How I Became A Slut…Beyond Bullying (mature content)

Okay, you can pick your chin up off the floor now.

I thought long and hard about this title, but there was no way to sugarcoat it, and I didn’t want to.  Sometimes the skeletons we keep in the darkest corners of our closet must be dragged out into the light. It’s only in the light that we can reveal their true ugliness, and watch them vanish into smoke. The story is true, the names have been changed to protect the guilty.

It was the summer of 1975, I was fourteen, and Mom and Dad had been divorced for 5 years. My first step-father (there would be four total), had committed suicide the previous August, and my mother was “there but not there” in my life. I will try to fill in the blanks in another post.

I had been “on my own” for some time. The years of abuse my mother had endured with my father, and the loss of my step-father left her somewhat lax in her parenting role. I went out when I wanted, came home when I wanted, and pushed all the boundaries my mother occasionally tried to put into place.

I had been best friends with “Bee” since we were in grade school. We did everything together, and I spent many weekends at her house. Her mother was very strict as opposed to my “invisible” one, and though we both complained about her mother’s rules, it made me feel safe. There was structure there.

The length of our rule breaking at her house consisted of sitting on the stairs with her brother “M”, waiting to raid the fridge for ice cream once her mother went to bed, and one time climbing out the second story window with that same brother  to go drink a beer in the neighbor’s basement.

These somewhat innocent teen antics led to the awful tale I am about to tell. The first “incident” happened when I was again spending the night with my best friend. We were sent to bed early as usual and Bee was sound asleep next to me. I heard the door to her room open and there was her brother. He asked if I wanted to go raid the fridge. I agreed. He said to let Bee sleep, and we went and sat on the stairs, waiting to hear the sound of their mother’s door close for the night. He finally suggested we wait in his room so we wouldn’t get caught. I can’t remember all the details, just fear, and him pushing my head down near his privates…he was naked. I ran out of the room and crawled back in bed with Bee, my whole body shaking.

I don’t understand to this day why what happened next happened. Maybe it was because I refused his advances, or maybe it was the schizophrenia that would later take over her brother’s mind, but he went and told his girlfriend that I had been the one to come into his room that night, and made advances toward him.

This is where the story starts to sound like fiction…I wish it was.

I was spending the night at Bee’s and we were invited out by “M” and his girlfriend. We went to the apartment they now shared. There was beer, music, and some pot.  Bee and I had never smoked weed before, but didn’t want to seem “lame”, so we toked and sipped slowly on a shared beer. There were two other guys there that night, we’ll call them “D” and “D”.  After we had been there a while, both Bee and I had a pretty good buzz, and it was suggested that we go for a ride with the two “D”s and get some “munchies”. We got in the station wagon, me in front and Bee in back. We drove to the store, got some snacks and headed back to the apartment.

When we pulled up in front of the building Bee got out of the back, and I was just sliding over to the door, when the other “D” got in front, putting me between the two guys. They took off, leaving Bee standing on the sidewalk looking stunned, and me not understanding what was going on. I was really messed up by this time, and don’t remember if I even asked where we were going. I was too intoxicated to be scared, until I saw them pull up the long, dark drive to the grade school.

I remember them fumbling with my clothes, and me trying to push them away. Comments being made about my body parts, hands and fingers…I kept crying and trying to think of a way to get out of the car. I remember thinking that my grandparent’s house was only a five-minute walk away, but what would I tell them? I already felt like it was my fault.

I finally managed a loud enough “No” as I scrambled into the backseat, sobbing and begging them to take me back to Bee’s house. They didn’t take me back to Bee’s, they dropped me off on the sidewalk in front of the apartment we had been in. I started to walk to Bee’s house when her brother came running up to me, asking me if I was “okay”. I don’t recall my response…I was numb. I finally got to Bee’s house. When I walked in I could hear loud voices coming from the kitchen. My mother was standing with Bee’s mom, both hysterical and asking Bee where I was. They both went silent when they saw me. My mother screamed at me, “Where have you been?” I couldn’t answer her, because I couldn’t speak…that is when she crossed the room and slapped me across the face.

I don’t remember any more about that night. I never told anyone except my therapist, until now.

The rumors started about a week later. Whispers, laughter, girls avoiding me in the hall, the word “SLUT” written on my locker and on the restroom walls every day. I had never had intercourse with anyone yet, but I was ruined in that little “Peyton Place” town. I was bullied constantly, on the way to school, on the way home, in school. The school’s response was to clean my locker, and the restroom walls.

