I’d like to tell you a story. This is a true story.
Once there was a little girl. She was twelve. She was lonely. She met a boy, M, who was sixteen. She thought the world of M. She finally had someone who was giving her lots of attention. He told her that he loved her and wanted to marry her. She thought that was the greatest thing ever.
The only thing the little girl didn’t understand is why she had to do these gross and uncomfortable things with M. Things that she didn’t like. Things that she didn’t understand. Things that made her feel bad about herself. But she did them anyway. She loved M and was going to marry him someday. She wanted to be the most perfect girlfriend she could.
M started saying mean things to this little girl, which made her feel worse about herself. He began telling her constantly how ugly she was and how fat she was. She stopped eating and began to starve herself. He began telling her that she didn’t really love him, and that all she did was lie. This made her sad, because she thought she loved M very much. She tried harder and harder to prove her love to him.
The little girl stopped seeing her friends, because M would get angry that she wasn’t spending all her time with him. He also began telling her he would kil her if she ever even tried breaking up with him. She grew scared of him. She knew he had guns. She was trapped…
M was the boy that broke the little girl. She stopped playing. She stopped laughing. She stopped caring. All enthusiasm and passion and motivation drained from her like a balloon with a tiny hole in it. Until there was nothing left but a walking corpse.
That’s how the little girl remained, for a long time, until her family moved and she was able to get away from the boy. However, it was too late. She was already broken.