One time, around the age of 10, I was alone in the house, he had come home from work. I was sitting on the couch watching tv when he came in the door, I was scared. But I didn't show it. He went to his room and cane back out and took a seat right next to me, I was again scared. The fear grew but I just hid it back. He slowly had moved his hand up my shirt, as he usually does. And then down my pants, into my undies... And he started to finger me. I was terrified to even move, he was grabbing my wrist tightly with the hand that once was in my shirt, so I couldn't try and get away. I eventually just blocked it out... Because knowing what he was doing made me want to cry and run away. So blocking it out seemed best at the time. Once he stopped he let go of my wrist, and went to his room leaving me there. I turned of the tv and went to my room. I cried in my bed before going out to take a shower, to wash off and cry once more, but this time silently in case my family returns. After I was done my family was back home. So I got the courage to go out and get something to eat, he sat at the table but I kept my distance, not making eye contact. I started to binge eat to try and block it out, it didn't work. I just kept gaining weight and hating my body more then before... I never told anyone because I was afraid, of the judgments. What if they say it's all my fault? I already think it is. I mean I could've stopped it... Right?
YOU ARE READING
My story...
Non-FictionI've read many stories like this. So I've decided to tell my story dealing with it. It's a true story. And it haunts me every day. Trigger warning-- THIS CONTAINS SELF HARM AND SUICIDE ATTEMPTS.
