Sounds of Silence

                                        "Write about what you'll never tell your parents."

With shaking fingers I write this. An unsteady heartbeat follows the irregular rush of breath leaving my lungs. I have a story in which needs to be told; something that my parents will never know, lest I tell them. Of course, even if I did explain someday the reasons for my transgressions, would they truly understand me? Would they see the angst coating my soul - the guilt lining my stomach? Alas, I will write this anyway.

I confess to my sins.

I don't remember much of what happened the first time I did this. All I can recall is the faint distinction of reluctance and the cold metal of my phone against my palms. Summer had started only a few days before. My excitement at having something that my peers possessed was overzealous - it was a treat! Texting, calling, gaming, writing, all of it at my fingertips. But the dangers were not explained. The fears were not validated. And so, I fell deeply into the intricate web of online anonymity.

As I do not remember his name, I will call this man Thomas.

Thomas was a rather unpleasant fellow. He did not show a picture of himself to me, shadowed in the mysterious secrets of the internet. I was intrigued - a young tween, getting her first taste of attention. A very naive young woman with a hunger for acceptance and validation. Thomas knew this, and I was thoroughly manipulated to the best of his abilities. The vicious cycle began, and I was molded into a person that I regret to say still follows me into the present. I became another statistic. I was a peer pressured, and made malleable. But enough about me, Thomas was the one pulling the strings. And he weaved them rather finely.

"You're so beautiful." he had said. "How are you possibly single?"

My face had heated up. With swooning words like those, I truly wondered the same. Was I not pretty enough? Thomas seemed to think so.

"Awe, thank you!" I texted back. "I don't know. No one seems to like me."

At this, he laughed. How could no one love a girl as lovely as I?

"I have no idea," I would reply. Even if it was not Thomas. I'd respond to all of the men the same. They all seemed to use the same words over and over. The same responses and cues and reasons. And yet, I suspected nothing. 

Thomas seemed to always stay up late into the night with me - and as many know, secrets come out during the wee hours of morning when you know no one is listening and all the others in your home are asleep. Being a chubby faced preteen, self esteem made up of paper clips and fanfiction, it was an easy concoction to a man like Thomas. He was around early twenties, hiding behind the typed words of a keyboard and a facade of actually loving a starved, daddy-issues having, weirdo like me. And tackling a topic like this, it seems I'd never admit to my horribly desperate attempts to find someone who loves me. But, once again, how was I supposed to know?

"I'm not pretty," I remember typing tediously and then sending with tears lining my lashes. 

"That's a lie," Thomas would always say. What they all would say, because in the end, they all said the same thing, just new words. 

I laughed bitterly. "It's really not a lie. I don't find myself beautiful. I'm chubby. My lips are shaped weird. No one likes me. Ha, I must sound pathetic."

That's when Thomas struck. 

"I love you. Don't ever say you're not," he sent back. In the back of my mind I knew he was only saying these words to coax me into giving him what he truly wanted. Being a twenty something year old man in college, and me being a crazed, easy, and ditzy clown, he knew what to do to get me to drop my 'shy girl' act.

"Can I tell you a secret?" I eagerly told him yes. 

"I have a problem. Can you fix it for me?" 

And that very question popped up. The question all girls who are new to the internet hate. He asked me to send those pictures that I so detested. I would laugh at those girls who were allegedly always sending naked pictures. I was an innocent girl with morals. I would never. But it had never crossed my mind that perhaps they were innocent too. Maybe they had been forced like I. 

"I don't do that," I said quickly. 

Thomas took a long time to answer. When he finally did, it was only an emoji. He was sad. I had caused this. 

"Don't be upset."

Thomas began to type, but then the typing icon disappeared and I was left with an empty sinking feeling in my gut. So I did everything in my power to get Thomas to love me, to speak to me, to treat me as he had done for so long - like I mattered! 

"Please send some pictures?"

I did. 

I was left with a mistake that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I was vulgar. I gave something so precious of mine and gave it to someone who was undeserving. As I know now, he was committing a crime. No man should ask a young woman for this. But it happens oh so often. They know what to say and therefore we are pressured into being a used tissue. 

I made a mistake that kills me still. 

Please, don't fall for a trap like many before me had. I love you. You are beautiful. You are valued. 

"If I see you at your worst and still believe you are the best, then you should do the same."