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When I was fourteen years old, I was raped. I was raped by a Vietnam Veteran, so to the rest of the world, he was a hero. And I was no angel. I hung out with 19-year olds. I smoked pot. I wanted to get away from my parents because they had a toddler that I was expected (and often did) to care for.

The night it happened, I’d gone for a walk with my older female friend and along the way, we were picked up by a local friend, Mike, who had to be about 20. He had the good weed. He had the hook-ups. He knew where to go.

The car ride was fun but my so-called friend left me to go with Mike to have The Sex. She left me alone with a way older man (who seemed to have PTSD) who decided that if I smoked pot, I must be all into him.

He tried to woo me by bringing hot dogs drenched with ketchup (which today I cannot look at without gagging). Then, he threw me to the floor, and started ripping off my clothes. Mike, the thug that he was, DID try to stop him when he heard me screaming, but backed down when a gun appeared. I ran off and hid under a car.

He found me.

I didn’t hide well enough and The Rapist found me. He dragged me out and proceeded to…well, it didn’t REALLY happen, right? It was just fingers and a dick trying to get into my crotch. Mike got there and stopped him from really doing it. Is Mike a friend? Did he put me in this position? There WAS penetration, and bruising.

I have never had a healthy relationship with men other than my male FRIENDS, the ones who don’t decide to be more than friends later.

Later, I confided in a boyfriend who was friends with The Rapist’s big brother. He let The Rapist into his house when I was cooking dinner for his friends. I about died. The Rapist didn’t even recognize me. I about dropped. My boyfriend KNEW because I’d told him what had happened. But my boyfriend thought that it was okay because The Rapist didn’t remember raping me.

I’ve never had decent romantic relationships. I have loved, I have been punched, I have been left and I’ve left too.

Now I just don’t want a man. I’m happy in my own little world. Sad thing is, the age has reversed.

Now I am 41.

To this day, hot dogs with ketchup make me throw up a bit in my mouth.

I originally wanted to do a post about children’s foundations, my favorite Make A Wish, but then I realized how broken I still am. Please be aware of