“years of love have been forgot…

…in the hatred of a minute”

Ten years ago today, I had something taken from me. Ten years ago today, I was changed. Ten years ago, I woke up whole and went to sleep crying. I woke up trusting and went to sleep a cynic. I woke up safe and went to sleep believing I’d be scared for the rest of my life. Ten years ago today, I woke up a virgin and went to sleep a victim.

Please don’t ask me for details about what happened. I hardly remember them anymore. I remember not wanting to be alone with him. I remember it being the middle of the afternoon and I remember him being perfectly nice. I remember my waist-length hair getting in the way, getting caught, getting pulled. I remember his weight on top of me. I remember telling him I had a boyfriend. I remember the front door opening, which was enough to get him off of me halfway through. I remember his smell. I remember his eyes. That’s about all.

For the first six months after that, I forgot that my sexuality belonged to me. I thought that he took that away from me and that it wasn’t mine to take back. I forgot that I was allowed to say the word “no.” I was a freshman in college and I was up for anything because I believed that I didn’t have a choice.

I got my sexuality back, but for the next year I forgot that I was allowed to use it. It was mine to have, mine to keep, and no you can’t have any. Don’t touch me, don’t kiss me, don’t look at me. Stay away. I finally remembered how to say no, and refused to say anything else.

Next, I disappeared into a relationship for another year because there wasn’t enough left of myself to make a whole person. Then came another two years of celibacy, and then I started to compartmentalize. There were some men in my life for love, some for affection, and some for sex. I couldn’t bear the thought of combining them. Doing that would give them too much power over me. My fear of commitment stemmed from my fear of letting one person have more of me than I was willing to give.

And then came one man, one very special man, who warned me from the beginning that he couldn’t be my future because he has his own demons. He’s lived what I lived. For nearly two years now, this man has loved me, and listened to me, and cried with me while I listened to him and loved him back. He broke down my walls and helped me rebuild them, stronger and sturdier than ever before. And though he may not be my future, he gave me my future back.

It’s taken me ten years to get back what I lost in fifteen minutes. Ten years to reclaim, piece by piece, what I was afraid I’d never get back. Ten years to feel whole again, to feel deserving, to feel confident. Ten years to feel healthy.

Ten years later, I’m ready to move on.