Crystal S.
Featuring Crystal S.
Before reading, Crystal’s letter discusses an experience of assault. If you think that reading about this will be triggering for you, we encourage you to take a pause before reading this letter, center yourself, and prepare any resources you may need to access after reading it. If you'd rather not read this letter, we encourage you to read a letter on a different topic, such as this one.
If you’re reading this, love should never hurt.
I was seventeen the first time a boy told me he loved me. I was still seventeen when he started hurting me.
The warning signs were all there, but I was young, too naïve, too eager to be wanted to recognize what they were. He told me he loved me on our second date. I grew up on rom coms, believing in grand, sweeping declarations of love. I wanted so badly to be special to someone. So, when he said he loved me, I truly thought he had meant it. I was just grateful that someone–anyone– saw me.
Not long after that, the girl he had previously dated approached my friends, crying, with a confession of what he had done to her. She warned them to keep me far away from him, before he could do the same things to me. God, how I wished I had listened.
But I was convinced he loved me. If he really was so bad, why was he so kind to me? When I confronted him about her accusations, he stated that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the best boyfriend to her. But, that was in the past. He had found God. He had changed. And he promised me it would never happen to me.
“I like to give people a little pinch when I say goodbye,” he had explained, “and I can’t help it that she bruised easily.”
And so it started—with pinches. Leaving his car after a date, he would grab hold of my arm or my leg and pinch as hard as he could. But the pinches started to affect my ability to lift my arms. The pinches made me start wearing long sleeves to school to cover the bruises.
It only got worse. Telling him “no” was never an option, and believe me—I tried. By the end, asserting the smallest amount of autonomy meant broken objects, shattered glass, or the pocketknife he always carried ending up in his hands.
I finally got out when I left town to work for a week at camp. The time apart let me breathe. I ended things the day I came home.
Leaving was not the end. At night, lying awake, I would tremble every time I heard a loud truck drive by, terrified that it was him. Or walking through the hallways at school, trying my best to scan every corner for his face. Slowly, painfully, I came to terms with the truth:
what he had done to me was abuse.
Four years later, it is strange how life moves on. Day to day, I feel fine. I am happy, I can function, I live life largely without fear anymore. And yet, I still flinch at the sight of a pocket knife, and I despise the feeling of being pinched.
Some things will always stay with you. But what also stays with me is the determination that no one else should have to go through what I did.
This year, I took the role of Director of Sexual Assault Prevention in Student Senate. Not because I have all of the answers, but because I know what it is like to feel trapped, unheard, afraid. If I can help one person feel safer, a little less alone, I will have done my job.
My life now, thankfully, looks nothing like it once was. There is so much in this world that makes life wonderful, and for that I am truly grateful to still be here. I am surrounded by friends who show me every day what love can, and should, feel like–gentle, kind, and safe.
I am still learning and healing every day, but I am still here. I love the life I lead now, and I wish I could go back and hug 17-year-old Crystal and tell her all the beautiful ways life turned out.
And how very, very proud I am of her.
Crystal S., Southern Methodist University
Connect With Us
To follow IfYoureReadingThis at SMU on Instagram, get in touch with our chapter, and learn about more resources available to SMU students, visit our chapter’s homepage.
author Contact
This author has opted to allow readers who resonate with their story to contact them. If you would like to speak to the author of this letter about their experience, please use the form below.