My story starts at the age of twelve. I had a “boyfriend” at that time, he was my first one. I really did like him since I’ve known him for about 6 years. Every 2nd weekend I stayed over at his place since he was living 3 hours away from me.
The 8th time I stayed over at his house it happened. He pulled my pants down and so on. It took 30 seconds. I don’t remember many details, maybe because I forgot or maybe because my brain needed it to be forgotten. I know I was crying but it was dark. I know I was hurting but he didn’t want to hear it. And I knew he wouldn’t care. I remember thinking about how he would react if I would stand up or if I say something. And I came to the conclusion that every movie shows that he leaves you if you do so. So I did no big thing. Maybe I did say something. I thought I screamed and shouted… maybe I did or maybe it was all in my had. But one thing I remember for certain and that is the feeling I had since then and the following 10 months.
After that I thought I was pregnant. I stopped talking to everyone. I was crying every free minute I had in which nobody else could see me. And a month later I tried to kill myself.
Because I felt dirty. I felt old and used. It was like I haven’t been living inside my body since the second he has been in me. I couldn’t talk to anybody. To no friend not my parents to no one. I was so ashamed even though I did nothing truly wrong. I was only twelve.
And then one day I talked to someone about it. I didn’t call it rape, I never did. But I said that I didn’t want it and that I was twelve, I told her my story and it helped.
Even though many people knew about it after some time and some even were making fun of me or didn’t believe it, it still helped me.
And today, now for the first time I can say it.
I was raped.
And you know what? It made me strong. It is one of the biggest reasons why I am today who I am. And I am proud of myself.
This is all because I started to talk to someone, mostly people I didn’t care about because I didn’t care about what they were thinking about me. I just want to say:
If you ever feel like you are dying inside of your body even though you may seem alive. Talk! Just talk about it. It doesn’t matter if you talk to yourself, to the wall or a friend. Just talk and you’ll see what magic it does to you.
— Vivienne, age 17