TW!!! SA and Abuse

His hands continued to travel from my neck, down to my hips, and then to the waistline of my shorts. _No. _I tell him I am not in the mood. He flips me on my stomach, his weight crushing me, suffocating me. _No._ I tell him I am tired. His fingers pull down my neon pink Under Armour shorts just below the crease where my thighs meet my butt. “No.” I feel him inside of me. “C’mon, no.” He pulls my hair, kissing me from my shoulders to my neck. “I said no.” His hands are sweaty, one in my hair and the other restraining both my hands behind me, applying pressure on my lower back. I stop resisting. _Just let him please himself and get it over with it. _I stop saying no. His breath is warm, it travels down my neck to my spine. He finishes, releasing my wrists. His weight off mine, he puts himself back together and lies beside me, “You’re a real bitch, you know that?” I rub my wrists, fix my hair, and pull up my shorts. I say nothing. _Love is pain._

I was imprisoned for three years of my life. The difference between real jail cells and mine was that the bars holding me in were not made of metal. These bars, much stronger than metal, much harder to escape from, were built from abuse. An abuse that branched from the most intense love I have ever felt. A love different from the little kisses your parents planted on your cheeks growing up. A love different from the late-night adventures with your closest friends, or the hugs extended family would give you on holidays. This love was an addiction; it was alcohol, and I was an alcoholic. I craved every drop in that bottle, ignoring all limits. Drinking bottle after bottle, weakening my grasp on reality, and blurring the lines between love and addiction. I built my own world inside our cell. A world which was constructed with the most harmful foundation. _Love is pain._

My jailkeeper was not only _someone I loved,_ but he was my supplier. Every bottle was filled with different ways of hurting me. _Each drop was a “bitch,” hair pull, or hit._ I knew this addiction was bad for me, I knew it was hurting me. But this addiction wasn’t just a small portion of my day in that cell. _This love became my world._ So, of course, I kept allowing myself to take another shot of the finest liquor available. _Him._ And soon enough, I was drowning in more liquor than one is capable of handling. I loved this alcohol, I couldn’t go without it, so I went and purchased another bottle of the same alcohol when one was finished. _The same guy. _And after each numbing end, I purchased another one, telling myself to give it one more chance. _Insanity. _The act of doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting a different outcome. Why continue this pattern of pain and betrayal? It’s simple, really. _Love is pain._

I needed sobriety. I always danced around the idea of detoxing and moving on with my life. Wondering if I've hit rock bottom yet. _Wondering if I could handle another day with him._ I’d vomit here or there, occasionally suffer from a brutal hangover in the morning, but that was never enough. _Waking up with eyes so puffy and red they burned, or spending days feeling sick to my stomach. _Unfortunately, my jailkeeper wasn’t supportive of the thought of my sobriety. _Maybe because time away from him made me realize how fucked up the relationship was._ He would do anything to prevent me from becoming sober; he was my supplier and would do anything for more business. _He would do anything for more power. To keep me from leaving this relationship. Stripping every bit of love and value I had for myself away from me._ Alcohol left me broke, pockets empty. _Love is pain._

I was the sort of person consumed by judgment and what other people thought about me. _Emotional, physical, and sexual abuse behind closed doors, I could handle, but physically cheating on me is a different story._ _Now others are involved._ I was ashamed when others found out about my addiction. I felt as though everyone who looked at me thought I was weak. _Although he cheated, I felt the repercussions._ I was a worthless addict letting a substance walk all over me. _Love is pain._

I continued to go to school during my second attempt at sobriety. _After he physically cheated, it was hard for me to be in public without feeling judged._ The thought of drinking still lingered; it was a process. But I found the strength to put as many barriers between me and the alcohol as possible. _Barriers between me and him. _I returned to school during open lunch, when students were allowed to leave to grab food. I put my car in park, automatically causing my doors to unlock. I sat in my car on my phone, waiting to return to class, and then I heard the passenger side door open. _Love is pain._

_It’s him._ I inch away, my left shoulder pressed against the car window. “Are you scared of me? I just want to talk.” His legs are spread, leaning back, grazing his upper lip. _I can say no,_ “I want you to leave, get out.” He huffs, “Why can't you just talk to me, c'mon.”_ I don’t want to talk to him. _He looks at me, his left arm extending to hold the metal bars of my headrest. I clench, tightening my whole body. He smiles. It seems sincere, “I was thinking about how we ended, I just think we need to talk more about it.” If I want to move past this,_ I can’t relapse now_, “I don't think we need to talk at all, actually, ever.” His hands get closer to my head, and he grabs hold of my hair. “I figured you’d say that. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” That is not what I meant. _Love is pain._

“Let go of my hair right now!” His other hand pulls his sweatpants just far enough down for him to be exposed. “You're the only mouth I want on me.” He tugs my hair a bit, “c’mon.” I resist. “No.” He’s pulling harder now, dragging my head towards him. I’m fighting, pulling back, failing to make space between myself and him. My mouth is closed, my lips touching his penis. “C’mon now, you want to.” My breath kicks into a rhythm that occurs when you hold tears in, on the verge of breaking down. I am pushing up and moving as far away as I can. _Love is pain._

I use the center console to push myself off him, just grazing the tip of him. He bends down and grabs hold of my shoulder with his mouth, biting it. I can’t tell if this is worse than him hitting me. _My skin doesn’t feel sore; it feels torn. Pierced, stinging on fire. _I wince trying to fight it. But as I resist, he bites harder. I stop resisting, and silent tears slowly find their way to the skin of his bare thighs. I take him in my mouth, his hands still tangled in my hair. He releases into my mouth, then releases my hair, hands me a piece of gum, and exits the car. _Love is pain._

Later during the school day, he comes by my locker. I still have the taste of alcohol lingering in my mouth. _Him in my mouth._ He grabs my wrists, “I'll see you later, right?” I turn to walk away, and he yanks me back by my hair. “Right?” Three male gym teachers witnessed this. Three. And not one of them said a word. “Right?” _Maybe I’m the crazy one, maybe this is normal._ “Yeah sure.” _Love is pain._

This abuse and addiction were my first and only form of love and pleasure. _We were codependent, toxic, and obsessive._ Drinking was the only thing I knew for three years. _Because abuse was my first experience, and I have had no other experiences with love, this became love’s definition._ He was supplying me with every ounce of each bottle. _Every bit of emotional and physical torment. _So, with each detox and relapse. _Each do-over._ My tolerance never stopped growing. _The cheating, bruises, and assaults didn’t hurt so much anymore._ So finally, after being numb to alcohol, I became numb to my addiction. _I began to be numb to what I define as love: abuse. Different from before, he stopped having this hold on me. I didn’t feel the need to have him in my life anymore. In a sense, my own form of a sudden spiritual awakening restored all my self-worth._ So, in the end, I did buy another bottle—one with the highest proof in the store. But, instead of drinking it, I smashed it on the ground, lit a match, and set our love up in flames.

I finally realized that love isn’t pain.

_Love does not exist._