There we were in gym class. That was where we met. You helped me with volleyball, more specifically the serving. I sucked at it and you said you'd help. I was indebted to you after that.
You were basically my hero. Then faithfully I switched into your class and we became inseparable after that. That is until I noticed just what you were doing.
You see no one speaks about how abuse is not exclusive solely to romantic partners. No one speaks about how it can be your friend. How it can be a girl.
I was blind from that and for years I let you do what you did. I would sit there letting you tell me how screwed up I was.
How I wasn't depressed and I was making it up even though I had diagnosis from three different doctors.
I let you tell me how I had no problems because my family was rich although we struggled to pay our bills every month.
We struggled because my dad wanted us to live in a safe space even if it meant spending all our money on that.
But, I guess, no matter how much money you spend on living in a safe neighbourhood there will always be danger. There will always be people like you. There will always be abusers.
I let you hit me when I displayed any symptoms of depression or anxiety. I let you hit me because I knew what I did was wrong and you had to teach me a lesson. I had to learn.
I would come home covered in bruises but they were small so no one noticed except for me. Or at least that's what I continue to believe. I give props to you though on keeping it discreet.
The abuse I mean. You never hit me or belittled me when others were in the room. It was when we were alone or with the other girl you did the same to, you would continue.
But I do blame myself still for helping you to hide what you did to me. I wore sweaters. I wore long sleeve shirts.
I blamed the bruises on bumps from the doors that I so ever constantly bump into by accident.
I hid it by scars I caused from the nail clippers, scissors, knives, plastic forks, anything that would help me feel anything, going against my skin.
I hid from never telling anyone what was going on.
When I did finally confront you though, you blamed it on me. You said had I not acted the way I did, none of this would have happen. You blamed me for what you did.
You blamed me for the actions you took. You blamed me for being abused. I will never forgive you for that.
Three years pass and every night I can still hear you. I can still see you performing the actions you had done.
I see the pain in my eyes and the hurt that takes company in my heart, my chest, my whole body. My body shakes from the anxiety attacks I get when thinking of you.
My brain shuts down and all I can focus on is you and what happened for all those years. But worst of all is I still blame myself. Not fully. But had I stepped away.
Had I just noticed what was going on, then maybe I wouldn't be where I am today and none of the pain would continue to linger in my chest. Maybe I would have been okay. Maybe we could still be friends.