marciaX3
Well-known member
These are excerpts from my "bio".
I was beat up on a daily basis by one boy one year and his best friend the next year. I don't remember their names or their faces. All I know is they are white. My mind thought it was better for me to block out their identities, which helped me but also screwed me. Every time I'm out in public, I secretly and obsessively wonder: Is that the guy? Did he beat me? Was it him? Maybe they had brown hair like that guy. That guy's voice sounds so familiar. I want to ask him to call me a "disgusting bitch" and all those other insults so I can do some voice recognition! I want to ask him to pull down his pants and expose himself to me so I can perhaps recognize their penis as the one that was shoved in my face while I laid on the bathroom floor of the boy's bathroom where no one cared to find me or hear the punches and kicks that occurred every day. I want to see if seeing their penis will make me remember what happened, if I was forced to perform oral sex or if they sexually assaulted me in addition to the beatings and verbal abuse. Am I a freak for this?
I wanted a boyfriend much like every girl my age at the time. So when this boy asked me if I would be his girlfriend outta nowhere, I jumped at the chance. I didn't give it a second thought. DUMBASS! Every day, he would find the time to bring me to that bathroom that was far away from the crowded hallways and common areas, where no one would really hear anything. The first time, I thought it was so we could have privacy and talk. Yup, dumbass. He locked the door after we walked in. Next thing I know, I'm getting punched, slapped, pushed into the walls, kicked while I'm curled into a ball on the floor. The whole time he was spewing his hate at me. Bitch! Stupid! Cunt! Whore! Moron! And more that I don't care to remember. Yeah, he had some issues too. He always hit me where no one would see because I always wore pants and t-shirts (even in the hot-as-all-hell summer). I might as well have been a boy. You would never catch me in a skirt or dress (or shorts for that matter!), or any low-cut shirt to show off my boobs. And he counted on that. That gave him more places to target, to hurt me. He was one cruel bastard, much like his buddy.
Unfortunately, the cycle of beatings didn't end with this one boy. Like I mentioned before, he had a buddy. That's the only other thing I remember about these guys. They were white, somewhat popular, and they were friends (probably best friends). So when the first boy ended up moving away apparently during the summer, I thought I was saved and spared any more pain and suffering. HA. I think it was still the first week of school when I was once again approached by the second boy. He didn't even say anything to me. He just grabbed my wrist and led me back to that hell hole. He repeated the same shit to me his friend did, minus the penis exposure I think. And why? Out of loyalty to his friend. I was beaten daily because of his need to be loyal to his fucking friend!
My whole body was sore but I couldn't bring myself to cry or yell for help (not that I ever did anyway). I felt so sore, but the kind where you do a horrible workout after not going to the gym for months. It wasn't the kind of sore that would be noticed by anyone, but no one cared either so I figured this would be another school year where I would be in hell, hoping and praying for the absent days that didn't occur often enough.
This all went on for awhile too. I was right that this boy was different from the first. The first boy exposed himself to me every time I think, the second boy did it rarely if ever. Or maybe that's my messed up memory working it's mojo on me making me not remember. When the 5 months mark hit, he must have moved away too because I never saw him again. I was relieved in a way. At the same time though, ironically, I felt more empty than I did when it was all happening. It had a weird predictablity that I didn't have anywhere else. I knew that when I'd see him walking towards me that we would be going to that bathroom. I knew that the second he locked the door that I'd be trapped or die trying to escape. I knew that no one would come to help me.
I was beat up on a daily basis by one boy one year and his best friend the next year. I don't remember their names or their faces. All I know is they are white. My mind thought it was better for me to block out their identities, which helped me but also screwed me. Every time I'm out in public, I secretly and obsessively wonder: Is that the guy? Did he beat me? Was it him? Maybe they had brown hair like that guy. That guy's voice sounds so familiar. I want to ask him to call me a "disgusting bitch" and all those other insults so I can do some voice recognition! I want to ask him to pull down his pants and expose himself to me so I can perhaps recognize their penis as the one that was shoved in my face while I laid on the bathroom floor of the boy's bathroom where no one cared to find me or hear the punches and kicks that occurred every day. I want to see if seeing their penis will make me remember what happened, if I was forced to perform oral sex or if they sexually assaulted me in addition to the beatings and verbal abuse. Am I a freak for this?
I wanted a boyfriend much like every girl my age at the time. So when this boy asked me if I would be his girlfriend outta nowhere, I jumped at the chance. I didn't give it a second thought. DUMBASS! Every day, he would find the time to bring me to that bathroom that was far away from the crowded hallways and common areas, where no one would really hear anything. The first time, I thought it was so we could have privacy and talk. Yup, dumbass. He locked the door after we walked in. Next thing I know, I'm getting punched, slapped, pushed into the walls, kicked while I'm curled into a ball on the floor. The whole time he was spewing his hate at me. Bitch! Stupid! Cunt! Whore! Moron! And more that I don't care to remember. Yeah, he had some issues too. He always hit me where no one would see because I always wore pants and t-shirts (even in the hot-as-all-hell summer). I might as well have been a boy. You would never catch me in a skirt or dress (or shorts for that matter!), or any low-cut shirt to show off my boobs. And he counted on that. That gave him more places to target, to hurt me. He was one cruel bastard, much like his buddy.
Unfortunately, the cycle of beatings didn't end with this one boy. Like I mentioned before, he had a buddy. That's the only other thing I remember about these guys. They were white, somewhat popular, and they were friends (probably best friends). So when the first boy ended up moving away apparently during the summer, I thought I was saved and spared any more pain and suffering. HA. I think it was still the first week of school when I was once again approached by the second boy. He didn't even say anything to me. He just grabbed my wrist and led me back to that hell hole. He repeated the same shit to me his friend did, minus the penis exposure I think. And why? Out of loyalty to his friend. I was beaten daily because of his need to be loyal to his fucking friend!
My whole body was sore but I couldn't bring myself to cry or yell for help (not that I ever did anyway). I felt so sore, but the kind where you do a horrible workout after not going to the gym for months. It wasn't the kind of sore that would be noticed by anyone, but no one cared either so I figured this would be another school year where I would be in hell, hoping and praying for the absent days that didn't occur often enough.
This all went on for awhile too. I was right that this boy was different from the first. The first boy exposed himself to me every time I think, the second boy did it rarely if ever. Or maybe that's my messed up memory working it's mojo on me making me not remember. When the 5 months mark hit, he must have moved away too because I never saw him again. I was relieved in a way. At the same time though, ironically, I felt more empty than I did when it was all happening. It had a weird predictablity that I didn't have anywhere else. I knew that when I'd see him walking towards me that we would be going to that bathroom. I knew that the second he locked the door that I'd be trapped or die trying to escape. I knew that no one would come to help me.
.... 