I had always been a straight “A” student, now it seemed there was a scarlet “A” was emblazoned on my chest. My grades dropped, I bleached my hair, and I hung out with boys. I had no girl friends. Bee’s mom eventually forbade her to associate with me. I took to pot and alcohol more often, and by that Halloween I was lying on the floor of the bathroom at our apartment, my mother in the next room as a 17-year-old boy took my virginity. I just didn’t care anymore. I quit school the day after I turned 16, but I never got past that reputation. Damn, I’m pretty sure to this day they still talk about me there.

I got pregnant 6 months after I quit school. I went back to school for a month, my belly already showing…I don’t know why. Maybe I wanted to prove them all “right”, or maybe I just wanted to show them I didn’t give a shit anymore.

I just realized this goes well with the daily prompt, Outsiders. That’s an understated word.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/daily-prompt-outside-2/

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69 comments on “How I Became A Slut…Beyond Bullying (mature content)

  1. Damn. Powerful sharing. I’ve never been through anything like this, but your post shows how blogging can be a healing way of helping people who are suffering to know that they’re not alone. Peace and thanks, John

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  2. When I was working at my first job, one of my co-workers got pregnant. I suggested throwing a baby shower for her because she’d contributed to other people’s showers. Some of my co-workers balked because the girl was single. I thought how hypocritical that was as some of them could have been in the same situation. They weren’t saints.

    Don’t let any one else define you. What they think is not who you are. It’s terrible that those who tried to take advantage of you then spread rumors about you. They are the ones who should be ashamed – not you. You did the right thing.

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  3. Kim, my heart breaks for you. The shame was never yours. I missed this happening to me because my mother started calling me a tramp at 11 yo. I had no idea what she meant and had to ask my friends. I was so traumatized by this that I didn’t get my first kiss until I was 16, I was so afraid of being a tramp. But I was called weird by my friends and I was weird. My childhood friend told me I was weird but in a good way and I held on to that till this day. My Mom was Bi-polar, I had a little poem for her “there was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead, and when she was good she was very, very good and when she was bad she was horrid”. The abuse was horrible and the good times wonderful.
    You dealt with this the best your could as a child, with no one to help. There is no shame in what you posted, I see a survivor who made it. You are an amazing woman.

    Luanna

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      • I know that things like this distort our image of ourselves. The only time my Mother and I got along was the year before her death, she thought I was my sister (she had dementia). I missed so much school that I dropped out 3 months before graduating. Move out got GED that summer and put my self through school, my Dad sent me $500 every semester. My Mm tried to cut my throat, knife on neck drawing blood and my brother pushed her away. She chased my friend and I through the house with a hatchet…I didn’t remember this until my friend told me recently. Her favorite was to grab my long hair and swing me back an forth in the hall. I have a variety of relatives why they didn’t do anything, and the answer was it wasn’t my business and I didn’t know how bad it was. I had one Aunt, who devised this system of me running to my room pushing the dresser up against the door and calling her, them she would call back and talk to my Mom about just everyday stuff which calmed her ( was 15 when this started) She tried to get me with hedge clippers and put multiple holes in my bedroom door. She held the same job for 25 years, worked evenings and you never knew what was going to happen when she got home. My Daddy was there through most of it but I don’t know why he didn’t stop the abuse. I know she out a loaded gun to his head while he was sleeping and he woke up when she cocked it. She was in a psych hospital twice but would never take the meds after, multiple suicide attempts. But when she was good she was great.
        I lived in a beautiful home, canopy bed, TV and stereo in my room , built in pool.
        I went to therapy as an adult diagnosed with PTSD….love the nightmares, though they have decreased from almost night to now about twice a year.
        You were the victim of many people, starting with your Mom.
        I glad you made it!!!!!!!!!!

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    • Yes, I think that was the most confusing part for me that night. I knew why I was in trouble with my Mom, but it made it that much harder to tell her what happened.

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    • …and we appear to confirm whatever false accusations are held against us. Most prefer to have their beliefs confirmed over the truth and some like to kick those who have already been taken down.

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  4. As I read this I thought of the bullying I had endured through school, although I had the strict parents. And I thought of the many women who have been in the same place who will read your post and cheer for your survival and resulting strength … because it is a truly strong woman who can write like this.

    I also use my blog to heal, to vent, to observe life’s ironies and find the humor that is out there. But I’ve only shared in a general way (and only here and there) about my private pain in life. The road to healing and/or forgiveness is long and possible. Many gals are told they need to “forgive” the idiots who were the abusers.

    And I tell them … “but first you have to get angry”.

