At the age of nine, I was sexually abused for the first time.
The story is relatively similar to other child abuse stories. A certain relative of the family, that the parents trust absolutely, like that, and so on and so forth, and they never thought it would happen to me. At nine, it was the first time, but not the last, and he was not the only one.
Sitting up and thinking about it now, I'm really not sure why I didn't say anything about this, I've never told anyone, maybe this page will be my first, and the only time. .
It is a big thing to me, but, I think at nine years old, a big deal for me isn't it big? I was nine years old and I, of many years later, am still skeptical when thinking about that big day. I was skeptical if it was real, or it was merely my imagination (I was sure my parents would say that), was it one of my nightmares (I always had nightmares), is this really true or really wrong, was it right and was it wrong? The only thing I was 100% sure at the time was: This was my fault, 100%. It happens because of what I say, because of what I do, because I am me. From then on, nothing was more frightening to me than my own thoughts. It was an extreme realization, that I could never escape myself. Before I was at the age of rebellion and did whatever I wanted, I realized that it was true that I could do whatever I wanted, but I would never escape the consequences of what I do. And I panicked. And I screamed. And I realized that I was very young, and how much time I had left to do wrong things.
Not long after that, once going out at the pool, I slipped and fell to the deep part of the tank. I sink, and I'm scared, but above all a strange feeling, a good strange one. I thought I was going to die, and the thought at that time was: "Is it here?", "It's here !!" I was left alone with the filtered water ball lingering, popping out of my mouth, I felt helpless, but I also gave up. At that moment, I felt that I was sinking deeper into myself than sinking into the water.
Of course, someone interrupted me, pulled me up, saved me.
Later, I was no longer afraid of the dark, no longer afraid of a monster hiding under the bed, because now I was terrified of being alone, leaving me alone with me.
I know what I'm going to do crazy, I thought of jumping into the pool again when no one was around, so that I could really be alone, I remembered the peaceful feeling of the coming end. I knew I would like it. I was so scared, I was afraid of the more and more chaotic dilemma in my head, every time I went to the pool I thought: "Jump? No dance? Dance or not?" At that time I did not fully understand what this desire was, but I knew no one wanted it like me, and I was horrible to myself - because such a thing gave me this feeling. It's my fault, it's my fault. Why is that, why am I different? I don't want another, I want to be normal, I'm a good girl.
Later on, when I had bulimia, there was one thing about it that I didn't realize until the problem got out of hand: It made me look like a child, and I loved it. Thirty-five pounds, five feet tall, like to wear a skirt and have bangs, I look around twelve years old.
The doctor told me it was normal and common for people with eating disorders, with a history of concussion when I was a child, that I was too hurt and tired of today's life so I wanted to return back to my childhood without worrying.
You're wrong doctor, my childhood wasn't worrying here. Well, just think that is okay, fill up the pain relievers full. Growing up, starting to earn money, I rewarded myself with a good child report card because I was the youngest. At the age of fifteen, I lived alone and had to ask my lover to be my legal guardian because I was not old enough to sign papers at the school. I organized a nightclub dance competition, and then I could not enter the club myself. I take that as an honor, and a reason to live promiscuous. I'm young, I'm not happy now, when will I be happy? I ignore everything. Done so, every year to my birthday, I'm afraid till death.
YOU ARE READING
Lỗi - Error 404 English Translation
Non-Fiction"Finally, my autobiography book, Error 404 is out, after 2 years of work. It actually took me only 6 months to write 99% of the book, but couldn't write the ending for a long, long time. I wrote a book about a child who was sexually abused, unhappy...
