*Trigger Warning: Rape*
It’s been in the back of my mind for the past few days. I’ve stumbled upon some poetry about rape and molestation. It got me thinking about mine. I was trying to push it down but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I desperately wanted to talk about it. So here I go.
As a child I was raped and molested by one of my male cousins. Multiple times for a number of years. I thought that since I never tried to stop him I must be enjoying it so I shouldn’t try to stop him. But I didn’t know if I really was enjoying it because while it was happening I felt numb to everything. I didn’t even smile. He turned on the TV and I just focused really hard on that instead of what he was doing.
But when I watched porn and sex on TV and saw that they looked like they were enjoying it more than I seemed to. I thought there was something wrong with me. Like I was broken. Was I broken? I probably was.
So I would get these mixed feelings. I wanted him to continue because I thought I was supposed to enjoy it and I thought that I should want sex. I became obsessed with him because of the attention he was giving me. I was an only child and my parents were working really hard to make sure I had food and a bed to sleep on under a roof. So I spent a lot of time by myself or with other family members who were too preoccupied with their own responsibilities.
I also made up a lot of stories to try to get myself out of trouble. But when I tried to tell my mom that he was raping me she didn’t believe me and thought that I initiated the act. So I learned to keep my mouth shut.
Never tell anyone what’s wrong because they’ll think you’re lying.
I often thought I was adopted because I wasn’t like my family. I didn’t even like them. I often wished I was adopted because I wanted a better family. One who cared enough to listen to my crazy stories. One who will listen to me when I tell them someone is doing something I don’t like. One who would do more to protect me from people who want to use me like a sex doll.
So there it goes. I let my boyfriend read this and we talked about it. It feels a lot lighter on my shoulders now. But this is only the beginning of my healing. I’m going to my first therapy session in like a couple years. Then I’ll work up the courage to tell my parents and we can finally put this behind us.