Taking Back my Voice: Part 1

The first time was my babysitter. I was three, but I remember. I knew it was wrong. Strict instructions for nap time did not mean that she had to be in bed with me. I remember waking up to her hand down my pants and on my thigh, and as I write these words, I shudder to think about what she did to me when I was asleep. I remember being on the couch next, her asking me “did this hurt?” Nodding…confused. I buried these instances and they always seemed to come back to haunt me when more cases occurred. There was no confrontation when I got older. She drowned at a public swimming pool a few years later. I remember being told about what happened, and my familys’ bewilderment at my utter lack of emotion. #Pussygotyourtongue #thoughtsareout

 

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