A Perfect Storm

All my life, I felt I was not worthy of love. I never felt special. I had dreams, but they were never considered fundamental. As a child, I was creative and impressionable. I was desperate to feel love; my parents rarely showed compassion. I wanted more.

The biggest issue in my life came when I entered my first major relationship. I was 14 years old. It quickly escalated to a physically and mentally controlling environment. I couldn't get out.

You may think that a relationship at such a young age is fickle. Fleeting, even. What I'd thought was strong and passionate, was toxic. The thing with relationships that start out so deeply are, they either die and are buried six-feet under, or they eventually even out to simple love, and take an incredible turn. Your whole life becomes consumed in a person and it's incredibly hard to socially exist.

This is how my life changed.

As a child, you are impressionable to strong influences. My boyfriend was very strong-minded - he hated my friends because, according to him, they didn't treat me right and were disrespectful. I soon discovered he just didn't like sharing. He used his 'depression' to make me feel bad for spending time with family and friends. Talking to other guys in a completelygeneral context was a huge no-no. I would lie to my friends and my partner about what I was doing, how I was feeling. I'd avoid my friends and cry to him when I thought they were leaving me out. The seed of doubt fueled my insecurities. I remember other couples in my school whom he played sick games with, to outlast them, and I went along with it, thinking it was great when other couples were fighting. I loved the thrill of being better than them. I thought it was normal, so I continued playing his petty games. My life became about pleasing him, and after two years, I started to become aware of what was happening to me. He forced new things I didn't agree with, yet after nine months he convinced me to have sex - only to use other couples as an endorsement.

I remember other couples in my school whom he played sick games with, to outlast them, and I went along with it, thinking it was great when other couples were fighting. I loved the thrill of being better than them. I thought it was normal, so I continued playing his petty games. My life became about pleasing him, and after two years, I started to become aware of what was happening to me. He forced new things I didn't agree with, yet after nine months he convinced me to have sex - only to use other couples as an endorsement.

I didn't want to do it. I also didn't want to deal with his emotions when he became unruly. I didn't want to be a disappointment. This control he had over me continued, and I felt obligated to keep up with his sexual desires whether I wanted to or not. I focused on doing what I had to do to keep him happy. He was always interested in public sex.

As a young person, you take risks and do things blindly. But this was extreme. His need for intimacy was constant. At the beach, in the change rooms, in his home when everyone was there. Now, the thought of having sex terrifies me. After two years, I woke up and realised how dull and shadowed my life had become, and I looked back on my life and saw that what had started out innocent had finished completely sinister.

Then came the breakup. It took me several attempts, and he'd cry and say he loved me, threatening to end his own life if I left. At first, I felt bad and took him back, but I was sick of him clinging to me. I needed to spread my wings. On the fifth attempt, it was done. I yelled at him after school, pushing forward that it was over. He knew that was it. He stopped and stared at me and I told him to never speak to me again. I turned my heel and walked away, a rapid-beating heart and a prime, boy-slaying strut.

The months that followed were almost as hard as the relationship had been. I had to immigrate back into my friend group and discover everything I had missed about them. I couldn't deal with the pain I was experiencing because he was slandering me and I hated to hear his voice in class. He hung out with people he claimed to hate. And I snapped. I was sick of him controlling my life again. He used his collection of bitches to slander me. In one class or another, I was given sanctuary. They called me a bitch, a whore, and told me my parents didn't raise me correctly. They made me feel hopeless, and I couldn't wait to finish the year and move to another school.

I find that this trauma is still with me. I still get nightmares I cannot crawl out of. I still get so angry when I think of what I did, and how I was so naive.