At a very young age, my uncle would constantly touch me. I either 6 or under because I didnāt go to school yet. I believe I remember this because of trauma, I know this is real because it happened to my sister too, however, the way he touched me was worseā I was younger and more easy to manipulate. He would stick his finger in me, even AROUND my parentsā heād hide this by giving me a piggy back ride. I was clueless. My parents would drop me and my brother off at his house to baby sit us along with his niece. I broke her toy phone and my uncle called me into his room, I was scared I was going to get in trouble. Instead, he laid me down, lifting up my pink floral dress, and rubbed the tip of his p*nis in between the slits. My parents found out eventuallyāwhen he tried to do that again in OUR house when they were PRESENT! They told our other aunts and uncles but they didnāt believe them. So they didnāt report him, they didnāt do anything but forbid him to see me of any of my siblings. I still see him till this day. They donāt think I remember but I do, I do remember, and it sucks. My parents and sister know heās touched me, but they donāt know heās touched TOUCHED meāif that makes sense. I hate myself that I canāt even tell my family this, but there would be no pointā¦theyāll allow him around me anyway. I am now 18 and one of my distant cousins told my aunts and uncles heās trying to touch her, they believed herā¦ I was a child yet, they didnāt believe my parentsā¦ now heās not allowed to any gatherings. I still canāt tell anyone in fear Iāll burst into tearsā¦
When I was ten I met this guy for the first time. For some reason he always had it out for me and I never knew why. It started as meaningless bullying, just normal stuff. I shrugged it off like I was taught. It got worse. He started making fun of my Jewish identity and how the Nazis are the best. He started calling me a monster and how I shouldnāt be alive and how he would love to kill me. I started believing that. I never told anyone because I knew it would get worse. It still did. He gave me a lollipop and said that he was sorry for everything he did. I didnāt know that he put it in the inside of a urinal and then gave it to me. Because I was 12, I didnāt think twice about it, and I had it. I got seriously sick and almost died. After that, I stopped talking to anyone. It took me a while to talk at all, and when I did, I was quiet. I finally found my voice again when I went to a different high school. Even now, I see him every day, in my mind. He is in my dreams, laughing at me, when I work out, trying to keep me down. Heās the reason I hate myself, and I canāt do anything about it.
