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I Found You Too Young.
The first thing you need to know in order for you to keep reading is that I have thought long and hard and I am willing to put out some public retraction of what I said. I am so fucking sorry. I don't know how to fix this, but I think maybe a public apology might be a good place to start. I also need to give you some background. I am begging you, please keep reading. I have been on a journey of self discovery for about a decade now. We had the joy of sharing some of those years together. But that was before the darkness really came. Keep reading. I am sorry for misplacing all my rage at you. You didn't deserve it. You loved me. And you saved me. And neither of us even knew it yet. I scapegoated you. Was our relationship healthy? Definitely not. Was a large portion of that my responsibility though? Yes. I'm sorry. I own that now that I'm approaching thirty and can see so clearly. I am now diagnosed with severe PTSD from childhood sexual trauma, which has played out in all kinds of creepy ways. In the last few years of my life, I learned that I had a long lost aunt. I learned the reasons why my parents are and were so mentally ill and traumatized. I learned about what made them so crazy about sexuality. I sought out this aunt and learned a lot of the truth that had been hidden from me for years. I learned and remembered things I had repressed. I connected with a wonderful, stable person who was essentially disowned by my family for coming forward about child sexual abuse that kept trickling down and down until it hit a cute little blonde girl who I still have to distance myself from in my memory or I lose my shit. It was my grandfather. What's kind of sad is that I feel like this isn't going to come as any kind of surprise to you at all. I didn't even know why yet, but when I fell in love with you, I felt broken. Ruined. Like no one would ever love me. When my parents found out I had given you my virginity, a concept I'm not even sure exists anymore now that I'm a more sophisticated and empowered version of myself, that was the narrative. That no one would ever want to marry me now that my stupid fucking cherry had been popped. They made me believe moralistic bullshit things that I don't subscribe to anymore. About religion, about my worth as a female, about sex, about secrets. Your whole family knew I was being abused. I know that, thinking back to the way they welcomed me and loved me. And I might as well have spit on you all when everything shifted and turned between you and I. I was brainwashed. I'm sorry. And I had desires for you that I was made to believe made me bad. Sick. Shameful. Slutty. Worthless. Those were the things they told me. And I fucked you over. And you fucked me over. And I fucked you over again. I fucked up. But here's the fucking thing. I loved you madly. And I didn't give a flying fuck because I wanted to give you every orifice of my body and give you complete submission. I didn't have language for it as a kid, or the education to be safe about it, and neither did you. But that's what it was. Submission. I used to enjoy giving myself over to you and feeling the ecstasy that came with it because I thought you were the hottest thing to ever walk the earth and I wanted you to get me pregnant. I wanted your babies, I wanted your name. I wanted it all. When I decided to fuck you, I had been abstinent. And pro life. I went in with the understanding and belief system that said our souls would be inseparable afterwards, and I thought you felt the same way. I thought we were in it for the long haul. Was I crazy? I don't know. But it felt reallllllly good. You taught me about lube, orgasms, oral sex, positions, birth control, anal sex, my clitoris, my anatomy, my nipples, everything. And fuck man, it was hot. I know we were just kids, but we were really good at fucking. We explored everything with no fear. We really fucking loved one another. I think back now to you accompanying me to planned parenthood and I'm like wow- he was a pretty progressive boyfriend! It was me and my fucked up upbringing that made the whole thing feel wrong. It was right. None of it was wrong. I was having the time of my life. I trusted you. With everything. I remember days I would stay home from school with you and you would tie me to your bed and be so dirty with me that I would just be soaked afterwards. We would make love all day. I used to love you cumming in my mouth, licking my pussy, wrapping your hand around my throat enough to excite me but never so much that I actually got injured. Nonetheless, we engaged in things that were beautiful, but so over our heads. It was BDSM and we had no safe word and no pre-emptive discussions about what was okay and what wasn't. Obviously, you were fucking bound to cross my boundaries at some point! Because they weren't known to you! You watched a lot of pornography, and it taught you a lot, but I think as adults you would agree that it gave us unrealistic ideas about sexual health and consent. I don't blame you for that anymore. I blame a lot of external bullshit we were dealing with. Because I know now, that you really did love me and probably never meant to hurt me at all. Unless I liked it and asked for it. I bet if I met you now at my age instead of then it would be a whole different ballgame. Back to my newfound family member. Basically, my family is insane because the real monster was right under my nose all along. They all blamed you and I for our sexual advancements but I had already been being sexually abused for years by my grandfather. How was I supposed to feel, being shamed for a condom and all that bullshit right before what happened, being berated over my virginity, when I had been violated in such shitty ways before I even laid eyes on you? He abused just about everyone in the family and honestly, without you, and your family, I would have definitely killed myself as a teenager. I have not come clean about knowing all of this, my own repressed memories, or my relationship with the aunt who was disowned for coming forward. You are one of the first to know. I would appreciate it if that was kept this way. I am willing to apologize publicly for my actions and leave out my backstory. I want to make what I did right. What you did that day years ago was not okay. Let's not forget that I was crying and saying no- but let us also remember that that wasn't exactly strange for us. We engaged in some pretty hot, kinky, twisted stuff. Begging you to stop wasn't really out of the ordinary. So, it wasn't what I thought it was. I know what that is and what that feels like because I have accepted what happened to me now. I let my unfortunate life and situation blame you for a lost innocence that I really just wanted you to have. But it was gone. And I was sad. And pissed and lost. And I was bitter. And I'm sorry. I'm a much healthier, more extroverted, medicated, yoga practicing adult now. And the pedophile is dead. He had to die for me to stop being an idiot. I would like to do whatever I can to help remedy the damage my family's lies and my own trauma and bullshit have done to your life. I no longer want to think of you as "the boy who ____," but as my first love, who I gave it all to, and regret nothing. I wanted to save myself for love. I guess I didn't do so bad, after all.
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