I debated for a while on if I should write about this specific topic. If I should keep it secret. If it’s an appropriate thing to put out there for the public to read. I’m still unsure. So this might get deleted in the future. In writing this I am not looking for sympathy or pity or anything really. I’m using this as an outlet. I’m reaching a breaking point I’m trying to avoid.
A few months ago I started a relationship that was seemingly perfect. He was a gentleman. Opened every door for me. Picked up the tab. Told me I was beautiful. You know, did everything a girl could ever dream about. About a month in to the relationship we took the next step forward. I’m sure you can guess what that step is, and if not then you’ll know soon enough. I didn’t feel scared to share that part of myself with him. I felt cared for and comfortable. That changed very shortly after.
I’m the type of person who doesn’t need sex. It’s not a huge deal to me. Am I a sexual person? Sure. That doesn’t mean that I need it or even want it frequently, or at all sometimes. In a fairly new relationship I expect sex drives to be high. It’s something new, exciting. Yet, it seemed to be his only focus. It became something that tore at me. I no longer enjoyed that aspect of our relationship.
One specific night he was pushing for it. I sunk into a depressive state and started crying. I had to explain that I felt that was the only thing he cared about and that we needed to slow our roll. I also blamed myself and began to think that maybe I made myself too available too soon for him. It was a whirlwind romance and everything had been moving so rapidly. He said he understood and that we’d take things slower. I was grateful that he seemed so understanding and caring as he held me and made sure I felt better. Fast forward to the next morning. Waking up, he began to get pushy again. I couldn’t believe that after we had just had that discussion that he was even asking me. I grew very angry. I asked him, “Don’t you remember the discussion we had last night?” I was greeted with “yes, but you were just sleep deprived.” I couldn’t believe my ears.
I should’ve known then that things weren’t going to work out. That this relationship was going to grow abusive in nature. That he couldn’t provide me with what I needed or was looking for. That I would get hurt in the long run. I wish I would’ve followed my gut…but my gut seemed so wishy-washy at times.
Things went back to normal for some time.
The last few days, well the last week really, of our relationship was awful. Stressful. Full of anger and of doubt. We had a discussion that Thursday about how I felt. I felt that a lot of things were strange. He was hiding me from friends and coworkers. Kept switching plans. Odd things and warning signs his ex warned me of, which back then I thought she was crazy until I started experiencing them myself. His dating site was still up when we got together, even at least a week later. Later I found out he was still dating his ex when he took me on our first date. The list goes on and on. So as I sat him down and calmly explained all this, he grew silent. Started questioning our relationship. Started telling me our political and social differences were too much. Then would said he wanted it to work. Then he didn’t know. Then he could see himself with me forever. Then he couldn’t. Then, the cherry on top of it all, was when he raised his voice at me and told me “well I’ve been dealing with all your mental illness bullshit.”
I couldn’t possibly feel the same about him after that.
At this point, things will get a touch more graphic in the nature of my writing.
A few days later, I was very weary. I spent the night with him after meeting up with a friend. He again, like usual, started pushing for sexual favors. I protested, and then eventually just gave up after he continued to beg. After a few minutes of messing around, whatever you choose to call it, he began to tell me he wanted a blow job. Then that turned into him telling me to give him one. I kept saying no. He got on his knees, and shoved himself in my mouth anyways. I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t want to do it. I did it anyway. I felt as though it was best to just do it than to continue fighting him on the topic. He’d get his way anyway, right?
I felt low after that. I turned away from him after and laid there. We broke up that night. He went through my text messages when I was trying to sleep and found a message to someone that he didn’t like.
“I wish I were with you right now.”
He didn’t give me time to explain that this text message was innocent in nature, no romantic feelings or meaning behind it. That I wanted to be anywhere but with him. That anyone would’ve gotten that message had they texted me as well. He threw my clothes at me and told me to get the fuck out. Which was fine. I wanted to leave. I wanted to leave badly.
I don’t think that the message, in hindsight, was very nice to send. However, it was meant like I intended, and not like he read it. I had no idea how to tell him how violated he made me feel and how badly I didn’t want to be around him. How do you go about telling someone that?
So right now, I feel shitty. The thought of anything sexual makes me sick to my stomach. I have no desire for it. I don’t want my ass grabbed or slapped. Don’t touch me in a sexual manner. Don’t even talk about sex. Being in a relationship now, with someone I dated previously and for a long time, makes that hard. He’s respecting my wishes and understands where I’m coming from and is being 100% supportive. It hurts to think about something so intimate and special being something that gives me anxiety and sickness to my stomach.
I don’t know where to go from here if I’m honest. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to ever see him anywhere, for fear I might cause a scene. I pray that his next girlfriend doesn’t have the same experience that I did.