Hello everyone. Happy Long weekend.
I have another story for you on this category. If you are or have been a victim of abuse, please, before reading this page, consider the anger, the outrage and the feeling of the past. If you think that these pages may contribute to memories of your past then please find a member of your support system, someone who will be there with you if memories are triggered. Please know that it is unintentional, that I wish to contribute to the building of survivors strength.
Remember, this page is dedicated to survivors. Their lives are here for you to read about, the horror, the pain, and their feelings. . Out of respect for them and their families, I will not be mentioning their actual names. Please note that these stories may trigger memories from the past .They are very emotional and powerful stories. It takes a lot of courage to put your life into words for all to see. Many thanks to those who did.
May we all stand together and say to victims of sexual abuse: There is no shame for you in what happened. You are the brave ones and we honour you today.
Ok. I’ve never written any of this down before…so please bear with me Aunty Ezar.
It first started when I was about 5 years old, by the houseboy employed to look after me and do the chores after the maid left. My parents were constantly busy and he was hastily employed so as not to disrupt their schedules. While they were away, he would touch me and put his hands all over me, and put his fingers inside me. I was so confused, I didn’t know what was happening. He would make me take off my clothes and stuff, and it was just horrible. The first time he actually raped me, I was 7 years old. I was so scared. It hurt so much…I can’t describe it. I just tried to forget what was happening. Since he lived in the house, at night he would come into my room. I always have flashbacks, and I can never forget the image of him on top of me, holding me down, hurting me, laughing at me. I get so mad at myself now…because I realize that a lot of the time, I could have just screamed or something and someone probably would have heard me and come to see what was wrong…but I never did that.
I hated it there. I’m only fourteen though, so I didn’t really have anywhere else to go.
I attempted suicide by taking an overdose of Paracetamol, but it didn’t work. I just felt so much pain in my tummy and didn’t try it again. It was around that time that I told my aunt what happened. She threw the boy out and after a heated argument with my mum for her carelessness, my mum finally agreed that I could move in with my aunt since she was too busy to keep an eye on me.
I feel better now. No more sad. But I can’t help feeling guilty and ashamed, because no matter what anyone says…it’s really my fault, because I could have stopped it so easily many many times if I just screamed…but instead, I let myself go through that for nine years, and I hate myself for it so much.