Dear Diary
I am a girl. I am a daughter.A sister. A friend. Yet at the same time I am nothing.
My name doesn't matter. It doesn't change the fact that probably many girls similar to me have happened to others.
I don't speak a lot of my childhood. It pains me to think of it.
I don't remember how old I was when 'it' started but i do remember when it ended. I was young, probably 7, or 8, maybe even 9. I lived with my dad, my would be step mom and this boy related to my step mom. I don't know or remember what he is to her. I had never thought of him to be honest. And i still don't, I don't ask about him either.
I don't know how it started but i know that it did in fact happened.
I was left at home by myself a lot. And with "him" the perpetrator.
I don't know if it helps the situation or not but he has never touched my below the waist. But at the same time I don't think it should matter. Assault is assault isn't it.
He would always touch me on my breast, under my shirt and over. I would always squirm around, trying to get away because it felt weird. I knew it was weird because even though they didn't have sexual education at the catholic school i had attended, I knew it wasn't normal.
The day I told on him is one I always remember.
My dad and step mom had just came home after me, and said perpetrator was babysitting for a family friend who had twin boys.
I remember tell my dad after running towards his car and said "daddy Jason kept touching me"
And my dad said "touching you how"
And I remember feeling scared that they wouldn't believe me and that I would cause friction in his relationship. "he kept touching me under my shirt on my breast"
I almost laugh now, thinking how weird it was for my 7, 8 or 9 year old self felt saying it out loud.
I don't remember much of that night. I know i didn't get justice. And I know that know one else remembers but I still do. In fact it haunts me every time I see my boobs in the mirror or when someone talks about sexual assault.
I always lay in bed and think. how did I let that happen for how long it did? And thought it was nothing below the waist it still seemed to mess me up pretty bad later on.
I haven't mentioned anything of the event since that one night at the age of 7, 8, or 9. Even when I started therapy last year and it itched under neath my skin and made me fidget every time I was called into her office.
But I kept it to myself, because at the time even though I was 18 I thought, I don't want her to call my dad and tell him because even though we have a pretty damaged relationship already, i didn't want to cause harm for his now wife, my step mom. Or their kid, my little brother that they have together.
And though I don't want to say "woe is me" because my life is truly fucked up.
I said "I cant go back to therapy ever again"
And I continue to keep it to myself and continue to realized that most sexual assault victims keeps things these things to themselves for just that. The fear of hurting others because they themselves have been hurt.
Thank you for listening,
S
