The story of my rapes, or how the patriarchal system transforms a rape into an act of love.
I was 15 when I met him. I stayed with him for two years before I had the strength to leave him, although I made many attempts.
He was my prince charming and I was his princess. He was the most beautiful and the strongest. And besides, it made me feel like I was not alone (it was bad with my class at school and there was only one class in my year, the school being small).
He saw himself as the charming prince, beautiful and devastating, that many girls wanted. He was looking for his little princess, sweet and innocent, with whom he would have his happy ending. And many children, of course.
Me, I was seduced by his vision, his happy end. Everything promised to end up like a Disney. My head was stuffed with love stories. Of Love, of Truth, of the One. I even believed in soul mate (I had actually read Twilight ). And I slipped very quickly into the role of the sweet, shy and innocent girl, since it was like that in the Disney and that it had to be the sine qua non condition to have my happy end. Very little in truth, to be only a part of me, since it would allow me to be happy all my life. I even erased from my memory that I had kissed a boy before him (I remembered it a few months ago).
It took us six months to get out together. I had to give him time not to think at all of his ex-boyfriend who had just left (and who was part of my class and my circle of "friends"). Going out with him put me back with almost all my class, but it was worth it, he loved me, I loved him, and we would love each other until the end of time.
Still, the beginning of our relationship (the real one, when we started kissing, although I had never done anything more than a kiss, I had no idea how to do it, and that I was so afraid of doing wrong) did not start at all as I had hoped. He immediately showed himself tyrannical, canceled an appointment or arrived with hours of delay just like that (up to four or five hours late). And when it was canceled, it was always an hour after the hour when we were supposed to see each other. Instead of breaking, I thought that I loved him and that he loved me, and it must be true, since he often told me so. When we saw each other, he reproached me for not kissing him, not to hug him. But I was too afraid to do wrong, I was too intimidated by him and his knowledge of relationships (and then he never took the initiative either). It lasted about five months.
During this period, we got closer physically, but very slowly.
Then we went on vacation, each one on our side, and we did not see each other for five weeks. On his return, he completely changed. He became attentive, he arrived almost on time. And at school we spent our lunch together, it was even he who had proposed.
From the beginning he has been quite possessive towards me, he has never bothered me to speak to a boy other than him, his brother and father (or my brother and father). Her jealousy was such that when one day I received an extremely aggressive message from a girl I did not know and told me that "if I stopped turning around her guy, she would break my mouth "He thought I was turning around a guy and made me a crisis of extremely violent jealousy. It was only three months that we were together at that time. But I was already in a gear I could not get out of.
After the summer holidays so, he started to lock me in a bubble where there were only the two of us. He would send me text messages all the time and it was intolerable that I would not answer him within ten minutes, even when I was on the phone. I had become accustomed to warn him that I was in an interview and that at the time I could not answer him as quickly as usual.
The moment when he became more attentive with me coincided with the moment when the preliminaries began gradually. For my part, I felt bad since the beginning of the relationship because "I wanted to thank him for his love by giving him my virginity" (as Disney, it is a real bundle of patriarchal rubbish, as well as the romance novels that all teens are fond of). I felt bad because it had been months since he made me happy and I still could not thank my Prince Charmant as he should. I was not in tune with what society had taught me.
Our first time came (it was also his first time). At that time, it was about nine months since we were together. We had slept together once before, and since he was very afraid that someone would hear us, even during the preliminaries, he always put on a movie or music. The time we slept together for the first time, he put the cartoon Me, ugly and wicked. And personally, I can not help but watch what happens on the screen. It's stronger than me. And he was very upset that I was watching the screen. In short, a week later, we sleep together again. And there is our first time, which I was waiting with incredible fervor. I thought it would be an apotheosis, something magnificent that was only once lived in life. Well, I just got hurt from start to finish. It was so painful that afterwards, my legs and my body trembled for almost an hour. And I, always in my delirium "I had it in me, it's too wonderful", I wanted to remake love. It was no less painful and my body trembled again like a leaf afterwards.
After that, I did not want to make love, although I kept telling him it was the best day of my life (he saw it like that and I could not think otherwise, had done everything to make it wonderful, and that even though I had very badly it was inconceivable that it was not wonderful. He wanted to make love, "because there is only that way that we will improve and that it will become well". I did not feel like it, I did not feel anything, I did not wet. Then, lubricant was used. "I could still think of ourselves and how it will be well once we get used to it. The problem was that I still had so few feelings. And it lasted
month. I let him do it, did as I could. He reproached me for not reacting, when he knew that I felt nothing. "I just had to pretend. And the day I tried to pretend to please him, he reprimanded me with a scathing "stop pretending, it pities." He also began to ask me to dress with sexy clothes and make-up so that he was excited, I had to understand that "it was not gay for him to make love with a bag of meat without sensations ". He also used the phrase "bag of flour". So I did it. For months, I disguised myself as a whore for other girls. To make him want me. I was more than ever alone in school and was my only support. With him, I was not alone in recreation or during the noon. I had no friends to tell all this, no one to support me. And as at school it went badly, I stayed with him. Everything rather than being alone. I tried to break when it was about fifteen months. But I did not succeed. He was in an incredible state when I told him I wanted to break. "It was not possible, he did everything to make me happy, he had offered me a ring for my birthday and he only offered a ring to the woman of his life," etc. To the point of throwing himself on his knees on the ground and striking the macadam with his fist. I tried to break when it was about fifteen months. But I did not succeed. He was in an incredible state when I told him I wanted to break. "It was not possible, he did everything to make me happy, he had offered me a ring for my birthday and he only offered a ring to the woman of his life," etc. To the point of throwing himself on his knees on the ground and striking the macadam with his fist. I tried to break when it was about fifteen months. But I did not succeed.
