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After holding on to my virginity for so long I finally felt university is the perfect time to have a serious relationship (involving sex). I met this guy named Ahmed (fictitious name) to whom I entrusted my heart and my virginity. Was it worth it? NO. He turned into a monster with none of the Prince Charming fantasies he promised to be to me.
I dated this Muslim guy named Ashraf (fictitious name) and though he was everything I ever wanted, his family kept calling me "kaffir" and all sorts of racist comments were constantly thrown at me by his parents and his siblings. I was so tormented by his family because of my race and my religion, I finally said enough is enough and rejected his marriage proposal. He kept saying he wanted to leave his family and everything behind. He wanted us to relocate to another country and start a life together, he emphasized how much he doesn't want to shatter my dreams and wanted to pay my tuition fees so I can pursue my Law studies at the country we'll relocate to (any country of my choice). I loved Ashraf, but his definition of what's right was different from mine. To me, anal sex isn't normal culturally and religiously, but he kept insisting we should do that while claiming he was ready to risk it all for me but I couldn't do something so small for him. Well, I moved on to Ahmed who cheated countless times and when I confronted him, he kept "slut" shaming me. It really broke me big time. My head had these questions clicking constantly, "Why did he call me a slut while I'm only sleeping with him?", "Why is he cheating?", "Isn't being a virgin good enough?". My break up with him left me feeling like trash. I forgave him but I never forgave myself. I resorted to over drinking, intense alcoholism and a lot of times after that incident, I cried myself to sleep and tried to kill myself countless times. I kept calling my mom telling her to pray for me but I couldn't say what was eating me inside. I was a walking corpse for a long time after the break up. But I learnt to move on. I look at myself right now and I still can't believe I survived that. Imagine how breaking it was. I moved on to Bruno (fictitious name), and if I was a judge of a Monster Award Ceremony I would have given him the trophy. I endured his drama, his fists, him violently pulling my hair, him pushing me towards walls, his uncontrollable anger and jealousy, his cheating... I could go on and on with a list of more brutal things he did to me. One night he so violently pushed me to his bed that I banged my head and almost died. That very night I wanted to leave and he came to me crying and apologizing for mistakenly thinking I didn't answer his texts while I did, but the network was bad. He was a lawyer and yes he taught me a lot about being a better law student, and taught me personally whatever I didn't understand. His intelligence attracted me but no thanks, there's no room for intelligent monsters in my heart. I'm glad I'm in the hands of an amazing man who despite our misunderstandings, sees the good in me, respects the wounds I've endured and is trying his best every single day not to salt the wounds of my past. He's a brown skinned angel, always well-scented, kind, smart, supportive and most of all understanding. -- Maria Silvanus in Tanzania Luckily I had my one friend to get me through it. Truth is, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her.10/15/2019
I remember being a happy little kid. I was an only child and spoiled rotten. There weren't any kids around so it got really lonely. My only friends at the time were animals. I remember the first day of school was so exciting because I thought of all the friends I'd make. I was really nice and I put on my best smile. But I guess going to a school where 99% of the school is white and you're mixed it's a bad thing. I didn't really know what I did to deserve being made fun of and picked on. I always blamed myself, like it was something I'd done. They would call me 'ugly' and 'fat' and after a while I believed it. Through my whole elementary years I was picked on, even when we moved. When my sister was born my mom neglected us, then abandoned us. We moved to another state but at the age of seven I had already tried suicide a couple of times. I also started to overeat with the depression I was in. In 6th grade I made my first friend and in 7th grade I made another. In 8th grade I got my first boyfriend and thought I was in love. I couldn't believe it because I was fat and in the band, and he was cute and on the football team. I thought I was in love but I was blind. He was a jerk and he cheated on me multiple times. I cried many times because of him. What makes it worse is that he started messing around with my 6th grade friend, who was a very fake friend. I almost committed suicide. Luckily I had my one friend to get me through it. Truth is, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. Now in my 10th grade year of high school, I am grateful for her because if it wasn't for her I wouldn't have seen how beautiful life is. What I learned is to not listen to what they say. Whether it's family, kids at school, relationships, friendships, or yourself, don't listen. Fuck them and live your own life. Because I listened and believed it, I now have a weight problem and depression. Don't be like me, block them out and do you.
