My whole life I’ve been silent. I’ve been scared. And I can never tell my story, much less bring myself to remember anything from my childhood without overwhelming disgust and pain. Maybe if I try it will help. Maybe not. Already I HATE myself for writing this.
I remember when I was five. I remember thinking how grown up I was, how I was already in kindergarten like the big kids. I had a wonderful family in a nice neighborhood. The neighborhood kids were mostly all boys. Two of which were about my age. I wanted so desperately to fit in and be like the older boys. But I was always pushed out or picked on.
I remember so clearly the House at the far corner of my neighborhood. And I remember the Man who lived there. Who still lives there to this day. I know. I’ve seen Him after all these years. To a five year old, He seemed so nice. He was always inviting the older boys to His house, and He gave us candy. There was one boy in particular who was His favorite; T. T was the meanest to me. He was about 5 years older and always made me cry.
Over time the T got even meaner. He began to say horrible things to me, things a five year old doesn’t understand. The other boys followed. They were always meanest when we were at His (the Mans) House. HE always encouraged them to tease me until I cried and then He’d laugh. They said horrible things to me and completely tore down my self-esteem. Unfortunately I can still look back and remember the look on His face as he watched me cry. It was pure enjoyment and lust. I still have nightmares about the look on His face when He’d watch me from across the street. There were times He’d try to get me alone, but fortunately they failed. But I’m sad to say I have my suspicions they worked on some of the boys.
They started doing horrible things to me. T was the first. He’d make dirty, awful comments. He’d push me, berate me, and pressure me into whatever he wanted. And I’d eventually obey, just wishing it would make him leave me alone. One day he berated me into having sex with him. I was 6. I had no idea what sex was. T and I were with the neighborhood boys and one other girl, far behind the neighborhood park where I wasn’t supposed to go. He picked on me in front of everybody until I agreed to play his “game”. I hate that I can remember it so clearly. I remember the smell of dirt, the trees, the other kids staring, and him pulling down my pants. It felt horrible. Even when you’re six, you know what’s happening is dead wrong and want it to stop so badly. He got on top of me and I forced myself to watch the sky until he was done.
I felt so horrible, dirty, and guilty. I was always told not to let anyone ever touch me there, but I had.
The other boys followed. They would tease and push me until I agreed to let them take me behind an empty house. I felt so horrible doing it, but I’d take off my pants and let them touch me. I let them use my hand to touch themselves. I’d let them see me naked. I was so blind and unsure of everything. I was so confused. The Man at the corner House convinced T and another to sneak behind me and pants me while we were in his garage. He just stood there watching me with that look, laughing with the other boys. I cried for days.
At the age of 6, I had horrible strep infections where a 6 year old shouldn’t. I could barely walk some days. John, one of the boys from next door, made my life a living hell in 1st grade. He was in my class, and constantly teased me. He’d pinch me, throw my pencil, say horrible things, until I’d cry or openly lash out. My teacher would constantly move me to another classroom to keep him from me. I’d sit in the corner and cry, feeling like a worthless piece of shit, surrounded by staring 3rd graders.
When I was 8, T, john, and the other boys moved away. But my past haunted me, and HE, the Man in that house, was still there. A completely different boy who rode my bus, would sit behind me and tell me “all the dirty things he would do to me” and how he “wanted to take a shower with me”. When my mother found out, she gave me “the talk”. When I learned the truth of everything that had happened, I wanted to die. I wanted to die so many days. When I found the truth, I avoided HIM and that House. To my torture, everyday I had to walk by to get to my bus. Everyday I saw Him, in his garage, watching me. Even when I moved I had to come back to that House of my shame. My aunt lived on the same road as I had. I had nightmares of Him trying to get me alone again, of T and the other boys. It was like reliving my shame, fear, and insecurities EVERY DAY. One summer while living with my aunt, He watched me across the street. I froze in absolute terror trying to act normal in front of my family. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. I wanted to throw up.
To this day He and those boys haunt me. I still see Him as much as it kills me. HE still has the DAMNED audacity to speak to my father. I’ve never stopped feeling guilty. I LET them do those things to me. I LET them get away with everything. I feel HORRIBLE about everything and letting him get away unnoticed. I can’t help but worry if he’s hurting other children. I have nightmares every other night about Him, T, those boys, everything. I can’t help feel it’s no big deal, that others have suffered more terribly, that I let those things happen, so why should I feel so scarred, and petrified of men? Everything about it is MY fault. Everything feels like the exaggerated ramblings of an insecure child. But WHY do I HURT SO MUCH. MY WHOLE LIFE I’VE LIVED WITH THIS PAIN. 13 YEARS. WHY can’t I tell my parents? WHY am I so terrified of men and being touched? I feel like the real me was destroyed 13 years ago, and to this day I’ll never know who the REAL me was supposed to be. I’ll never know how SHE would have turned out. Instead I’m left with this terrified, broken, untrusting, no self-esteem, anxiety-ridden, depressed, shell of a girl. I’m afraid I’ll never be able to know true love. How could anyone love a whore like me? I was only 6, and I whored myself out to my fucking neighborhood! How could I ever trust a man? How can I ever trust me!? I constantly feel disgusted with myself. I’ve never told anyone and always act perfectly fine on the outside, BUT I’M NOT. EVERYDAY I FEEL LIKE CRYING. EVERYDAY I WANT TO DIE. When a man looks at me, or a boy makes a comment I have a complete panic attack. I can’t be alone in a room with any man–even my doctor or psychiatrist—without having a complete breakdown. I cut myself because it’s a way of making my outside how I feel on the inside. I have an eating problem. When I feel so disgusted with myself, I make myself throw up. I’m worried my parents will hate me forever if they find out. I already hate myself, probably forever. I constantly fear seeing Him, or T. I’m constantly paranoid and have breakdowns at anything that triggers a horrible nightmare of a memory.
Whether it’s all my fault, or nothing to be scarred about at all, I don’t know. I do know I will never be the same again. And to all those reading, I hope you don’t hate me as much as I do.
The girl Who Will Never Be the Same Again.