yellowField3042 Member Profile

...See more Trigger warning: if you have experienced any childhood trauma or sexual trauma, you may be triggered by my story. Everyones different in how they handle things, but just wanted to put it out there. I felt the need to write this particular trauma out, and it felt really good. Here we go: I Was 8 and You Were Safe 8 years old. Purple monkey pajamas. The house on the busy road. For years you had arrived at my bedroom door while I was sleeping. Appearing in the dark. You just talked. Walked around my room, while I joined the conversation still half asleep. Sometimes you would sit on my bed. And then you would leave. Thats all I remembered. Until I remembered more. My parents would go out, and you would watch us. My brother was always downstairs.. playing on the computer or video games. You would go back and forth between hanging out with us. You and I were often alone together. Sitting on the couch... you liked to scratch my back and it made me feel relaxed. You would say, remember to put on loose pants. Sometimes your scratches would go down to my waist, so I didnt recognize that it was an odd thing to say for back scratching. I was 8, and you were my family. You were safe. I thought you were safe. The scratches became light rubbing.. touching every part of my skin. It felt relaxing. And you were safe. Under the waistband, you reached beneath my underwear line. Grazed your fingers across my hip bones and around sensitive areas of my body. I would pull back a bit and lightly laugh anxiously. Does that tickle? you would say. I would force a smile and say, Yes, as I pulled away just a bit, hoping it would make you move your hand somewhere else. I knew it was odd for you to have your hand there. It no longer made me feel relaxed.. but I was 8, and you were safe. Each time this happened, your hand became seemingly more comfortable with touching me. More comfortable with slipping beneath my underwear and touching my body in places your hand shouldnt be as I would pull away and pretend it tickled. More comfortable with your hand making its way to my chest and touching me. It made me feel frozen.. I couldnt move. One day I noticed your hand in your pants. You saw me notice. You didnt take it out. I stood up. I was scared to acknowledge it. I walked around the living room thinking of something to say that could change the subject or make you move your hand. What are you doing? You said. Your penis was outside of your pants.. in your hands. I could see it now. I quickly turned on a light, forced a smiled, and said, Did I show you I got my ears double pierced?! I was trying to find something.. anything that would change the reality of what was happening. You smiled, No, let me see. I showed you. Your hand stayed on your penis.. outside of your pants, as you looked at my ears and smiled. I left the room to get a snack from the kitchen.. hoping that when I returned, your body would be where it was supposed to be. It was. I came back, and you were sitting fully clothed on the couch. You said, Im going downstairs to see your brother for a bit. You left. I could finally feel myself breathe again. The touching of yourself and me happened many times. I never told anyone. Why? I wasnt able to put all the pieces together at 8. I didnt understand how all the different experiences were all different parts of the same wrong thing. I didnt know that I should fear someone who was supposed to be safe. I didnt know what would happen if I said anything. I was scared. I was 8. I sometimes fear that there is more I dont remember. Something in my bones makes me feel like there are things I am forgetting. Many sleepovers at your house that I didnt want to go to.. So many nights I was scared someone would show up at my bedroom door. So many times my brother would tell me I was rude for not wanting to see my uncle. My parents would say I should see you and talk to you more.. you needed people. You were depressed and didnt have anyone in your life. It hurts his feelings when you dont want to go see him with your brother. They didnt know. Why would they? I never told them. I was 8. And you were safe. I havent seen you in person for 9 years. I know that there will be a day that I will... some sort of family thing that falls into place to put us at the same place at the same time. I worry when that will be all the time. I know that I will be okay, but I dont like to lie. I dont like to hide how Im feeling around the people I love. I know I will be okay, but I know it will also be difficult. I never told a soul in my family. My last relationship said that I wasnt telling anyone in order to protect you. It made her angry. She threatened to tell my family. Maybe she was right. I am protecting my family. You are depressed and often suicidal. Everyone worries about you. My dad is depressed and would be heartbroken if he knew about all of this. My grandparents would be horrified. I would have to explain the when and how and why I didnt say anything. It wouldnt make sense to them. They may even question the validity. My mother would be angry and overcome with emotion. I dont know what you would do. But I do know that it wouldnt help anyone. It would be chaos. Saddening, maddening chaos. I am protecting you. And I am protecting my family. I am not 8 anymore. I am strong, and I know you are not safe. I hope you find some peace in this world. I hope you find light in some place or another. I dont hate you. I hate all of the things that hurt you in your life that made you hurt me in an effort to feel good. I am whole. You are broken. I wish life was kinder. To you. And to me. I dont hate you. For awhile I was stuck. But now I am free. I was 8, but you were definitely not safe.

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