I have no memories before rape.
The first memory I have is being raped at 3 years old by my mom’s boyfriend and his dealer cousins. My first memories are of anguish and confusion. Broken trust and a broken body. That wouldn’t be the last time my mother allowed others to have sex with me in order to feed her addiction. I’m not even sure it was the first. It’s simply where my memories began.
I’m not sure how to get past it all. This shit seems to follow me and happen no matter how far I go to try and get away. I thought I’d found safety. I thought I’d finally found family. Turns out I just found another pervert wanting their piece. May be that’s all I’ll ever be. May be it’s better that I’m broken. It’s easier for others to take pieces of me that way.