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Then, just before the summer holidays, it was arranged with regard to sex. Even though I often found that we spent more time making love than doing anything else when we saw each other. He said to me "go, I want ...", and I yielded. I wanted to please her. He was my Prince Charming, after all.
I never made love or had preliminaries like I wanted. I did everything he wanted, trying to prevent his desires so that he did not get upset because I did not do as he wanted or thought in his head. It was like that for everything else. When he was there, I tried to respond to others according to him and what I thought he would have liked me to say. And every time I did not do it, all of a sudden it became very cold, no longer spoke to me and no longer looked at me. Then, as soon as we were in private, he exploded in anger. His anger frightened me to the point that even when he was not there, I ended up acting and responding as he wished, including in family.
At home, it became unbearable. My mother and I were systematically in crisis. I wanted her to let me do my life and she tried to make me find my personality. I was no more than the shadow of myself. My character had become very unstable, and I was annoyed at my brother as soon as he spoke to me or spoke at the table. During some disputes with my ex, I also made small crises of nerves, these lasting up to three quarters of an hour.
At the beginning of the school year, I decided to change schools, I could not take my own. And my mother has directly taken the steps to enroll in a new school. When I told him that I was changing schools, he became furious, tapped into the door, into the wall, and I, who had to leave, followed me on leaving, asking me not to change schools , he stopped me. As I told him it was too late, he threw himself on the ground, yelled, hit the ground with his fist several times. I thought at that moment that he was going to hit me. And I think that if he had struck me, I would not have left him anyway. It was unthinkable for me to leave him. I could not envisage it. Until I come to a moment of breaking, choking such that my survival instinct came back and I was trying to leave him. But it was every time the same cinema, he was crying, told me that he understood his mistakes, that now he would be perfect, I would live a dream life with him if I stayed. And I yielded every time, his grief truly broke my heart. I could not bear to see him suffer like that.
Once I changed my school, I could blow a little. He always sent me as many text messages, if not more, but at least I no longer saw him in school, and I had made friends. I was no longer alone. Even if basically nothing had changed between him and me, having friends gave me the strength not to retract me when for the last time I wanted to leave him.
We had reached a moment of real crisis. From the beginning, he demonized my mother, came up against me on the slightest occasion. Shortly before our two years, he had become more possessive and jealous than ever, to the point of preventing me from being able to do anything for my classes. And my parents had decided to talk to him to reframe him. But he had set up a plan: to make them listen to reason so that we could see more often because we needed them, but for that, he needed me to express only one thing, to tell my parents that I agreed with him and not with them. This was not true, I agreed with my parents (I was terribly relieved when they told me they were going to talk to him) and not with him. Although I did not dare to tell him that I did not agree with him, since all the same we were a couple, we needed to see each other, and I had to support him in his fight. I told him that I would say that I agreed with what my parents would say and with what would tell him. And he stooped more and more, until he asked me to choose between my mother and him. In her head, my mother was the only wicked and my father was the kind. He hoped to turn him against my mother. So he asked me to make a choice. And I refused. I tried to break, but I gave in again. But when he called me that night, he asked me again if I would 100% support him against my parents. And there I found the strength to break definitively. I pass the story of how he tried to convince me not to break,
The worst part is that during the weeks that followed, I thought I was living in a nightmare. And the only thing that managed to keep me up was hatred for everything he had done to me. This hatred is still in me. But what is even more present and marked in my flesh is my fear of him. Recently I watched a video that showed a workout where a woman learns to react against a man who might violate her. Watching this video made me relive everything I felt with him. At the end of the video, I was out of breath and panicked. And still today, when I meet him, I'm afraid.
I'm pretty fast out with you
no other boy, not violent one. I went to bed again without really wanting. But my goal was to reappropriate my body, to prove to myself that I could do it with whom I wanted, that I could please someone else. My ex with such a control on my person that it made me a crisis when I went to the hairdresser to cut the damaged tips of my hair. My first act of reappropriating myself was to cut my hair down to the shoulders. I am always reappropriating my body, although in terms of sex, I have reconquered it. For two years, I cut my hair shorter and shorter. It's been two and a half years now and I still can not stand seeing my hair grow back a few millimeters. I would go to the hairdresser every three weeks if I could. My hair is now very short and fit me very well, I love them very much. But I do not wear them just as a challenge to men (I do what I want and fuck long hair), I wear them to reappropriate my body.
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I wrote this text first of all for myself, to allow myself to evacuate, to relate what I experienced. But most of all, because although feminism is about conjugal rape, few testimonies resemble mine. My ex never took me by force, he made me cede by blackmail. But it's rape too. I have this need to see, to verify that it is indeed a rape, because even if the theory says so, I have found no experience like mine. Even today, I say to myself that maybe I get my head up. But putting it in writing allowed me to prove to myself that it was a rape. And I hope that this testimony will help others.
Because yes, I still felt pleasure and yes I often wanted him. Every time I did not want to make love, he made me give in by blackmail. But there, too, I felt pleasure. It does not change the rape and the psychic hold it had on me, it did not stop him from destroying me. But I get through, little by little. My pride is to be able to dress as I want, to choose the haircut I want. But above all, my success in my studies and in my love life, which I live as I hear it. Even though it took me two years for that. Even though today I am still afraid of him and I am still unable to speak to him. I am looking for solutions, I speak to my companion, I read a lot on the subject. One day, I will be rid of his hold.
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