I have been raped. No, that's a lie, but it feels like it sometimes. For 2 years I pretented I was in love with a guy, because I was sure if I didn't he would commit suicide. No one believed me and they were right. After 2 years, the most horrible years of my life, I broke up with him. He didn't die. Nothing happened. After 2 years of having s** with someone just because I couldn't let him die. I mean he was 15 years old at that time. I had to let him see how much life was worth. Everyday became worse. Mental abuse, physical abuse, stalking. First I thought I was the love of his life and that made everything more okay, I quess. But later I found out that at the exact same time there were 2 more girls. Both went to the police. Maybe there were more, but I will never know. I am seventeen now and I don't know how or why, but I couldn't care less about myself. If someone wants to have s** with me. He can. Even thought I have a boyfriend. I don't feel quilt, nothing. S** is the only love I know, I quess. S** becomes an obsession. Even I know that it doesn't make sense at all. I don't know what to do with it.