I belong to a conservative family in India where even talking about your periods is taboo. No boys, no movies, no pornography - that was the theme of my childhood and early teens (that rule is still in force). I went to an all-girls school, had few friends, as my parents are quite racist and passed judgments on others based on social background rather than intrinsic goodness. My parents were determined to send me to another state (within India) for higher education and after graduating from 12th grade, I ended up in a university in a big city. I was assigned a room in one of the dorms, which I had to share with 3 older girls belonging to other disciplines. I made friends with them, one of whom was named 'A'. She was from the same state as me and hence we decided to stick together. Within a week of my arrival, my roommates and their friends called me and 'A' for an 'introduction' aimed at getting to know us. This is one of those dreaded rituals for freshmen, as the so-called seniors can fire any embarrassing questions that you have to answer on the spot. One such question posed to 'A' was, "Do you have a boyfriend?" She answered no, and replied that usually boys were rowdy and therefore she preferred the company of girls. There were many giggles among the girls after this, and one of them loudly told me, between giggles, that I should not hang out with 'A' or I might end up liking girls, too! Needless to say, both 'A' and I were crushed at their cruel words. 'A' looked at me accusingly as it was one of my roommates who had declared her as a lesbian. And both of us could not protest against them. Freshmen who went against seniors had to face consequences. A year later, one of the girls in my class asked me for help with her studies. She was slightly disabled and belonged to a poor family. She had no cellphone, and therefore handed me a letter, where she had frankly written about her handicap, her family condition, as well as her request to be tutored by me. Out of embarrassment, she implored me to read her letter in privacy. However when 'A' and my new roommates saw the letter, they started giggling and declared, "Looks like a love letter, or else why would the girl ask you to read it in private?" I smiled at them but was deeply hurt - without reading the letter, how on earth could you pass a judgment on the sexuality of a person? The three years spent in the university were hellish - I encountered perverts who made lewd comments about my body and clothing, and occasional flashers who stripped before me abruptly when I was on my way to class early in the morning and vanished before I could call the university guards. 'A' told me not to tell these matters to my parents; it was part of the Honour Code – you did not want to frighten your parents and thus cause them grief and give a bad name to your university. And caught between "Good girls don’t get boyfriends and wait till marriage to have sex" and "She has no boyfriend and hangs with gal pals only - must be a lesbian," I sought the refuge of my textbooks. I could not spend the evening in the nearby park, as dangerous people loomed nearby (personal experience) nor hang around trees (evil spirits were supposed to haunt them in the evening!) nor use the washrooms in the park (gay men supposedly lurked in the washrooms of both genders and assaulted people who wanted a bathroom break!). The haunted trees and psychotic gays were of course rumours, but then nobody was willing to test these rumours and determine the truth. What I want to stress by my story is that a person’s sexuality is not a plaything. It does not matter whether you make fun of people on a mere whim - it hurts deeply. And if a straight person like me had to face ridicule on alleged lesbianism, one can only imagine the predicament of queer persons and transgendered people who face shaming. The UnSlut Project is one forum where I've found friends like Emily Lindin, who is willing to read into stories of countless women. So friends, no matter where you are residing, what your background or educational qualifications are - if you want to pour out your heart in a story, then please do so. Nobody is here to judge you based on looks and sexuality - we know what it means to be a loner, to be slut-shamed and ridiculed to the point of extreme depression. And if your gut feeling says to stay away from certain persons, then please trust your gut.
I grew up in a little town and I suffered a bullying situation at school. When I was 15 years old, I started a relationship with a boy. I am Spanish but he was from another European country. Massive immigration was starting in Spain and the town was welcoming many foreign people. They were considered bad people, thieves, mafia, and many other things. But he was a normal boy, someone who went to another country to get a better job and a better life. When our relationship was just in the first week, everyone in the town knew that a native girl was dating a foreigner boy. The people from my town (even the ones who were my age) looked at that like something terrible, and thinking that he was introducing me to a criminal world. It was not true. But instead of harassing him (who was, supposedly, a bad person) everybody took their anger out on me. It is an example of the sexism that women suffer in little towns. So I suffered terrible bullying consisting of insults, told to me or written in my notebooks. When I was walking in the street, people shouted to me horrible things. And I didn't understand why. So I was "the slut of the town". Many boys thought that they could be with me just because "I was f*cking a foreign boy". I have never understood the relationship between my private life and being a slut, or why having a relationship with a foreign boy could be a crime. Unfortunately, the situation was unsustainable for me so I decided to move to a big city, the capital of the province. But before that, I have been receiving counseling treatment. Nowadays, many girls from the town have relationships with foreign boys, they have children with them, or they have been pregnant but they didn't give birth to their children. Now it is considered a bad thing, but not as bad as before. I was a pioneer with that kind of relationship and all the village anger was thrown at me. Right now, seven years after, I can't go to my town. People remember my "lifestyle" so the insults start again. But not to the other girls. I haven't been in my town for 3 years. As I said, I tried but the situation started again. Maybe if I go right now, nothing will happen, but just when I think about it, I get nervous and panic. Could I ever go back? Could I have a normal life there? Could I go on holidays and enjoy the festivities? Maybe I will never know, because I am a criminal, and my crime was having a "unusual" relationship. Now I am 22 years old and I am living in a big city in Spain. Here, having a foreigner boyfriend is something absolutely normal.
I loved a boy. He lived halfway across the world, and I seldom got to see him. When he was here before our first year of university, he stopped talking to me a month into summer. I ran up to his house to help him pack and get answers before he left. His grandmother and mom stood behind me making snarky comments about how American girls dress like such sluts, it’s no wonder that he hadn’t wanted to talk to me. When I asked him, he said the same thing. I was “too American” to love.
Thanks for sharing your experience. I was also the “slut” in middle school… I was also called n*gger lover and sp*c lover, because I had boyfriends who were not white. It was an awful experience and I dropped out as soon as it was legally possible.
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