I was eight-years-old when I had the sexual encounter that would shape my mental health in the years to some. It was not the first sexual encounter that had happened to me. The first, nothing truly happened. I was probably almost four-years-old. We had people over at my grandmother’s house, where my mom and I lived. She’s my dad’s mother. We lived with her since my dad had moved to the United States when I was twenty-eight days old.

The thing is, there was a boy there that moved in behind me. I couldn’t go anywhere. I was cornered at a corner of the fencing of the front of the house. I waited to feel what he would do because I couldn’t turn around. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I could feel him behind me. He pressed himself against me. I could feel his parts against my butt. To make matters worse, the neighbor’s kid cam outside and scared me while he was wearing a Halloween mask. I thank God that the mom of the kid behind called for him. I was able to breathe afterwards.

Jump-forward a year or so later, we lived with my dad in the United States. We’ve been living with him for a few months now. We’d decided to move to a new apartment to a different one somewhere else. As my parents and my uncle hauled everything out, my cousin and I stayed in the apartment. My mom would stay with us as the males took everything else to the new apartment. My cousin and I hid in a closet, in the room that would formerly be my parents. I remember he closed the door of the closet. The next thing I knew was that we were laying down beside each other on the floor of the closet. I had my shorts down at my ankles. My underwear was still intact. He didn’t touch me. He never did anything. My mom later found us. We were pulling our shorts up. She told our dads. Of course, as children we received discipline for our actions. I couldn’t keep the food I had eaten earlier that day in stomach. When my father disciplined me, I threw up. I felt disgusted and distraught. I had to clean up my own puke with toilet paper because that’s all we had in the apartment at that moment. Ever since that day, I’ve never been able to speak to my cousin besides a hello.

Once again, jumping forwarded a good four years, the third encounter happened. I wore a long sleeve with shirt. It had a handbag patch on the chest. I put on white stockings on and my favorite light pink skirt. I was excited! At that moment, I wasn’t sure if I'd ever been that excited before. I wanted to show him. My dad's nephew. My cousin. I wanted to show him my outfit. I wasn't even sure why. I walked out of the bedroom, leaving my parents to dress. They would dress up my baby brother too. I looked for my cousin. He had been living with us for the past few months. I was used to him being here. His wife and kids left back to California not too long ago.

"Look!" I told him when I found him.

He's sitting on our leather office chair. He motioned me over towards him. I obliged, oblivious to his intention. When he had me in front of him, he moved his hands in my stockings and past my underwear. I felt him touch me in my intimate place. Subconsciously, I moved away from him. I ran off, back to the bedroom. I didn't say anything. I didn't tell my parents what had happened. He never brought it up. I honestly forgot about it ever happened. I suppressed the memory. I later learned, years later, that victims of traumatic events will do this to avoid the memory.

Sadly, I couldn’t do it for long. When I was in fourth grade, I felt myself emotionally and mentally degrade in one way or another. By the end of fifth grade, I noticed the changes in me. I became suicidal as the last event affected me mentally. I never physically hurt myself, but I suffered through suicidal thoughts for years. There was a point in my life where I couldn’t keep it all to myself anymore. I told my best friend, whom I meet in fifth grade. To this day, we’re still friends. She was the support system I needed at the time I told her. I can freely talk to her about this. Now, I’m a high school senior and I’m eighteen-years-old. I’ve taken Child Psychology. I’ve take General Psychology, at both high school and college level. I’ve noticed that taking these have really helped me to learn to be my own support system. I know what works for me. If I need to cry, then that’s what I’ll do, and I’ll feel better. I encourage you all to learn to be your own support system. I encourage you to help others.

 
Please remember to vote, comment and share the love