The incident happened years ago. I was only 8-10 years old then and the events of the day are still somewhat fuzzy. Since that day, I have told only a few people about what I went through but I never wrote down how I felt about that day or what I went through. I never found the courage.
About 15 years ago, I was sexually abused. I didn't know what had happened that day until I was mature enough to understand sex. That wasn't until I was 14. I felt the effects of that monstrous act everyday since then. Even today I suffer from the pain, but today was the first time I got the courage to write about it.
I am writing a cause and effect essay of childhood sexual abuse for my English class. After completing the essay (without my personal story in it), I read it over and found something missing. It wasn't grasping my audiences' attention as I would've liked it to. So, I sat down and thought about it. Would sharing my own experience work? Would I be judged after people read the essay? Am I strong enough to share this? After giving it much thought, I decided to go through with it. It was harder than I thought.
After sitting at my computer for about 15 minutes, I finally found the words to write. I cried while I wrote. It was difficult. It was then that I realized that I had much healing to do. The effects of that day were still haunting me. I am still in pain and still suffering.
After writing my essay, I read it and cried again but this time, my tears made me a little stronger. I will be sharing this essay with a few people in my class and my instructor will be reading it as well. This is the first time that I am actually telling strangers what I went through. A part of me is extremely terrified but another part of me is proud. I am proud that I finally got the courage to write about that horrific event.
Someday, I hope to be able to write down the entire experience so someone can learn from what I went through. Here is a part my essay....
To this day, when the headlines report an innocent child being sexually abused, I clench my teeth as I flashback into my own childhood nightmares. The dreams that were destroyed while I was only six years old still dwell in my mind and even today, I feel the effects of those grotesque acts. Imagine being a child who still believes in monsters in her closet and finds her surroundings a magical playground. As you play outside, a caregiver, a friend of your mothers, calls you inside the house to “freshen up.” As you change your clothes, you feel the butterflies in your stomach and you know something is about to go wrong. However, being the child you are, you do not see the darkest days of your life approaching. The shirt that your caregiver picks out for you has little pink buttons on it. Buttons that would make it easier to access what he wanted later. As you lie down for your afternoon nap, he decides to join you. Ready to fall into a dreamland, you realize that your dreams are just about be shattered. You feel his arms on your thighs and then he slowly makes his way toward the very shirt he picked out for you- the shirt with the buttons. Before you know it, you tune everything out and fall into a world where life is better, the life that a child actually deserves. You become a lifeless zombie. You realize that today and thereafter, everything will change.
