An Explanation

I'm not quite sure how to start this thing. And I guess by saying that, I've started.
Well, here we go.

On January 7th, 2012, a boy asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said yes. This boy knew that the previous relationship I had been in was an abusive one. Abusive in many ways--verbal, mental, physical--but mainly sexual. I was almost raped.
So I go into this relationship, thinking that this boy will treat me better, this boy will treat me right, this boy will make me happy and smile and feel loved and so I said yes. And for around 4 months it was great--mostly. We had lots in common, he supported me as I healed from an ACL tear and attempted to return to my passion: dance. I supported him in his dream of becoming a professional baseball player. Every now and then there would be a fight, a mishap, an episode, but nothing to the extent of concern.

Slowly but surely, all trust he might have ever had for me diminished. For no particular reason, just because. And he became absolutely convinced that I had, or was currently, or was going to cheat on him.

And as I'm sure many of us can attest to, a relationship lacking trust is a relationship lacking sanity.

Once we were at the point of fighting every night--rather, me fighting for him every night, I desperately asked him what on earth would make him trust me again, and he promptly answered "Sex." So I did what any desperate, blinded, so-called "in love" teenage girl would do--I had sex with him. And much to my surprise--though when I look back on it now, I laugh at my naive shock--it didn't work. The trust was still absent, and still causing immense problems between me and this boy who was supposed to make me happy.
So at this point we had been together for around 11 months, him coming into my house around 1 am almost every night to have sex with me and then leave without saying a word, and wake me up with a text in the morning saying something along the lines of "So who was over at your house after I left, whore", therefore instigating another classic battle between him and I, continuing a vicious cycle.
I was an angry, hateful, insane person. I cried constantly, while putting on a brave face for the world. I screamed at night and started cutting myself. This boy had driven me insane. This boy made me feel like a slut, a whore, a bitch, an insert-any-and-all-derogatory-slurs-here. I cut myself because I believed him, I believed I was all those things, though I had never done anything to result in any of those horrific names suiting me. I believed him because I thought I was madly in love with him, and I thought he was going to marry me. I loved him and believed him and hated myself.
I tried to break up with him a few times--once I could finally see his malicious, manipulative ways--but wasn't strong enough to stick it out. I was trapped, and he was in control. Complete, utter, total control.

Sorry for the rant, but here comes the good part.

After 11 months of sheer hell, and about 3 or 4 months of constant badgering from my family and friends to end the madness, I got the strength from who-knows-where to break up with him, and stick to it.
The night I broke up with him, he slept on my front porch all night while continuously calling me for 8 hours straight.
The following few weeks he texted me and called me nonstop, alternating from desperate pleas to threats to kill either himself or me.
On December 12th, he texted me a quote from a journal that I write to my beloved, deceased grandmother. A journal that sits in my bedside table at home and was never shown to him.
On December 14th, one of my friends showed me strange, cryptic text messages about this boy coming from my phone that I had never sent, but were time-stamped after I had fallen asleep. I realized then that at that point, he had broken into my house twice--once during the day to read my journal, and the second in the middle of the night, to stand over me as I slept while using my phone to text my friend.

I snapped.

We got the police in on it--filed reports and took finger prints from the windows where he broke in--but they told us that we didn't have much of a chance for a restraining order. So we just stuck with the police reports and hoped he wouldn't try again.
I went through about two months of him creating numerous fake facebook accounts and fake numbers to try and reach me from (every time to remind me that I'm a "skank", and to try to find out who I had been sleeping with--which, of course, was no one). By this point I had been in therapy for quite some time.
I was cheering for my high school basketball game at the high school where he had graduated from the year before, and he showed up. The feeling inside my gut that arose instantly after I caught sight of him was indescribable. Here is this person who tormented me for almost a year, abusing my mind and body, causing me to physically harm myself, wouldn't leave me alone and had broken into my house twice, showing up for a basketball game he knew I would be at, pretending everything was perfectly fine. I wanted to throw up, scream, tear his face off and run away as fast as I could all at the same time. It was horrific--even thinking about it now brings on nausea.
Around mid-February, he tried to contact me through another fake facebook account. I figured out it was him and told him to never contact me again, for I was planning on getting a restraining order against him. I came home that night to two shattered windows--the same windows he had broken into the first time.

My dad set up security cameras, and I got a temporary restraining order with a court date to have a hearing as to whether or not I could get a permanent one. I continued going to therapy, was put on Prosac, and aroused plenty of concern from friends and family when I stood three inches from an oncoming train, wishing it had hit me.

Last Sunday, I got a call from the police department, informing me that this boy had been arrested, along with three of his friends, for conspiracy of a home invasion--my home. He was bailed out by his not-too-happy parents, and has a court date of his own. The best thing he can hope for is a couple years of probation and community service, with jail as a possibility. He has also admitted everything to the police.

I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate him more than the boyfriend I had before him--the one who almost raped me. I hate him more than anything in this world. He has caused so much fear, so much pain, so much torment, in me and those close to me. And I'm a total mess. As I mentioned before, I'm on an anti-depressant and have been extremely suicidal. I guess this blog is going to be about what it's like to be depressed at 16. I'll try to be as honest as I can. If you want to read this, be my guest, but I won't promise that it'll make you happy. And I'm sorry if it makes you sad.

-Beaskie