When I was 15 years old I was just beginning to drink with my friends on the weekends. It was new and fun and none of us knew our limits or about all the different types of alcohol or the repercussions that came from slowly losing control over your own mind or body.

My friends were beautiful and well liked by all the senior boys (we were sophomores) and every weekend I’d get dragged along to their parties. I didn’t know how to say no. Even though I clearly never fit in and no one actually talked to me because I was the shy, weird looking one.

One weekend we got drunk at an elementary school late at night. We were swinging and going down slides and two of the friends I was with went off on their own with different guys. So it was just me and this boy I thought was really cute. One thing led to another and we, too, went into an alley between classrooms, making out against the building that was once my sixth grade classroom. I had only kissed one boy before this. He told me I was a good kisser. I ate it up. I thought, is this really happening to me?? I’m dreaming. This guy is so cute. He’s so cool. He’s being nice to me. He WANTS me. This is rare.

That’s all we did until we went back to one of their houses where we all drank some more. Everyone was taking shots… I didn’t know what shots even were but apparently it was a very fancy and expensive vodka so we all tried some. It was still fun at this point being with everyone and experiencing all these new things.

Then my night blurs out. Next thing I know I’m in a car, in the back seat, alone with the guy again. I don’t know where my friends went. One of his friends was in the driver’s seat but he got out to give us some privacy or something. We start kissing again… he lays down, I am straddling him, we kiss for a while… never kissed anyone for this long before. We’re both fully clothed but he slips his hand up my dress without asking me. Then into my underwear. Then into me. What the hell is happening? This is what people are supposed to do when they hook up, right? It’s what my friends do! It’s what people in the movies do. It’s the only logical next step. I don’t like it, but I let him continue. He’s older and he knows better than me anyways. Things blur out again. Next thing I know his pants are pulled down, but I’m not touching him, no way! I’ve never even seen a penis before and he didn’t even ask me about any of this. His fingers are still inside of me though and I’ve stopped kissing him because I feel strange. I look down to try to make out what’s going on in the darkness and it’s no longer his fingers inside of me. He’s trying to shove his fucking penis inside… and I was so drunk I didn’t even notice. I stop him IMMEDIATELY and slide off him. Hurt. Confused. Did I just lose my virginity? I don’t know. I don’t want to count it. I don’t know how long he had switched it up on me or if the attempts were even successful.

Fast forward to that week at school. He has told EVERYONE that we had sex. All the older kids, all the younger kids in my grade, too. They all call me a slut. They say that I’m easy. And maybe I am? Maybe I did lose my virginity to this guy? But I didn’t mean to. Eventually people stop caring as much but throughout my entire high school experience I am seen as a fucking easy whore based off of one shitty experience with a douchebag. I don’t even lose my virginity (for real, because I still refuse to think that was real) let alone SEE anyone else with their pants off until I turn 18. I even forget about the whole encounter for some time. It’s in the past and it doesn’t matter.

Except it does. Somewhere inside I am still ANGRY and disgusted at this piece of shit. I ran into him yesterday just like I did when I was out last time I visited home in October. He graduated a year after what happened so I never had to see him again, until now. Maybe I have all these unresolved feelings inside me from not dealing with what happened or accepting that yes, I was probably raped. I didn’t even admit it to myself until October. 10 fucking years later! But I still didn’t stand up for myself. What did I do that night? I smiled back at him and gave him a hug, thinking, “he probably doesn’t even remember.” Yesterday I ignored him and ran to the bathroom to cry. I guess that’s a little better right?

Stop apologizing. You don’t have to say sorry for how you laugh, how you dress, how you make your hair, how you speak. You don’t have to be sorry for being yourself. Do it fearlessly. It’s time to accept this is you, and you gotta spend the rest of your life with you. So start loving your sarcasm, your awkwardness, your weirdness, your unique sense of humor, your everything. It will make your life so much easier to simply be yourself.

(via purplebuddhaquotes)