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My first boyfriend in the US

It was 2010, and I had just moved from my birth country without a clue about where I was standing. I was hopeful because it was an opportunity that made me think I was blessed. it was my freshmen year in high school, and on my first day at lunch you found out about me, the new Colombian girl in school. you were Colombian too. we connected just because we both thought we had a lot in common. you were two and a half years older than me. God, if I could go back in time I would tell myself to run, tell myself to just say no when you asked me out for a date, or to not go to Laura’s house. I thought it was nice that you were affectionate, I never expected that I would mean you could force me to go into a bathroom in an empty apartment and orally rape me because you didn’t wanted to be a virgin when you turned 18 and started your senior year. you said love me after the damage was done, I couldn’t move or talk because it was so surreal, this can’t happen to me. but I went home it hit me faster than a train, you raped me. I washed my mouth with bleach and cried for hours because I couldn’t accept what you had done to me. how could this happen to me… I waited for you to say you were sorry. you break up with me because I refuse to have sex with you at a party after you get me drunk without my knowledge, how stupid of me to trust you with a drink. somehow my mother knew of your intentions, and picked me up. little did she knew that the damage was already done. I will never be the same, I can’t ever trust a man, not even the one I love. I will never trust my husband because of what you did to me, I can’t fully love because the pain you caused me was greater than any horrible thing I witnessed as a child during times of war, you took the freedom and liberty I came here for fade in exchange for sorrow and trust issues. and after all these years you message me and say “it’s been so long, we should hang out sometime”.

— Survivor, age 22

1 comment

  • Alexis


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