#endthecycle

My mother was assaulted by her own brothers when she was a kid. Because of this, she shied away from sex-related topics and never taught me about my body as a kid. I didn't know I might be targeted. I didn't know there were parts of me that were private. I didn't know I had a right to walk away.

At the age of six, two boys (who were my only friends at the time) assaulted me in the back of a schoolbus under my security blanket. They told me they wouldn't talk to me ever again if I refused, so I didn't stop them. This continued off and on until I moved away over a year later.

At the age of 7, the son of my mom's friend locked me in a rusty RV and said he wouldn't let me out until I made out with him. He locked me in the RV every time our moms hung out. I was convinced this meant I had to marry him when I grew up. I told my parents, and they laughed at how "cute" I was.

At the age of 11, my parents left me with a church family and their 5 kids. The oldest was near my age, and the parents let us stay up later than the others. The third night, he assaulted me. The next night he threatened to make me do it again. When I refused, he insisted I pay him so he wouldn't force me. I paid him and locked my door that night.

I didn't tell a soul til after I turned 20, after years of shared carpooling and church events and mutual friends. My dad told me it was just boys being boys. It made me feel powerless, worthless, and guilty.

Growing up I learnt about silence

The chosen moments where words escaped the tip of your tongue before you could pull them back,

Sinking, sinking into your remorse

That feeling of guilt knowing the silence was your fault

The searing silence,

A kind that came after a crash,

The kind that came after a threat,

A bowl, a plate, a fork, a mug; anything and everything in sight

The angry silence,

Screaming through barricaded doors,

Afraid of seeing the spit from your lips,

That crazed look in your eye

The scared silence,

Trembling against that chest of drawers against the door,

Weak at the knees,

Sobbing from the back of your throat,

From the bottom of your heart

The broken silence,

The doughnut outside the bedroom door,

That unhealthy relationship with food blooming from it's bud,