"I would, if only..."

For a long time, I felt like my depression was ruining my marriage, but after I started going to therapy, I finally felt like I was making progress towards being "normal."

One day, my therapist told me that often with her married patients, improving their sex life was pivotal in improving their self-esteem. This made sense to me, because my sex life was nearly nonexistent.

I picked my husband up from work that evening, and told him about what my therapist had said. Before I could go further, he interrupted me to say, "I would want to have sex with you, if only you had a rockstar body."

Even when I was thin, my body image was terrible. But this shot what little confidence I had. His cruelty in that moment made me never want sex again, and I've not since initiated. 

It's been five years since then. He's had affairs. I've been suicidal. He's told me to kill myself. And one day, I might.

"Those are the lips I want..."

My ex boyfriend always begged me to have sex. He'd connect sex with everything and guilt me into doing it until I finally just never wanted to have sex at all. One day we were arguing and he told me, "I just don't think you'll ever find a guy willing to deal with how weird you are about sex." I ignored it.

A few months later, I sent him a selfie from my office; I was having a good day so I smiled for the picture and sent it to him. He replied, "Yeah. Those are the lips I want slobbering on my cock."

I'll never forget how utterly disgusted he made me feel.

"Even though you didn't really want to."

I was cuddling with my boyfriend one day, and he wanted to get intimate but I didn't. He told me to just give it a go, and he pushed my hands onto his privates. Every time I moved my hand away, he held it back there. Eventually I gave in.

Later, he asked, "So did you enjoy what we did earlier? Even though you didn't really want to?" 

I was stunned. He knew I didn't want to, yet he still made me do it.

"Perfect."

When I was thirteen, I was raped, and both of my breasts were severely mutilated. I had to have a partial mastectomy because of it. 

Eleven years later, my husband saw me in the nude for the first time on our wedding night. I had never told him of the trauma I endured for fear that he might not want me anymore. 

His reaction was the opposite of what I expected. 

He kissed every scar with tenderness I didn't even know existed, and he said to me, "These scars only give your stretch marks something to gossip about. Your breasts are perfect." 

That was the moment I truly fell in love with him. 

"There is just something about you..."

At the end of high school and beginning of college, I dated a guy who I thought I loved. He was intelligent and seemed to really understand me when nobody else did. The first year was great, but after that, he started becoming angry easily and yelling at me a lot. Eventually, he started hitting me and raping me.

Most nights ended in him crying and apologizing. One night, however, he looked at me and said. "There is just something about you that makes good guys do bad things."

I'm now married to a great guy who helped me escape that other relationship. Though my husband has told me it wasn't my fault, I still wonder sometimes what it was about me that caused the abuse. I don't think I will ever be 100% okay.

"Not until I'm finished."

My pregnancy was not easy, and afterwards we followed the doctor's orders to abstain from sex for six weeks after I delivered. We waited like eager teenagers, and once I was cleared by the doctor, we could hardly wait to get our hands on each other. 

The sex was painful. I tried to get through it, but couldn't, and finally I had to call it quits. "Stop," I said.  

"Not until I'm finished."

I hear it every time now, in the back of my mind. A growl of need I couldn't meet, but had to anyway. 

"Not until I'm finished."

"Johnsons don't cry."

I grew up without much physical affection, so I was unusually attached to my first boyfriend. When I was 16 and we broke up, I couldn't accept the fact that this breakup would be our last of many. To me, the daily sex, hugs, and kisses were an addiction. I needed them to feel loved.

When I finally processed that this was final, I was sobbing in my room. My father - drunk, as was typical of him - might have thought he was comforting me when he saw me and said, "Forget him! Johnsons* don't cry."

After that moment, I was ashamed to cry. I was ashamed to show any emotion other than hostility. 

I'm 21 now. And I'm still not able to let myself cry. I fight the tears until I have mental breakdowns. My sadness now automatically converts to rage.

I have some joy and love, thanks to my fiancé, but I fear I'll never be normal again. I'll never be able to cry openly and easily.

Because Johnsons don't cry.

*Names have been changed. 
 

"It's either him, or being alone forever."

Growing up, my mom and I would argue about my weight all the time. She would tell me things like, "No one could ever love a fat ass like you," or, "You'll end up alone if you don't lose weight."

When I was a freshman, a senior guy who I met in band developed a crush on me. My mom was so excited, and I'm pretty sure that she was the one who fell in love with him. 

She was pretty insistent that I give him a chance, even though I wasn't very comfortable with the idea because he creeped me out. She said, "He's the only man that's ever going to be interested in you. It's either him, or being alone forever." I didn't want to be alone, so I settled. We started dating. I graduated three years later, and we got married that summer. 

We were married for three years, and my depression got worse every single day. He was unsupportive and expected me to do everything, even though I often worked longer hours than he did. He decided that smoking weed and passing out on the couch was more important than pulling his weight. I never enjoyed sex, and I faked orgasms for six years. 

I finally got up the courage to ask for a divorce. He did not take it very well. He blamed all of our issues on me. When I told my mom about the divorce, she went insane. She told me that I would die alone if I went through with it. 

Fast forward to now: I've started dating the most amazing man who appreciates everything I do for him, but never expects it. I'm actually happy for once in my life. I've been happy for nearly a year now. 

Now I'm proving my mother wrong, every single day.
 

"You have the makings of a good person."

After I revealed to one of my closest friends that I have slept with over fifteen men since college, her 'helpful' response was, "You have the makings of a good person. Really, you do!"

In a friendship built on trust and sharing, this comment really struck me. I didn't see myself as a bad person then, nor do I now. 

But I struggle with the levels of judgement I now fear my trusted friends will inflict on me if I tell them the full truth of my life.

Nurse.

After I lost my virginity, I contracted my first UTI. I had no idea what was wrong. Being raised Christian, I was convinced God was punishing me for having premarital sex.

I went to my mother in the middle of the night on my hands and knees, crying in pain and fear.

She forced me to pray while reading the Bible and asking God for forgiveness for two hours, while I was still in pain, before taking me to the hospital. 

My mother is a nurse.