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TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual abuse.

A lot of times in life I have gotten called out for not being there enough, for not calling enough, for not texting enough. I have gotten told that I am selfish and uncaring and think only of myself.

Idk what to tell you. It's called being an introvert. It's called social anxiety. It's called little affection was shown to me as a child. But I can guarantee you that I overthink and if it's about myself it's never positive.

I wasn't even allowed to talk to my sister alone in a room as a child. My parents thought we were talking about them an a sort of paranoia set in where they separated us.

Idk what to say. I am the most close to my sister and even she says I am distant. Almost every conversation Is about our childhood though. Constantly she need affirmation that it wasn't normal. And Constantly I tell her it wasn't.

But she is still angry where I am accepting. I have spoken about it to the point where I am numb.

Bare with me, because for this I need to take you back to a time and place cruel to me. This is the truth I was born in to, this is the truth that surrounded how I was raised.

"Your skin is so smooth..."He said as he caressed my thigh under my pink night gown. "Your mother's skin used to be this smooth, but it got rough with age. Yours will too, but for now it will be as smooth as ever." The back of his hand curled and he stroked my back under the gown.

We were tightly sandwiched on the couch together. like normal. I am in the first grade. It's a summer night and he is in just his briefs.

This is how almost every night of my childhood looked though. The conversations may have changed, but every night I was forced to sleep with him on the couch. And if for some reason I didn't he would crawl into my room with me and sleep cuddling me, in my bed.

Listen. This isn't the worst thing and there were definitely nights where it seemed very innocent, and I will go into the darker things. But this is where it started.

"You could be so much prettier if you lost weight. But you are like your mother. You will struggle with it your whole life. She really let herself go. It's hard to even be attracted to her anymore." He sighed." Your sister is gorgeous. She is skinny and naturally beautiful. Even if you lost the weight you would never be like her, your build is far more masculine. It's a shame. You will need to find a man who will like you for your personality...It's going to be tougher for you.

I must of looked sad because he then followed it up with "You think I'm being mean, but I am doing you a kindness in being honest, some day you will understand." There was a pause. "You know I love you though, right? You know I think you are special?" As he said this his hand lightly stroked my thigh. I am tangled into him, squished between him and the back of the couch. Just like every night.


"They do that on purpose you know?" It's summer time. We just left Fleet Bank, and are walking to the car.

"Do what on purpose daddy?" I ask holding his hand to the car.

"Wear their name tags next to the v-neck shirts. They want you to look at their breasts. It's a trap, and it works." He grunted.

We went home that day and as I played with my barbies he filmed me. I changed the clothes on one.

"Always striping them down. You are obsessed with naked barbies." He laughed.

I remember the feeling of discomfort at his words before I understood what the feeling is. It wasn't the first time he had said this and in the future the feeling of discomfort would only grow and I would start defending myself. Slowly I would start to question my own reality. Was I obsessed with naked dolls? I am barely half way through elementary school and asking myself this.


In third grade a teacher made it known to my parents that I barely talked and had no friends. She mentioned that I wasn't communicating even with her and that she thought I was having developmental issues. She also made me stand in front of her desk, and in front of the whole class. Told me I was to pick two people I thought were nice and ask them to come up to that desk. I was crying from embarrassment and through my tears, with audience of an entire class I asked the two girls if they would be my friends. I don't know if my teacher actually thought that would work. It didn't, It just made me talked about, when I tried so hard to blend in.

I was pushed to have sit downs with the school psychologist during this time. She spoke to me like I was a child who didn't know what she was doing. She asked about my home life, my routine. I gave her non descriptive and general answers. I told her I wake up, brush my teeth, go to school, come home, do homework, play and sleep. Whenever she asked about last night I told her I went home and napped. I knew better than to say "I watched tv on the floor with my sister. We know not to look behind us." Because we also knew better than to talk about it.

But what happened behind us was a daily occurrence. His pants rested just below his knees. Belt still in the loops of his pants. His genitals were exposed and his hand cradled it with movement. Often he let our childhood dog lick it.

My sister would get sick of it. My mother was never home to see. Me? I didn't want to look behind me. So I stared into the TV. My sister had really loved that dog, before everything that had happened went down. When she was in elementary school with me she would shower that pup with kisses and cuddle it to bed. Now she was almost in High school and she wouldn't let the dog go near her. I remember that poor creature following my sister down the hall to her room, hoping for the love she once got from her. Now my sister would shriek at the thought of this animal licking her. "Eww, go away" she would proclaim, just as she slammed the door in the dogs face. Our dog would stop wagging her fluffy tail and lower it with defeat, not knowing what she did wrong.

I never knew who to feel worse for. My sister or the dog who loved her. I understood my sister and though it grossed me out too, I would try to comfort the dog, and pray she didn't lick me. If she did, I would run to the bathroom and scrub my skin raw with soap. I remember thinking at a young age that this man just didn't know better. That he was mentally a bit ill. But I also was mad at my sister for not dealing with it as I did. My way was to stay quiet, be obedient, don't upset him and understand that making a fuss would make it worse. Sixth grade, in sixth grade I am thinking this way.


"Your sister is really causing problems. I love her but she is out of control." He had just come into my room. I sleep less with him on the couch now that I am in middle school. But he comes in here still and either begs for me to come out and sleep next to him on the couch or he comes in to my bed. "I know" I say.

It is yet another night, he's opened my door again and he asks me to lay with him, he's having trouble sleeping. I do as I'm asked. It is summer. I am 12 now. I am uncomfortable, overheated and still half awake, half asleep when I sling my leg up over him toward the fan. I finally feel cool air on part of my body. His warm breath is on my forehead and he stirs.

"Jess, don't do that." He says in a face that clearly shows how bothered he is. I begin to wake and become aware of why it bothers him. It was never my intention, but he took it that way. Suddenly I am disgusted with myself in a way that I am too young to comprehend. This memory would haut my self image for years. This would be where I truly start to blame myself.

... I will continue to write this but it actually is taking a lot out of me.

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