The harasser was a math teacher at our school. He was a very good teacher. Always smiling and nice. Always joking around. Everyone loved him, including me.
I was eleven, and there was nothing special about me. He ruined me.

He tutored me and two other girls privately.
The lessons took place at his apartment. He used to make the other two girls leave first, saying that the elevator couldn’t carry more than two people at a time.
After they’d leave, we’d go down alone.. As soon as we’d enter the elevator, he’d wrap his hands around my throat, choking me.

“Nobody at school loves you. Your family doesn’t either. And no one will believe you if you tell them what we do together”, he’d say.
He’d stop the elevator, slip a hand under my t-shirt, and start to run it over my breasts, He’d also push one of his hands down my pants and try to kiss me. He’d make me touch his penis.
I didn’t stop going, because I was unable to tell mama the real reason why I didn’t want to go. I was afraid he’d turn out to be right, and nobody would believe me.

It went on. At school, he pretended nothing was going on. He’d joke around and was very sweet.
Until one time, in the elevator, I had a seizure. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Scared that he had almost killed me, he stopped touching me from that point on.

Everything he made me live through—disgust, fear, sexual pleasure, bullying—was very confusing for an eleven year old.
When I was a little older, I told a few friends of mine, but they didn’t believe me. He was right after all, and that realization made me feel severely depressed.