When the Wolf is at Your Door

I still remember the first time I had ever kissed a boy. It was at the Barnes & Noble at Neshaminy Mall in the handicap ramp behind the Cafe because we didn’t want to be seen. I still remember the first time I had ever played with another boy, not sex, just other sexual things. It was in the high school auditorium dressing room because we could lock the door during lunch and not be seen. I was 15 then.

Fast forward to the month before my 17th birthday. I met you. You seemed kind, charming, funny, and you were older than me. Not by too much, within 4 years, but definitely old enough not to be dating a junior in high school. We had a lot of fun that first night, February 4, 2011. I told you then that I wanted to wait, that I wasn’t ready for sex, but by the next week you had your way. You were very good at guilt. Making me feel guilty for not giving it to you.

February 11, 2011. The night you took away something I couldn’t get back. I still told you that I wasn’t ready, but you told me that you loved me and for a 16 year old seeking validation from the world, it felt like everything. I let you in with hesitation because I thought you would leave if I didn’t. From then on, any time I didn’t want to have sex with you, which was often because I still didn’t feel ready for it, you would bring up how you bought me something or how I didn’t love you. Sex isn’t love, I know that now. Couldn’t you tell that I didn’t want it? Couldn’t laying next to each other be enough? Not for you.

June 1, 2011. That was the day I escaped you and I thought I had my freedom back, but there was this gnawing shame in me. I needed it go away.

March 2012. I needed it to go away. How could I make the shame go away? I needed a place where I could escape and it was you again. This time I had the power. This time it was my choice. It felt good for a night, then it felt worse.

Over the next couple years, I became very sexually active. I felt like I couldn’t feel loved unless someone was inside of me. I needed to feel loved, if only for a moment.

May 2014. That’s when I met the man I thought would give me everything I wanted. I wanted to be seen, to be heard, to be wanted and that was your tagline, right? “Be Wanted.” That’s what you put all over the advertisements for your clothing. The first night meeting you was interesting to say the least. You fed me these big dreams, ideas of how my world was going to change. Then we hooked up because I felt that I couldn’t get those big dreams without doing so. I don’t blame you for that night, that was me. 

Fall 2014. The night you came and “comforted” me during a panic attack only to ask for something in return. Except you didn’t ask, you just did what you wanted and I didn’t say anything because I was still in the middle of a panic attack. In some ways, I didn’t think of that night for awhile. I blocked it out so I could keep trying to achieve my dreams because you would get me there, right? 

Fast forward to 2017. I moved to LA with a dream, but I was also off my bipolar medication. Things got bad quickly. I would go out every night to bars, then I would search for cocaine. I knew it had to be somewhere. It was so prevelant. I started going to cocaine parties almost every night. That’s how I met you. I still don’t know your name. I still don’t know your face. All I know is someone slipped something in my drink at the party. I didn’t feel good so I asked if I could lie down in the bed. And that’s when you walked in. Everything is blurry about that night, but I know for sure that you took advantage of a situation. 

Over the next few years, I would experiment with different mixes of drugs, cocaine to numb, meth so I could feel sexually free, G so I could get that childlike sense of wonder back in my life. Anything to make me not feel something that was real.

April 18, 2021. I’m here. I’m clean. I’m seeking help.