Memoirs of a Real Girl – Shallow Strength

Baby Girl,

I have always been one to think that I was more mature and stronger than my peers. I often viewed those around me as cry babies. In reality, I am probably the weakest of them all. I allow my loneliness to shatter every ounce of strength that I once had. It only takes one event or mishap to make you realize how vulnerable and damaged you really are. I can deny it all I want but at the end of the day I am not the warrior I’ve shown the world. I am just a girl. A broken, bruised, internally black & blue little girl within an adult body.

It was a regular day in the Mid-West. I would describe the weather to you but I don’t remember. I do remember being miserable as usual. I hated being in Illinois. Every day I woke up in my bed trying to figure out which tree or intersection I could drive my car into. The only thing that stopped me was knowing that your grandmother and grandfather are co-signers to some of my student loans. Debt runs my world and I couldn’t leave this planet knowing that I am leaving my parents with an extra bill to pay. With this in mind, I woke up every morning and continued on with my day. Attended class, hung out with some friends, fought with my roommates and tried to muster enough strength to repeat the process the next morning.

Today was different. Today I was meeting up with this guy that I’ve had a crush on for a while. We spent enough time flirting through the phone and I knew sooner or later he was going to ask to come over. Sure enough during the late hours of the night he calls. “Can I come over?”  Yes. Yes, please do. Before long I heard him walking up the steps to my front door and then down the steps to my bedroom. I would soon learn that ignoring his intoxication level was the least of my worries. In my mind this was the first step to something casual and something consistent. If you learn nothing from this story, please understand this: What you have in your mind is not always reality. The sooner you understand that, you will be able to navigate social and romantic interactions with the opposite sex… or the same sex. Whatever you decide.

After a forced conversation we got to business. Immediately I realized that I wanted out. I wanted him off of me and back at his own home. The whole situation was pointless and I wanted to just stop. Why did I tell him to come over? Did I really need to be around a man THAT bad? I obviously didn’t like him as much as I thought I did. It was a fantasy. A sold dream… to myself. The idea of a successful Black man wanting me was what I desired. Not him. Not this way. Thoughts of regret and pleas to halt ran through my head. Continued thrusts reminded me that I was not being vocal. I decided to take a stand. I asked him to stop. I demanded him to stop. I began to cry. He never stopped and never saw my tears.  The only light was that of the moon barely peaking through the blinds. It was pointless. I never yelled or hit him. I tried to push his body off of mine but he was too strong. He just applied more pressure. I just closed my eyes and gave up. After all it was my fault that he was there.

When everything was done, he was sleep under the covers as though we just made the most passionate love ever. As I stared at the ceiling, I tried to figure out if I was a victim or an active participant? Did I allow this to happen or did I want this to happen? I said stop and that should have been enough.  To the world and his friends, he is a great guy, but to me he is the guy that ignored my pleas.  I spent the next afternoon in front of a campus coffee shop with tears burning my cheeks as I replayed the scenario to my friend. He said everything that someone is supposed to say. As a growing woman you will be told that you have all the rights in the world. You will be told that “no” means “no”. You will be told that you can get out of any situation at any time. You will be told that it is ok to share these stories and that it is ok to report it. I just want you to know that while this is all true, what they neglect to tell you is that it only takes a moment create a scar that a lifetime of rights can’t fix. I allowed my loneliness to say yes. I allowed my confusion about myself to paralyze me and most importantly I subconsciously accepted how weak I really was.  At some point you have to accept responsibility. This is me trying to accept mine.

Love always,

Mom

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About Buxxy

Just a student loan baby trying to make it in an cold cold world....
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