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I was sexually abused at the age of eight years old.
when I was little I used to entomb myself within the wieght and warmth of my blankets. I was safe there. neither the cold nor the monsters beneath my bed and the ones inhabiting my closet could reach me here. granted, I would eventually run out of oxygen. I would frantically carve a hole in the caverns I had created. deep breaths. gulping in that fresh cold air. all the while making sure that not a bit of my skin was showing. I stayed safe that way. it was the unspoken rule. nothing could touch me. hurt me....
he used to molest me beneath a blanket. covered in darkness in a twelve year old boy's room. he would explore me. beneath that damn blanket. I don't talk about it much. never did. I was only eight. maybe seven. it was a blur. yet so distinct. I used to lie awake and wonder how different my life would have been if he had kept his damn hands to himself. yet, maybe. I hate to say this. maybe what he did ended up causing some good. oh god. after him, I was afraid to be intimate with anyone. for years. what he did to me made me feel so dirty. I didn't ever want to be touched like that again. outside of my permission. so by not wanting to come within ten feet of any other boy, I didn't end up as a teenage pregnancy. or another statistic for an STD.....
jacob. his name was Jacob. enscribed in my childhood journal. beneath layers of black ink that never seem to be enough. the words. they still scream up at me. "I love Jacob". they laugh. they taunt. bitter. I hate him. what he made of me. I was clay in his hands. he molded me into a person I never wanted to become. not that I am not a good person. but I have had undesirable experiences because of him. whenever I think about him. I zoom right back to the past. I am eight years old again. he is twelve. beneath that big black blanket. no one ever found out what he did to me until last year (2001). I never told a soul. I was ashamed. dirty. used. no one would want me if they knew. no one would love me. of course, now I know differently. I wish I had told them. sooner. when it was happening. they could have stopped him from hurting god knows how many others. does he still do it? I dream of finding him somehow. attacking him. punching him as hard as I can for all the years of torment I have suffered. he is my dark spot. on my soul. he is the stone I wrap my anger around. I have learned, little by little, to let peices of my anger over him go. but he will never completely leave me. I carry his fingerprints with me forever. his touches. god. this is really hard to talk about. I am trying my best to be vague, but not overly so. relationships since him have been hard. I couldn't hold hands with a guy without wanting to vomit. "I love you". words I thought I could never utter. I am still uneasy at times. I simply don't want to let my guard down again. I don't want to be used like a peice of meat the way he used me. for his own satisfaction. it was never for me. not that I was curious at that age. nor was I ever because of that experience. but now I am in love. have been for a while now. alan is the best thing to ever happen to me. I will not let him take that away from me. a boy who is still twelve years old in my mind. he has had control over me for so long. but no more. never more.....
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