My story... Part 1

I'd like to tell you a story, if I may. It may seem crazy, but it's all true. I found myself writing it out, and as I reread it, I'd put in more detail. As I was writing I'd remember more details than I ever thought I would. Its been an awesome experience writing this all out. I've always assumed that it was forgotten, never to be remembered again. I just can't believe how much I have been able to remember, to recall without really trying to. So I don't bore you all at one, I'm going to tell it in parts. This is my story…

I've always been a drama queen, always. I love being the center of attention, any kind of attention. As a kid I'd cover myself with band aids and at first people were curious what was wrong. Then they started calling me the band aid queen when it became evident that I was never hurt. As a kid I found myself stuck in a neighborhood with all boys. I'd play football, baseball, basketball and even hockey, just so they'd pay attention to me. We played tag, hide and go seek and other kinds of games. As we got older we'd play truth or dare, and  we'd always try to one up each other.

But that's not exactly where my story starts. My story starts at the age of 12, in the summer of 1996. I was just coming into a fresh new batch of hormones, so when a former child my mother cared for returned to our lives I couldn't help but be thrilled. He was 18, and he was gorgeous! So when he started coming around every day to hang out with us (me, my brothers, and all the foster kids) I was pleased. I got to know him as fun and playful, he became a good friend to all of us. He would come over and swim, hang out and play games, and sometimes just watch tv. I should have been scared when he first started flirting with me, but I was 12, and oh so full of hormones. I was excited that he chose me over my foster sister (who I thought was much prettier than I was). She was older so really I was not the logical choice to be the object of this boys attention. But his intentions were not good, but that's later in the story.

As the summer continued on he kissed me, and not just once, a lot. Anywhere people couldn't see us, he would kiss me. He was my first kiss and I thought life couldn't get any better. One day he called me up, wanted me to come visit at his house. My mom had told me I couldn't go alone, that I had to bring my foster sister with me, so I did. When he brought me into a bedroom (under the pretense he wanted to show me something) my heart fluttered. I really thought, in my 12 year old mind, that I was in love. He started kissing me, and after awhile my foster sister got mad and called out she was leaving. And she did leave, but I don't blame her. Had it been her back there and me in the living room alone I would have left too. He took advantage then and pushed me down on the bed and kept kissing me. Before I knew it he was on top of me and being very agressive. I couldn't move, it was hard to breath and I kept telling him to get off me. He undid his pants, and then pulled down mine, and it was the longest 10 minutes of my life. It hurt and I just kept crying for him to stop and to get off me. I kept telling him no over and over again. It stretched on forever, time seemed to freeze, I felt like I was being split into two.

Never again would life be the same, I knew that already. I didn't know what would happen next, if he'd kill me, or hurt me more or what, but I knew things had forever changed. He let me leave when he was done, but not without throwing an ant farm at me, and issuing a threat. The exact words of the threat I do not remember, but I haven't been afraid of him for many years. For awhile I kept track of him, where he lived, how far away that was, and etc. As long as I knew that I was able to leave the house, to walk down the street without fear.

After that I became a shut in of sorts. I'd walk to the convenient store, use my allowance to buy junk food, and go back home and spend the week eating junk. Plus I'd eat whatever snacks I could get at home. I spent most of the next few years with a couple of close friends, and if I wasn't with them, I'd be locked in my room, writing. This is about the time I'd start keeping a second secret.