think that hurt the most: seeing his car there and knowing he was just beyond that door, possibly having the time with his life with his new man. The man I honestly thought he wanted me to be.
My sister asked me to change the channel because the effeminate gay couple was making her uncomfortable
So I changed it to Friends and this episode focuses on a lesbian couple awwwwwww yeh
Guess what sister QUEER REPRESENTATION ISN’T GOING AWAY ANYTIME SOON
ps also your brother sucks dick so
You know those moments in your life where you have that spark of clarity, that fleeting glimpse of a solution to your worries? Last night was one of those moments for me. A song came on the radio during my shower…and to be honest, I couldn’t tell you what song it was if I tried…and I just broke down. I knew it was time to break the cycle of silence and shame and fear.
To date, I’ve only told 4 people. Now I’m about to share my story with 240 followers just like yourself. Excuse me of what comes next is rambling, venting, incoherent, or too graphic. I tend to do all of the above when I’m writing something of consequence.
So here’s my story: This summer, I lived in an apartment all by myself. I had an internship in the city I attend college at, so with the help of my parents I sublet a single room apartment for course of my internship. Things were going pretty awesome for me…I had a boyfriend, I had a secure place to live, I was being paid to teach and do research (the two things I love above everything else). It was hard to imagine a better summer.
An ex-fling of mine started messaging me. He was happy I found someone that made me happy he said. He just wanted to rekindle our friendship we had had mere months ago, now that his life was back in order. Of course, I was excited to repair our soured relationship. That’s my problem: I trust those who don’t deserve it and harbor suspicion towards those who want the best for me.
Nevertheless, he and I hung out multiple times. At first it was just him and me, then it was him and my boyfriend, then it was us three plus a high school friend that was living with the guy. We danced, we watched movies, we vegged out on my sofa watching Tyler Perry movies. All was well.
Until it happened. This is where I’m starting to get shaky and teary-eyed and panicky, so again I apologize if I don’t make complete sense. Anyway, my boyfriend and I invited them to my house for a party. They brought a shit ton of alcohol and several drinking games. When they got there, they asked if two of there friends could join. Ever the host, I obliged. The party got underway and we started playing drunk Jenga. The guy and his friend insisted they mixed my drinks. I thought nothing of it. They also targeted me for the drinking dares. I’m a 20-year-old in college, so of course I took them on with relish.
The last few things I remember were taking a body shot off of the high school friend. Discovering their friends I didn’t know having sex in my living room. Having a full-blown panic attack and screaming at them to leave the apartment. Being taken outside by my ex-fling and being held and comforted and hushed. Being led to the bedroom. Being fed one last shot.
I woke up the next morning and found a hole in the tile wall of my shower, red punch and vodka on my carpets, multiple used condoms. Weird, I thought, I didn’t have sex last night. I wonder who did. I felt disgusted.
Here’s where it gets graphic. I’m sorry I just need to get it out of my heart. I was shitting blood, I was sore all over, I was hungover and sick to my stomach, I had a bruise on my arm.I was alarmed, but I just cleaned the apartment, went to work, and watched Netflix. I just didn’t want to think about it.
I got a text from the ex-fling a day later. “I can’t believe you had sex with *******!!”. All I could do was cry. I didn’t have sex with him, I told myself. I have a boyfriend I love, and he’s a fucking high schooler. A mother fucking high schooler.
But we did have sex. The guy led me and my boyfriend into the shower, where we had a threesome. I was shoved and fell into the tile wall, which explains the hole. The high schooler fucked me in my bedroom while the ex-fling had sex with my boyfriend. When he was done he came to the bedroom and fucked me as well. Then they left in the morning, taking my boyfriend with them.
How did I find this all out? By text, the next day.
Then the STD scare happened. I don’t wish to elaborate on this but needless to say I paid hundreds of dollars to get my boyfriend and I tested, several times. Eventually I came to find out that my symptoms were simply manifestations of my autoimmune disease, and nothing to worry about, just another immune flare up.
My boyfriend tried to convince me I was overreacting. I had said I wanted it earlier that night, I was going crazy with my panic attack so I was to blame, I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk and allowed them to do that to me. He’d joke about the fact that I “had sex with a high school kid”….no joke, he would laugh at me. And I would snap. And I would cry. And he would stop….for the time being.
I still have nightmares of men drugging me or smothering me or ripping of my clothes. I still have trouble going to sleep at night. I tried to get intimate with a man recently, but just couldn’t do it without trembling like a leaf. I can’t go to my parents, because they don’t know I’m gay. I don’t want my coming out story to be centered on a disgusting act like this.
I’m a psychologist and I know how these things go. I know I can make myself better and can overcome this situation. I have, in a sense, become stronger because of it. I’m just tired of storing up the fear and sorrow and rage inside me, and I’m ready to move on and be me once more.
For those of you who follow me who know me in real life, do not dare attempt to contact my exes. Just because I’m ready to face the facts doesn’t mean they are ready to. It takes time.
And don’t fucking dare feel sorry for me. If anything, be happy. I’m alive, I’m healthy, and I’m getting help. Things are looking up.
Just remember, men get raped to. Men aren’t asking for it, men don’t enjoy it, and men aren’t to blame for what is done to them.
I was raped by two men. Let that be a lesson to you all. I was one of the “it could never happen to me” people.
It happened to me.
When your psych participant is literally the most beautiful human & you can’t complete the study correctly because you’re drooling and stuttering and too busy staring into his eyes.
Only let me run female participants in lab, it is known.