How normal are you? I mean that seriously. Look inside yourself, what’s your story? Are your parents divorced? Were you adopted? Foster care? Do you have a kid? Have you been in love, in a bad relationship? Or a good one? Now think about the person you sit next to in third hour. What applies to them? How much do you even know about them? A year and a half ago, if you had asked my closest friends to do the same, they would have told you that I had an average life, perfect in a fifties style way. My parents were together, I had an older brother that had given me a good name in high school, I was involved in school, and I like to think that I generally was liked.  But just like everyone else, I had a story to tell, something that made me who I am today.

            Sexual abuse can affect anyone. In 2005 there were 1.2 million  cases of sexual abuse reported. This includes people up to age 18. There is no telling how many cases go unreported, I mean, mine ever was.         

            When I was four years old I got up for a glass of water. Walking into the living room, I found my father watching a porno (of course, being four at the time, I didn’t realize what I was seeing.) I scurried back to my room, convinced I was going to  get in trouble for being up past my bedtime.  Unable to get what I had seen out of my head, I asked my older brother a few weeks later what it was. He explained it to me in two words “that’s sex.” What followd the answer to this question was years of a gruesome ‘doctor’ like game, almost innocent. But as he grew, so tdid the intensity of what was happening Touching, oral sex, and then the culmination. The night Princess Diana died, Agusut 31, 1997, at the age of 10, long before my frist kiss, I had my first fuck.

            For the next 4 years, until right before I began my eighth grade year,  almost eery Friday and Saturday night I was taken to my brother’s room and we ‘did it.’ I learned to hate Jay leno during this time. He was always on, and to this day when I watch him I feel nauseous. Then one night, we were caught. My parents, during the tearful late night discussion, asked me if I wanted help, counseling, something. I refused.

            For 10 years I had remained silent. As I grew, I knew what was happening wasn’t normal, but I didn’t speak. My brother and I got into terrible fights already, I was terrified of what he would do if I told. 

            After he was caught,  I remained silent again, even to myself.

            Remaining silent was probably by biggest mistake. According to secasa.com, victims of childhood sexual abuse can suffer from fear, helplessness, guilt, betrayal,  isolation, anger, and flashbacks. I’ve gone through every emotion expected. At school I’ve realized how little I miss my family. I feel as though there is a wedge, and I’ve created it. Personal relationships are hard and I’m constantly afraid of being hurt. Guilt is an everyday thing in my life.

            To anyone reading this that has been sexually abused, get help. You may think you’re alright, and that you can handle it but this is something that is too big for one person to handle. Denial does nothing. I speak from experience here, not accepting what has happened to you eventually comes back to bit you.

            For years, and even now, I felt overwhelmingly guilty, ans though I had asked, and wanted what I had gotten. As cliché as it may sound, I will reiterate it, if you have been sexually abused, it is NOT your fault. It’s easy to blame yourself.

            When you’ve been sexually abused to want to see someone punished. Often the abusers get off scot-free, leaving only the abused to be blamed, at least within the eyes of themselves. I’ve asked myself countless times what I did to deserve this, and I could have done that would have prevented the abuse, and how I could have stopped.

            I tried to force punishment, finding only myself to blame. I’ve been addicted to cold medicine, prescription drugs, I’ve kept myself from sleeping, not eaten, even cut myself.  My thoughts with the drugs were that I would go to sleep, and be taken away. I mean, I was a disgusting person, I deserved to be put away, and maybe this would show them that. I then turned to the opposite, not sleeping at all. If one doesn’t sleep, one doesn’t dream, one doesn’t relive horror in your nightmares. And with cutting, I could control, if nothing else, the physical pain. It was all about control. Eventually I realized how foolish I was being. The cutting had me paranoid. Someone would find out, and then my secret would be out.  With time, and the support of my friends, I’ve come to accept what happened. It still bothers me, but I can’t change it, only learn from it.

            I guess this article serves as a cautionary tale. Everyone has a story. No one is as perfect as they may seem. My ‘perfect’ family conceals a story of incest, anger, resentment, grief, just the general gambit of negative emotions. Don’t ever assume somebody has it together. Sexual abuse affects people regardless of age, gender, class, and race.  It’s effects can reach into a persons very being and change them. I’ve been able to overcome these challenges, but others aren’t so lucky. If you find out someone you care about has been a victim, get them help. My biggest mistake was assuming I could handle it on my own, don’t allow people you care about do the same things.