Anonymous Story: I Was a Little Girl

Anonymous Story: I Was a Little Girl

This story is about ten years old. In fact I don’t actually remember which year it happened. But what I’m sure of, is that I was around 9 years old. Now I’m 18 and I feel like I need to share. For a long time I didn’t take seriously what happened to me, it’s only now that I understand what it really was and impact it has on my young adult life.
It was summer. I still was went to primary school and was untouched. I was pre-pubescent. The son of my mother’s best friend came spending a few days at home. He was around 15 years old. We weren’t real close, but still he felt like my cousin, like family. One night he offered my sister and I a massage. I thought it was funny and cool, I’d never thought that he could touch something else then just my back. But he did.
I was alone with him in the bedroom and I don’t remember how it really happened but I was in my underwear. But I still thought that it was normal for a massage. He made me lay down on the back and he was kneeing down at the level of my feet. He took my panty off: “It’s better this way”. I stayed quiet, didn’t exactly know what to think, it was strange and I was confused. He started touching my vagina and that for at least 20 minutes. I remember how he told me not to tell anyone. He was whispering but also miling. This evening is a bit blurry since it happened ten years ago, but I still perfectly remember his face. He had a vicious smile painted over it and looked at me with hungry and statisfied eyes. And I asked if I could only tell my sister. And he answered in this same pervers whisper that no, I couldn’t even tell my sister. So I stayed silent. I was a little girl, I was shy and docile, I didn’t move. I guess I could have just stand up and go and he wouldn’t have been violent since we were in the same house than my family. But I was just so lost. I felt so little. And felt his eyes over my body, I felt his fingers on the most private part of my body, on the most secret place I had, a place that doesn’t feel safe anymore. A place that doesn’t feel like my own anymore. I want that back. I need that feeling of safety back because he took something when I was 9 years old and now I’m eightteen and I feel the loss. I feel the intrusion. The perversity of his act. It took me nine years to realise that I was sexually assaulted. Nine years to understand that he shouldn’t have done that. That he wasn’t allowed to touch me like this. That I didn’t move when I had the cance to, that I lost the pleasure of sex when I wasn’t even pubescent. I will never forget the way he viciously looked at me over my naked body as if I were a thing. Just a funny little thing to play with. And now I still have that feeling.
So the reason why I’m sharig this is beacuase I want that feeling of safety back. And for that I need to feel understood, I need to feel like it’s normal to feel this way, like I’m not crazy. I need to feel like I am allowed to feel little and ashamed. Eventhough I don’t want to feel this way, I feel like a victim because I didn’t fight, because I just let him do. So maybe it’s kind of my own fault.
But I was little. I didn’t know anything about life and sexualty, I just couldn’t understand what was happening to me. And he took advantage of that.

Author

WYR

WYR

When You're Ready.org is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories.

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