it was just a bad dream, right?
yea it was, it never really happened.
liar, you liked it and you know it
no didn’t want it
liar, you liked it didn’t you?
no… yes…. I don’t know
liar, you didn’t stop him
no… but I wanted to
liar, then why didn’t you?
I…. I don’t know…
liar, because you liked it
because you wanted it
because you asked for it
because he kept coming back
because he was the only one
because you wanted it
because you didn’t say no
and now your crying about it
and now you…
but the nightmare never stops
it haunts you forever
it follows you forever
in new relationships
you’ll eventually have to explain
why you broke down during sex
and he’ll think it’s his fault
but its all your fault
because you lied
to yourself all these years
and you never told a soul
you did this to yourself
you only have yourself to blame
the nightmare never leaves you alone
*Trigger Warning: Rape*
I was sexually abused for years when I was a child by my cousin. I didn’t stop it. I wanted to stop it. I was confused. I felt numb when he touched me. It was all a blur and it feels like a dream. Then I was molested by a guy from high school. I was scared to call him a friend but I did. He kept grabbing me and making me touch him. I just wanted him to stop. Then I was raped in my sleep by someone I thought I could trust. After I told him I was raped and molested. I guess he thought he could have his fun too.
I write about the things that happened to me. But I don’t talk about them. I should probably talk about them. I desperately want to talk about it but I can’t bring myself to say the words. I don’t even know why I want to say it out loud.
One day I will say these words out loud. One day it won’t feel like a nightmare. One day it won’t pop into my head when I don’t want it to. Right? Or will it continue to haunt me forever? Will I ever rid myself of these memories? Why should I even say it out loud? Do I really have to? Can’t I just keep it buried in the back of my mind forever? Can’t I just pretend to be okay? Can’t I just forget it ever happened like him?
Did he even forget? Does he even feel sorry? Would deny it now? I’m scared to find out. What if it was just a nightmare. What if it never actually happened. What if I lied? What if I asked for it?
*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.