It happened once; I felt so separated from what was happening. My body was in one place and my mind in another. It was as if my mind was saying, this isn’t really happening. This couldn’t be happening to me. I trusted him and he used my body to fulfill his sick fantasy.
For a long time, I thought that if I told people what had been happened to me, even my parents, they would think I was a bad person and blame me. I even blamed myself. My cousin was put in that house alone with him sometimes if something had happened to him because for a long time, I was blinded, I completely blocked out that night. I would have never forgave myself. It wasn’t until about three years later that I remembered what happened to me. Once I remembered I went into a deep denial, I didn’t know how to handle it. after a while I needed to tell someone, because I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I told one of my closest friends it. They made me feel judged and worthless like it was my fault. They used this secret against me as a type of emotional blackmail, finally one day I wouldnt take it anymore and didnt listen to what she said. She ended up telling someone else and although at the time I felt betrayed, but it was the best thing that could have happened to me.
He listenes to me and helpes me sort through my feelings, on some level I guess Im angry with myself, thinking I could have done more to stop him. On every other level there is just pure anger at everyone else. The person who brought him into my life, my family, everone. I wish I never remembered what happened because now everywhere I turn I see his face and the memory of that night haunts my dreams. They say time heals all wounds, well some wounds will never heal. They say forgive, forget, and move on, well I can't do any of that. I survived that night, but the scars it left stay with me until the day I die.