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  5. hj kim never be ashamed of u you r beautiful ever sence I first met you uhave been an amazing woman ,u r blessed with 3 beautiful children that I love dearly as I do u u will always b loved u ever need to talk u can reach me anytime 0r chat on fb go to my homepage anytime look at all the pos love u love me lol peace smile on u r 4 ever loved

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  6. Nothing like that happened to me as a teenager, but something similar happened to the girl who became my best friend after her ‘incident’. If we had been a little closer in age and lived in the same time at that point, I feel certain that we would have been close friend too. My friend was and is someone I will always feel akin to. 🙂

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  7. Kim,
    It takes tremendous courage to share something so deeply personal and painful. The piercing pain does come tumbling back upon us. I hope this is the beginning of a new healing for you and a restoration of what was lost. It is not just time that heals wounds…sometimes it’s surgery, reopening the wound. Thank you for being brave enough to share this.
    HopefulSorrow

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    • 🙂 Thank you for your kind words and support…I find myself balking at the term courage every time someone has responded to this post…and yet, just now…I realized how scared I was to post it..but I did it anyway. I guess that is courage…doing it afraid. 🙂

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  8. Thank you for sharing your experience and your strength at surviving this. Every step we take on our path to here, where we are today, makes us who we are today.
    You are a woman of wisdom and strength from the steps you have taken.
    Hugs

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  9. You are so strong in sharing your story. While I was reading the awful things that happened to you, it brought back memories of my own and I could feel the fear in the back seat because I too had felt that fear in an empty stairwell. Sadly it never matters if you fought them off and escaped, still scarred from the experience, the whispers are more than enough to ruin anyone’s childhood. I am glad that you have found therapy and writing, writing has helped me so much even if I don’t share everything, just writing itself saves me. Huge hugs.

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  10. It’s cruel the things we do to each other as children, teens, and adults. Sharing your story is a brave thing. It’s crazy how the girl gets blamed when it’s usually the guy who is at fault.
    hugs

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  11. A finger never heals until the splinter is finally removed. Once it is removed the infection goes down and heals. Was this your splinter?

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  12. Pingback: Daily Prompt: The Outsiders | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss

  13. Kim, my thoughts….

    1. Very brave, but sharing may help.
    2. Youth can be so cruel, and so utterly wrong.
    3. I believe I have your jeans in my wardrobe. My wife insists I need new ones very soon.
    4. You looked gorgeous in that foto.
    5. Here’s hoping you have some smile time this weekend.

    UNCLE SPIKE

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  14. Pingback: Daily Prompt: The Outsiders | Nola Roots, Texas Heart

  15. Pingback: of wtf moments « Anawnimiss

  16. Kim, that’s the bravest thing you’ve done, my God, I’m so impressed with your courage in sharing this. Thank you for choosing us to carry your pain with you.

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    • I fought myself on this one. Was it brave or stupid? I finally decided to see it for what it was. I didn’t do anything wrong. Even my following promiscuity was the result of many things…not who I truly was or am.

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  17. That is sad. I truly hope schools find a way to completely end bullying. I hope the internet finds a way to end bullying. I hope this whole country and world would end bullying. What happened was not your fault. You were molested. To make it even worse, your mother made you feel like it was your fault (IT WAS NOT!) and you took that HUGE guilt – that didn’t belong to you – on top of your shoulders. You carried a cross that was not yours to bare. Kim, through this post, you just said to that cross,”NO MORE!” Now you are a survivor in more ways than one. ((HUGS))

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    • Yeah, I think the slap from my mother was almost more traumatic, I wanted her to hold me then, but I couldn’t tell her what happened., and I don’t blame her, she was upset that I had worried her, more guilt for me.The “blame” just seemed to get piled on top of me, and I was too young to fight against it…to not believe it was my fault.
      .

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      • I agree, I think the slap from your mother was just as traumatic as the molestation. She acted out of fear from a caring mother, even though it didn’t seem so at the time. But as far as I can tell, I think you have “beaten the enemy.” I’m not psychic, but I see a better future ahead for you. I feel in my gut. (That is the very best place to feel it).

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  18. Thank you for sharing. You are a brave woman to do so. I feel for the teenage you that went through such an ordeal. As we get older it’s odd how our younger selves seem to grow distant and blurred. Sometimes we need to reconnect, no matter how hard it is so that they don’t disappear altogether.

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    • Thank you…I’m not sure if I’m brave or stupid for posting something so personal, but I need to find a way to see it for what it really was….Not something I did, but something that was done to me…I need to stop feeling the shame…somehow.

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  19. Kim – I think you’ve literally just pressed “Publish” and I might be the first one to read this. I’m sitting here thinking I wish I could just hug you – I can’t imagine how hard it was to write that and send it out there to the world. There’s nothing really to say except that I’m so sorry you had to go through that.

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