My Story

I have felt like journaling about this for some time now. To put a portion of what I have experienced into writing.

I ask myself, why? For what purpose? I don't really know. I think one, is to legitimize it for myself. To tell it. I am very thankful for this platform, because now people can hear it. It can be more than scribbles in my pages.

This is a story I don't readily tell people. I am scared of what they may think of me. How they will judge the parties involved. How they will- inevitably- look at me differently.

As a young child, for two years I was raped. As a teen, I was taken advantage of. As an adult, I was violated. All by individual members of my family.

To be more descriptive, three out of the four male members of my family. I wish I could say my ages, but my memories are all quite fuzzy from that time. All these acts were done without my consent.

I must state these things like facts because they are. They are facts in this story of my experience. Maybe stating them like facts removes me from my memories attached. Maybe I haven't healed, and will never heal, from these experiences that left marks on me.

I want to tell you more.

It doesn't write well.

I am clouded... I still have anger. I have intense rage. I have things I haven't said to my brothers. Things I still want to say, but am fearful they won't hear me.

They will never understand, but will they try? I'm scared they won't try.

I wonder why this is coming up for me now... I think it is because I met someone. A part of me is attracted to them, and it feels like the rest of me is trying to convince that part of me that I shouldn't be. That I should be more careful. That I should be scared.

Truth is, I'm scared of intimacy. I'm scared of feeling taken advantage of yet again.

Throughout my intimate relationships, I've always felt taken advantage of. Exploited for what my vessel can do. I've always felt trapped in one way or another- like I don't have a voice.

If I had money, I would get psychotherapy. I know there are ways I think that aren't right for me anymore. I think thoughts that are direct manifestations of these traumatic events.

Just the other day, in an intimate hug, I got scared because I thought that the person hugging me was not just hugging me for a hug. I felt trapped, like I didn't have the power to leave. In that moment, I felt wanted only for my physical attributes.

This scares me. That 10 years later, it still really gets to me. That I still feel wanted only for what I can offer/do. That a loving touch can send me so far into my muscles' memory, that I can't feel it anymore. I am traumatized, and there is no cure. I think I will carry this with me for my life.

I reflect on these experiences I had, and cannot help but be grateful in the same thought. Because: 1. I am who I am today because of them. And 2. Because it really could have been worse. How bad I interpret my experience, and its effect, is only a fraction of the pain others' experiences have had on them. I am speechless at the normalities in this world.