When I was a sophomore in High School I met the class clown. I had just transferred and as the new girl I was on the outside, but he was so sweet and so damn funny. We became friends who would drive fast down dirt roads blaring punk rock and feeling the sun. I thought it couldn’t get any better than having a best friend who was a funny and always pushed the limit. The adventures at first were fun and exciting.  Then he kissed me.

 

It turned into a three-year struggle that started with roses and laughter and ended with fear and pain. Somewhere after year one he became dark. He was always slightly mysterious but at first he covered it with adventures not with alcohol. Now he drank before school and practice. He would show up at my house with the smell of vodka on his breath. My parents and my friends warned me that he was going down a dark path. But I wanted to help him I thought I could save him….

 

It started with pushing and gripping that would turn my skin a dark, angry black and blue. I would wear long sleeves even though I lived on the beach and it was 90 degrees on a regular basis. My mother started to notice. I became confrontational and angry with those closest to me. I would cry at the smallest things. The confident successful young woman that my parents were so proud of turned into a depressed, insecure ball of stress.

 

By senior year the pushing and the gripping had quickly escalated to black eyes and scars. I told him I was going to leave and he threatened me that he would always be able to find me.  No matter the distance I would never be safe. I wouldn’t listen to my family and friends at first because I believed he would change and now I couldn’t listen to them because I was afraid for them and for myself.

 

Last senior dance of high school and at the end I was in the parking lot. He was angry that I had danced with my girl friends and not him. I was trying to get away. My friend stepped up to try to protect me from the first attack. In a flash my friend was on the ground bleeding and I was swept into his car. Before I knew it we were racing down a dirt road.

 

It all happened so fast. I was in trouble. I begged him to stop. I said no until my throat was raw. When he paused to put his clothes back on I ran.

 

When I got home I hid. I felt disgusted with myself for letting it get that far. And honestly I still do. I told my parents the next day and asked for help. We cried together. They protected me.

 

I began to heal in Vermont. No one here knows what I went through which makes it hard on the bad days (yes there are still bad days). I am healing. I am stronger now but I will never forget what happened and everyday is a day that I try to trust a little more.