Lifting the Weight—Telling My Boyfriend My Secret
As I mentioned in my last post, during this time I was in a relationship with a guy — let’s call him Mick.
Mick was my first serious relationship and my first true love. At the time, he was the only person I could imagine confiding in. Nevertheless, I was still extremely anxious that him finding out who the “real me” was would disgust him, and I would never see him again. Worse yet, he could tell someone else and soon the entire school would know. Mick was from the town next to me where I went to school, which was slightly bigger than my town, but still very much had a small-town mentality. Apprehensive, I asked him if we could go somewhere and have a serious talk.
Mick was my first serious relationship and my first true love. At the time, he was the only person I could imagine confiding in. Nevertheless, I was still extremely anxious that him finding out who the “real me” was would disgust him, and I would never see him again.
We slid into his old Crown Vic, and I sat on the passenger side instead of my usual spot in the middle. He had cozy cloth seats which should have felt comforting; however, I remained extremely tense the entire trip. He drove to the park by the river, and we sat in silence for a minute as I stared out the front, watching the light dance across the moving water. I began to tell him about the situation with my cousins, careful with my word choice. I wanted to gage his reaction to this news to see how he might react to my story. I remember asking him his definition of “rape” and whether certain things that happened to my sister and cousins would count as so. Nervous of his hesitant reaction, I began defending them until he agreed, tears slowly running down my cheeks. I don’t remember if I told him that day or exactly how, but I remember when I told him he already knew something had happened. I remember how I quickly qualified that my brother had never fully penetrated me; I never allowed him, complaining it hurt or squirming away at the last second during his many attempts, thinking if that had been the case my “purity” would be tainted, and I would be somehow beyond repair… After all, no longer a “virgin,” what would be the appeal to stay with my awkward, damaged self? To my relief, he did not run away disgusted at this new image of me, but rather he held me and assured me it wasn’t my fault. I could see the anger in his eyes at the thought of my brother hurting me, but he truly just wanted to be there for me. All of my fears were for nothing, and Mick became my rock to ground me throughout the harrowing healing process to come.
To my relief, he did not run away disgusted at this new image of me, but rather he held me and assured me it wasn’t my fault.
Having finally told someone a sliver of my story released the cumbersome weight that suffocated me for years. Calling the situation what it was, rape, and being acknowledged that what I had endured was indeed so, was a leap towards reclaiming myself; I was not the sick individual beyond repair, my brother was. However, I was still apprehensive at the thought of others knowing my situation. People who did not know me probably would not be as accepting in this small-town world, and I couldn’t bear being ridiculed for my abuse. I also couldn’t ruin my reputation in the area; my exchange, my scholarship opportunities, and my success could all still be taken away from me, and I did not have the time nor the strength to vindicate myself let alone deal with the justice system where I would have to relive every moment. Mick convinced me telling my parents was the best option; if I kept quiet, I could be responsible for this happening to people in the future, allowing the cycle to repeat. Together, we devised a plan to inform my parents without me having to sit there in front of them as they learned the news.