I (F27) think what I went through was abuse

TL;DR: I was in a situationship during COVID that turned physically and emotionally abusive. I lost a ton of weight, was basically always crying, and five years later I’m still not okay. I’ve never fully processed it or talked about it, and it still impacts me in relationships and in my head. I’m not sure how to start healing, but I wanted to finally share my story.

Five years ago, during COVID lockdown and my senior year of college, I was in what I guess you could call a “situationship.” At the time I didn’t really process it, but now—looking back—I think it was abusive. The problem is, I’ve never really talked about it or worked through it, and it still comes back to me randomly and puts me in a dark headspace.

I’ve always told myself that what I went through “wasn’t bad enough” to count as abuse, especially compared to other peoples stories I have heard. That guilt is part of what’s kept me silent—I don’t want to diminish what other survivors have gone through. But I’ve also carried this weight alone for years, and I think maybe sharing it is my first step in healing.

At the time, I was in an on-and-off relationship with my boyfriend. We loved each other, but both of us were struggling with substance abuse and kept breaking up and reconciling. One night, I blacked out drunk and woke up with a guy in my bed. He lived in the frat house next door. The guilt was crushing—I broke up with my boyfriend but never told him what happened.

Eventually, I started seeing the new guy regularly. At first, it felt exciting and normal. Then COVID hit, and most people left campus, but both of us stayed. That’s when things shifted.

One night while drunk and having sex, I asked him to slap me. He did—hard. At the time, I blamed myself because I’d asked for it. I figured I “deserved it” and told myself it was my fault if that opened the door. But after that, he never stopped. Every time we had sex after that, he would hit me—whether I wanted it or not. I would beg him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He’d keep going until he was tired. He said he wouldn’t stop until I cried, but I never did. It was like I disassociated—I couldn’t bring myself to cry, even though I wanted him to stop. Then it just kept escalating-he would pour water on my face while we were having sex—completely unprompted, ripped out my hair extensions once, made me repeat degrading things about myself, spit in my mouth & would choke me until I was about to pass out. Then it escalated more & he started to rape me anally. Of course, I protested everything but that didn’t stop things from getting worst & he said he liked when I was scared. I think one of the most humiliating things was when he anally penetrated me and then yelled at me for crying because I shit on him. Another reason I have just been so unable to share these things - they are literally mortifying. Even posting here, I am scared someone I know will somehow find out.

One time, he broke into my house in the middle of the night while I was sleeping - I had given him the code to get something a few weeks prior though so is it breaking in? - raped me for hours, and I woke up with two black eyes and severe vaginal swelling.

He told me once—when drunk—that the first night we had sex (the night I was blacked out) he had recorded me “giving consent” because he was worried I’d accuse him of rape. That still chills me because he also shared that his justification for doing that, was because he has been accused before and almost got kicked out of his frat for it. I never saw the recording so I’m not sure if it’s true or if he was just trying to scare me.

Outside of sex, he was definitely an asshole, maybe not abusive, but toxic. He would flirt with other girls in front of me, disappear, and later gaslight me, calling me crazy. He would ghost me for days after especially violent nights. I clung to scraps of attention.

During that time, I was basically falling apart. I lost so much weight that people around me noticed. I was constantly crying, either from what he did or from the shame and confusion I carried with me.

My body even broke down from the stress. For context: I have HSV-1 (oral herpes, the “cold sore” kind) that I contracted genitally when I was 16 from my first boyfriend giving me oral. It’s actually pretty typical never to have more than one outbreak if you have the “wrong” type of HSV in the “wrong” location (HSV-1 on the genitals). But during this period, I did, for the first time since I got diagnosed. To me, that speaks volumes about how overwhelmed and traumatized I really was.

What also messes with me is how he seemed to live in a totally different reality. Once, while I was getting ready for work, he raised his hand jokingly and I flinched. He looked at me confused and said, “You know I’d never actually hit you, right?” That still sticks in my head—did he really believe all of it was okay?Later, about a year after it ended, he texted me a vague apology: “I’m sorry. Can we still be friends?”

At one point, I got pregnant. It was the hardest and most isolating experience of my life. I was a broke college student and had to ask my mom for money for an abortion. I didn’t tell her the context—just that I was pregnant. He didn’t care at all, except to make sure I would actually get the abortion. That was a really traumatic experience to have to go through alone at 22.

People around us knew, at least partially. My roommates heard things through the walls, saw bruises, and expressed concern, but I brushed it off as “BDSM.” At his frat house, people also overheard. One guy even confronted him, saying, “I hear you like to hit girls.” He got furious with me, so I defended him and made it seem like the other guy was lying. Sometimes I feel like I was complicit in protecting him, like it’s my fault people didn’t intervene, not like it was their job to anyway.

Even though it’s been five years, it still lingers. When I first started dating my current boyfriend, I cried and shut down during sex when he touched my neck gently. For a long time, I couldn’t have sex sober.

Something else that confuses me is that I sometimes have sexual fantasies about that time. Not because it was pleasurable (it never was—never once). But some part of my brain replays it. I don’t want to be treated that way again, and my current boyfriend treats me like an angel, but I can’t explain why those memories have tangled themselves into my sexuality.

I’ve tried to talk about it with my therapist before, but I always freeze or cry and can’t get words out. I feel like the chance to process it with my friends has passed—they’ve moved on, and if I bring it up now, I’ll seem dramatic. But I know I need to heal. I don’t want to feel haunted by this forever. I don’t know where to start, but writing this here is my first attempt at saying it out loud.