Ch 2. Hades and Persephone

Unlike Persephone, I did not yet know of the danger I was in when this man started to pursue me.  My mother also wasn’t there to turn me into a tree, but that’s beside the point.

At the age of fourteen, an attractive, older man messaged me over Facebook, so of course, I answered him.  At first, Sam was just asking me about myself:  What music did I like?  What did I do in my spare time?  The usual, beginning dialogue.  Before too long, we exchanged numbers because at the time, texting was a lot easier than Facebook messaging (this was the time before smartphones, after all).

Once we started texting, conversations became more intimate.  He revealed that he was dating someone, but alas, he was unhappy in the relationship.  Why was he unhappy?  His explanation went something like this (keep in mind, this was almost nine years ago, so the wording is off, but the attitude remains):

“I just feel like I’m not able to make her happy.  We’ve been dating for a few years, and she says that she enjoys sex, but she never gets an orgasm.  I think she just can’t, and that just makes it less enjoyable for me.”

After making a statement similar to that, he asked me if I had ever had an orgasm.  Being a naive fourteen year old that still had dial-up internet, I wasn’t even completely sure I knew what an orgasm was.  I told him that I had never had sex before.  He answered that you don’t need to to have sex to have an orgasm (and I’m sure he added a winkie-face).  Now even more confused (as I was sure orgasms had a lot to do with sex), I just told him that I didn’t think I had.  He then proceeded to ask me about my masturbation habits, of which I had none.

Eventually, he asked me to send him a picture of my body.  I remember being scared, but more than that, I didn’t want to disappoint him.  I told him that I didn’t want to send him a picture of myself naked.  He told me I could wear a swimming suit, and that would be fine.  I think these conversations were so exciting and new to me, that I didn’t even see the danger in them.  Before long, he informed me that he had broken up with his girlfriend, and we made plans to meet up for the first time.


Ch 1. Innocence

At the age of fourteen, I stood five feet and four inches tall.  I hit a growth spurt early and had only grown two inches since fifth grade.  My face was in a constant battle between having too much moisture and not enough, so oftentimes, I would have a combination of acne and dry skin.  My hair was it’s natural light brown/dark blonde color.  It had been dyed in the past, but that was only on account of my sister (eighteen and a freshman in college) becoming board and using me as a live doll.  I weighed a mere 110 pounds and was able to maintain that weight without ever having to think about it (ah, to be young again…).  In fact, as a freshman in high school, I didn’t care much at all about my weight.  I ate what I wanted, when I wanted, and I only joined cross country and track because I had a good time with it.

Recently, I had moved up from a size B cup to a C, and I finally threw out my sister’s only bras, which had been handed down to her from our mom.  While most of my friends dressed in the latest clothes from Abercrombie & Fitch (with the perfume to keep the clothes smelling like the store), I wore my sister’s hand-me-downs that she decided were out of fashion for her now that she was a college student.  That and the fact that I now had a bathroom to myself were the advantages to my sister moving out.  The downside is that, until I turned sixteen, I was forced to ride the bus again.

My biggest problem every day was what my Facebook status would be.  My friends and I had just finished reading all of the books in the Twilight series, and we would practically brag to each other about how we cried at certain parts.  We loved watching movies like The Notebook because those were movies about true love, and we knew just what the characters were going through because we felt the same way when we broke up with our boyfriends (barf).

I was a typical, American high school freshman girl, surrounded by innocence.  I had no idea how to be a real person yet or think for myself.  Everything I learned was from following the lead of the older people in my life.

And he knew it.  That’s why he went for me.



I’m starting this blog because once again, I can’t fall asleep.  When I can’t fall asleep, like most people, my mind wanders.  My mind began to wander into the past, like most minds do when people can’t sleep, and some of my past mistakes and regrets reformed.  I decided, maybe the best way to get these thoughts out of my head is to write about them.  A friend of mine started a blog recently, so I figured, maybe this would be better than writing my thoughts in a journal where no one will see them.  This way, I feel like I’m at least telling someone about my past rather than just repeating it to myself, who already knows everything about what has happened.

So, what is it that I will be writing about?  Let me tell you:

In this blog, I will be writing in detail about some of the issues I have had in the past, mostly revolving around an unhealthy relationship that I found myself in.  From this relationship came depression, anxiety, eating disorders, self-hate, drugs (some illicit, some legal), and regret.  It probably won’t be a particularly interesting story for most people, but, lucky for me, I’m not writing this story for most people.  In fact, I don’t intend to tell most people I am doing this.

I won’t be using any real names in this story, aside from my own.  Any friends that I mention will have different names in case I mention something about them that they would dislike.  I don’t need anyone getting in trouble with their parents about something they did when they were dumb teenagers, like I was (not that any of their parents will be reading this).  My ex boyfriend will have a different name because, though I don’t like to admit it, I don’t like saying his name in reference to himself.  It’s a very common name that I have no problem addressing other people with, but with him, it just is more difficult.  Instead, I will be using the name “Sam.”  Why Sam?  Sam is the name of my parents’ cat, and he (like many cats) is an ass.  So, Sam.

Without further ado, let’s start at the beginning.