I’ve been sexually abused since I was 5 years old.
I can still feel his hand on me, his leers.
Without going into more details, the whole thing was creepy.
I was molested by my uncle.
Whenever I was at my grandmother’s, he’d sit close to me, touch me.
And I was stupid and didn’t understand what was going on.
It kept going on till I was in middle school.
I’d cry every time. I was scared of him. He was always threatening me.
He molested me when I was asleep. I pretended to be asleep because I was so scared.
Then, it escalated to a point where he’d assault me when I was awake.
“I’ll give you money if you shut up,” he’d bribe me.
He’d buy me porn and make me watch it while he ran his hands over my body.
The nightmare only stopped when he left the country.
Some might say I’m to blame; how could I have said nothing and stayed silent?
To those people I say that mama used to see the evidence on my neck, and would say nothing. She’d tell me to say nothing, because she didn’t want a scandal on her hands.
Around the same time, when I was in elementary school, I was molested by my cousin.
He was ten years older than me.
I was scared of him and didn’t understand why he did the same things my uncle used to do to me.
I didn’t even understand what it was he was doing to me.
He taught me how to masturbate.
I was young and didn’t know to approach my mother about the stuff that was happening. I was scared.
My neighbor liked me and used to bring me candy.
She used to play with me when I got back from school till mama got home.
But why did she touch me that way when I got back from school?
Why did she do bad and inappropriate things with me?
I didn’t understand what was going on.
“Don’t tell anyone, and I’ll buy you chocolate,” she’d tell me.
Mama had a friend whose daughter was my age.
We became friends and played together.
But why did she used to kiss me that way?
And why did she make me lie down with her on top of me?
I had no idea what was going on, but I knew it was something wrong, and it bothered me.
My younger brother grew up and started doing the same things my uncle and cousin had done.
I’d be sleeping and would feel his hands all over my body.
I couldn’t say anything, of course. It would have been inappropriate to do so. Besides, what would I say anyway?
I grew up to hate men, and I hate my brother, uncle, and cousin. I also hate weakness.
I hate all of the people who hurt me and will never forgive them.
I’m 24 now and I get seizures. And I wake up in the middle of the night in a panic.
Twenty years full of things I’ll never forget. Incidents that’ll stay with me till the day I die.
Oh, and by the way, I tried to commit suicide twice and failed.