Hi everyone. I still don’t have direct access to this account (only by way of Instagram) but I
Hi everyone. I still don’t have direct access to this account (only by way of Instagram) but I’ve been missing an outlet, especially tonight. [trigger warning: sexual predator, sexual assault, self harm, drug abuse, suicide, depression, harassment] When I was 15, I made friends with a performer at Disneyland. He was 25. Right after I turned 16, my boyfriend of two years cheated on me and we broke up. I was devastated and broken. My depression worsened and my so-called friend was there for me. So there for me, in fact, that he claimed to have feelings for me and the capacity to treat me better than my loser cheater boyfriend did. I was a child. I didn’t know any better. I believed him. We hung out. We kissed. We exchanged pictures. It was illegal. He told me he would do anything to be with me, I was so mature for my age, I was the girl for him, he’d marry me if he could, he’d wait for me. I couldn’t believe someone wanted me. I didn’t know any better. I believed him. When I was 17 I found out I wasn’t the only girl in his life. He was dating someone his own age and she had no idea about me. Of course not. No one did. She asked for my side of the story and I gave it to her. I omitted the age thing. I didn’t want him to get in trouble. I don’t know if she believed me or not, but she never replied, and they stayed together. I was both heartbroken and relieved that it was over. I blocked his number. I started to move on. I realized I didn’t even like men, came out as a lesbian, dated a few girls. Someone harassed me on Instagram periodically. They somehow knew about everything that had happened, and they wanted me to feel terrible for it. I tried to ignore it, and for a long time, it went away. I got into an amazing university and lived without my parents for the first time. I found the love of my life at college shortly after I was sexually assaulted by a close friend. The assault brought back a lot. It forced me to deal with emotions I’d ignored for years. I sought closure at the bottle of pill bottles and in razor blades. I tried to kill myself. By day, I preached support for victims of sexual abuse. By night, I blamed myself for the ways in (cont) -- source link