Written by: A

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Language

  English  

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Please tell us your story

This is me breaking my silence. To the man whose face I have forgotten. To the man who has left me nightmares of his silhouette, forever tainting my childhood memories and that of future. To that who I wish the worst. To man whom I once considered a friend. To man who was once my caretaker. To men who I wish were dead.

The earliest memories of my childhood are actually non existent. I lived in a joint family which meant that there were a few helpers working for us. There was this one worker whom I would like to call K.

I didn't have many friends, that is generally what happen when you are in a mega city. People hardly know what or who is around them. I didn't either.

I don't know my age but I know we moved away into a nuclear family when I was four or five, he used have to put it bluntly sex with me. I didn't understand what was happening with me. I went along with it because why not? He was my friend. My mentor he was suppose to look after me when my parents went to work.

So I started to think that it was alright, have sex not that I knew anything about it until I got my hands on computer but I thought it was completely normal. A thing that every one does.

This false sense of security became my biggest regret. He continued to have sex with me. Sometime on the terrace under the shed, sometimes in the privacy of my parents room. Sometimes in my new homes kitchen he was everywhere.

And when he wasn't I used to think that I had done something wrong. Something to upset my friend because he didn't talk to me. So I tried to make him happy. I now put it as seduction.

Imagine a five year old trying to convince a man to have sex with him, thanks to the internet access porn that I came across with K. I picked up a few things.

Porn and masturbating became a part of my life since I was seven.

The first time I noticed that these things that I did were not nor Al when, even after my fails attempts of making him 'happy' he wasn't , fed up I said I am going down to my parents. Which he might have taken as a threat. Something that I understood years later.

When I finally moved away, long away so that he couldn't reach me, I was already damaged and as I like to call it tainted. I no longer could put faith and trust in anyone.

My teen years were the worst. I live in a place where Depression and all sorts of things like that came out as a joke and nothing else.

They used to quote during awareness programs that twelve students in their high school period have been involved in some sort of harrasment. It felt strange to know that there were other eleven like me.

Silent. With their own demons to deal with.

I carried this secret of my like with me till now.

I had two more sexual encounters in the span of these years, one around the same time as that of K and other when I moved away.

The person lived right beside us and was friend of my grandfather.

'K' left the job all of a sudden. Surprising my family. Without a reason.

But somewhere I know it was me, and he was afraid.

I can't remember any of their faces. I think that is good. I don't want to. Nothing is to be glorified. My mind is fucked up.

I wish the worst for them.

They all were married. And had children.

I never questioned god's existence. But I never worshipped him either.

I am depressed and have PTSD and I don't know what else, I have been damaged and scared. Too scared to be in public, too scared to be around boys. I don't have self confidence. I can't have related friends. I lie all the time. And it hurts.

I never considered suicide strangely.

No self-harm either.

It hurts to know that I will never get a chance to be normal again.

It feared me sometimes that I will take this secret with me to my grave.

If you are reading this. If it is published and even if it is not deemed worthy of being publish I would be glad to know that at least someone read it. Even for rejecting it.

Thank you. Sincerely.

A

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What do you want others to learn from your story?

This can be no moral, sometimes from a story you don't always get a moral. I had my reasons to hide the truth. Reasons that could affect my future and of those around me.

But if there is a lesson then I think it should be the justice. I never got mine and probably never will. The three faceless demons of my life are a dark ink on my white dress. They won't come off. The old man died of tuberculosis. Serves him right I suppose. The other was a stranger whom I don't know. But if you can then get yourself justice.

I don't consider my self strong or brave. I know there are women and girls in even worse position than of mine.