This post is the blog's second submission from a reader. I am so grateful to the courageous woman who sent this story of her experiences of sexual violence.
The author's words are exactly as I received them.
I was six when I remember it first happening, I was having a bath and my step brother (he is six years older than me) came in. He asked if he could use the toilet and I thought sure why not, there was no problem. But then he came in and locked the door and started telling me how beautiful I was. He started stroking me and telling me I was special. I didn't feel special. It was just a touch here and a touch there, I didn't know it was wrong. Then a few days later it happened again except in my room.
He didn't penetrate me until I was eight years old. The first time was excruciating.. I couldn't scream as he had placed his hand across my mouth. When it was over I was bleeding, I went to the bathroom and cried. Not long after I started realising it was wrong.
The rape and sexual abuse carried on until I was eleven until he moved away with his girlfriend. He went on to have children. I worry about them.
I was fourteen when I spoke out. We never rang the police because it was a family matter. I see him in the streets sometimes and I feel sick, I'm back to being a child again. hurt and scared.
I have a baby of my own now, he is seven months old and I am loving every second..I still feel the hurt, the pain, I still hear his voice, feel his breath. I am still afraid. I wish he got what he deserved, I hope one day he will. The scars don't fade, the voices don't stop. But when you have your own child you realise you have to be strong no matter what. I find peace in knowing my child will never be put through what I was.
I have created a Submissions page (it should be visible on the right hand side, under "Terminology", but I know that this doesn't work on all devices) - click here to get to it. Both this story and the first submission to the blog will be linked to from there. Future submissions will, of course, be posted individually, but now they will also be collated on the Submissions page.
The author's words are exactly as I received them.
...
I was six when I remember it first happening, I was having a bath and my step brother (he is six years older than me) came in. He asked if he could use the toilet and I thought sure why not, there was no problem. But then he came in and locked the door and started telling me how beautiful I was. He started stroking me and telling me I was special. I didn't feel special. It was just a touch here and a touch there, I didn't know it was wrong. Then a few days later it happened again except in my room.
He didn't penetrate me until I was eight years old. The first time was excruciating.. I couldn't scream as he had placed his hand across my mouth. When it was over I was bleeding, I went to the bathroom and cried. Not long after I started realising it was wrong.
The rape and sexual abuse carried on until I was eleven until he moved away with his girlfriend. He went on to have children. I worry about them.
I was fourteen when I spoke out. We never rang the police because it was a family matter. I see him in the streets sometimes and I feel sick, I'm back to being a child again. hurt and scared.
I have a baby of my own now, he is seven months old and I am loving every second..I still feel the hurt, the pain, I still hear his voice, feel his breath. I am still afraid. I wish he got what he deserved, I hope one day he will. The scars don't fade, the voices don't stop. But when you have your own child you realise you have to be strong no matter what. I find peace in knowing my child will never be put through what I was.
...
I have created a Submissions page (it should be visible on the right hand side, under "Terminology", but I know that this doesn't work on all devices) - click here to get to it. Both this story and the first submission to the blog will be linked to from there. Future submissions will, of course, be posted individually, but now they will also be collated on the Submissions page.
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