Taking Back My Voice Part 2

A late night at a house party after a graduated college, with fellow alumni. A guy I met that night, he said he was a Pastor. We talked for awhile. He had a nice smile. He was interesting, he seemed…different. He said that parties weren’t his scene, because he was a “Man of the Cloth.” He drank from a Sonic cup. He promised it was just strawberry limeade. I went to the restroom. The whole house was dark, the only lights came from the strobe lights and the TV playing familiar songs and music videos. I walked out of the restroom and was suddenly pushed back in. It was him. He reeked of alcohol and strawberries. I fought in the darkness as he searched for parts of my body that were invisible.  He tried to cover my mouth. I slapped him. He laughed. I screamed for help. It was almost too late. I caused a scene. He was asked to leave. He left. He was an ImPastor.

#pussygotyourtongue #thoughtsareout

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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