I was 6, when my family was hosting a religious prayer. About a hundred people were invited. And in went on for almost a month. People would come and go. There was a priest, who would make me sit on his lap whoever he got the chance. One day, my parents were at work and I had just come home from school. I was about to go to my room when the priest came out and asked me to come to his room. He I got in there, he had me on his lap and he started touching me. All I knew I was I didn’t like it but if he was doing it than surely my parents knew and approved. So I let him. For weeks I would try avoiding coming home from school until it was crowded. But he would always find me and continue touching me. For the next 6 years I didn’t realize what he did was molesting. And I felt dirty and embarrassed. I should have done something to stop him.
Since I realized what had happened, I would try and replace those memories with other people. I would change boyfriends countless of times but no matter what I did I always remember. I feel ashamed of myself.
The second time I was violated was by …….. when he ask me to touch him. I didn’t want to but I felt pressured I couldn’t say anything cause a friend was near by and I didn’t want to cause a scene, even though all I wanted to do was ask them to help me.
The third time I felt used I was 13 by than. I knew the guy. We would fool around by kissing here and there. One of the times we were in a room, we kissed for a few minutes and I said I needed to go. Instead he stood by the door and asked if he could touch me and asked me if I would give him a blow job. I said no. while I kept repeating no, he forced his hands down my pants and had me touch him. I couldn’t scream or ask for help, simply cause I wasn’t suppose to be fooling around with him in the first place.
For the next few years I struggled with myself. I felt like I deserved it and somehow made them want me. I managed to convince myself that it was my doing. I would never dress up, always wearing shirts and shorts thrice my size but it never really helped.
I still feel sick to my stomach when I think about it. Why didn’t I ever fight back? I let myself bottle it up.
I struggle with myself each day. Am I fooling myself into believing it’s anything more than my fault?
I hope not. I started mediating a lot and working on my confidence, self respect and forgiving myself. I even learned self-defense.
Each day is a battle. One I don’t tend to give up.
I am mostly happy with myself.
My goal is to one day get the courage to not be ashamed of my past.
“Just because I am happy, does not mean that the day is perfect but that you have looked beyond its imperfections.”
— Survivor, age 16