I've been haunted by the memory of this for 8 long years.
8 long years, where I havent been able to confide in anyone, able to talk about it, able to just get it out of my system. 8 long years, where self hatred and self pity have been constant companions. 8 long years, where I've tried my hardest to convince myself that it's not my fault.
8 years ago, I was sexually molested by a family friend of mine. I was young, naive, and absurdly innocent. I had absolutely no idea that this one incident, that happened in a span of minutes, this one event could affect my life so much. Every step I take, every thing I do, I am shadowed by the fear created out of this one malevolent metaphoric microsecond in my life.
Why do I feel a sense of shame? After all, i was just a kid.
I didnt initiate it.
I was the victim. Why should
I feel guilty? I dont know. I'm still struggling to find these answers. It's always been such a taboo. Talking about all this. Revealing something so intimate and appalling. Even if you are the victim. It takes courage. And today I have found mine. I have had ENOUGH of self loathing, and misery.
In the years since, I have secretly read self help books for the victims. Each one says the same thing. That its not your fault. that you shouldnt feel guilty, or unhappy, or hide it. But how? when you are a kid, how do you have the maturity or the bravery to tell someone ? I certainly didnt. I feared it would cause a lot of unnecessary problems, for the person who perpetuated this ceasless horror. Yes I know. Stupidly 'selfless' of me. but you see, I was trying to make sense of what happened. Why it happened. What did it mean. And somehow, I got entangled in this web of constant thinking , pondering and rethinking and re analyzing and before I knew it, years had flown past. Then I found myself saying that it didnt matter all these years, that its wrong to bring it all up again. I'd lost sight of the fact that I'd put myself down so throughly and completely that I didnt even realize it!
I guess pain is an integral part and parcel of life. It shapes us, prepares us for the various disappoinments that are inevitable. I've been through plenty of it. I lost a close relative, then a really good friend. But this sort of pain is something WHOLESOME, something where no fault or blame enters from any side or angle. You see, this pain is accompanied by the unsullied longing for a different ending, or a happier one perhaps. I realize now, that what I've had to go through, and no doubt plenty of other people, is something broken, something tarnished by the despicable desires of one and the foolish naivity of the other. To a kid who was already ostracized because of her colour, her religion, it was traumatic, to say the least. I often found myself asking
Why did it happen to me? What did I do to deserve this? , desperately seeking a way out of this self paved path of hopeless yearning and longing. I wished there was a line I could draw, and say
this, just THIS I will accept as my share of the blame. But beyond this I shall refuse;I refuse to give in;I refuse to accept as my own. In the years that came, I gradually sought solace in the fact that perhaps, just
MAYBE, it wasn't my fault at all.
I've 'psychoanalyzed' myself throughly for a while now. I've had plenty of time to reconcile myself to what happened, and try to see how it has affected me. And what I see is this: A teenager at the end of her adolescence, an adolescence mostly marked by no sort of intimacies of any sort, no best friends, no boy friends, no anything. Someone who used to shrink at every touch, every hug, and shy away from even the slightest physical contact. Someone always torn by the desire to get closer, and the innate fear of what such an overture might imply, and lead to. Emotionally aloof, not able to get close to her very own parents, or her brother. A bundle of jittery nerves, with no self confidence or self esteem.
I'm happy to say now, that I now have a gang of loving friends, and I couldnt hope for any better. They understand my need for space, and give it unconditionally.
I'm getting over it, albeit slowly. But it's happening. And for that i'm happy. I'm happy to be able to break out of this self constructed cocoon, break out of all the associated anxiousness, and come out out into my own. And this is my story.
*
This account is purely fictional. It happened to a friend of mine. I tried to put myself in her shoes, and imagine the horrors she must've gone through.
