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My Sexual Assault Story

and how I'm still struggling years later.

By Jenny B.R.Published 3 years ago 5 min read
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Pins and Needles

by Jenny Bornios Rojas

He took it away.

My childhood, my dreams, hope.

The hope that life could get better.

But instead it got worse.

He took away my innocence and the worth of my scream

For when I screamed for him to stop

He did not, only laughed and left a bruise on both my legs.

What I wish he would’ve taken away

Are the scars on my thigh from his nails digging in

So I asked myself after

Is my scream worth anything if no one is around to hear it?

My words became stuck in my throat

They became pins and needles that hurt me if I spoke.

He left me useless and shattered

Empty and defective

I lost all the love that I had saved for myself.

For it to be replaced with hate.

A hate that I so wish I could share.

But who to share it with?

I can’t help but think it was my fault.

I let him touch me.

I let him rape me.

I told my mother

She said her brother-in-law would never do anything of the sort

Yet, he was capable of taking my will to live away.

I told myself,

And I still can’t believe it.

I don’t want to

Because I fear that I’ll shatter again

Even though I haven’t glued all the shards together.

I was forced to sit at family gatherings where he stared at me

He gave me a wolfish smile

I could feel the anger boil inside me, ready to tell all.

But the pins and needles made holes in my throat.

So I closed my mouth and let the sun say goodbye.

And let the night fall over me.

And as I lay on my bed, I sob.

I scream into my pillow no longer caring about the pins and needles in my throat.

The wound opens again

And I pray to whatever is up there

That one day

I’ll be able to speak.

For years, I've hated myself for what happened to me. I've viewed myself as disposable, unworthy, and dirty.

I never asked to be touched, but now I live in constant mourning due to the actions of a man who didn't care about me. He didn't care that I was a child nor did he care that I was his niece. To him, during the various events in which he hurt me, I was a tool to satisfy his twisted desires.

This man was married and has two kids. He was a leader at the church my family attended. He worked with the Choir/AV Team. From a distance, he seemed like a great Christian family man. To me, he was nothing of the sort.

It didn't start that way. There was a time in which I truly trusted him. He would teach me about the Bible and encouraged me to study and pray everyday. He took me out to dinner once after worship practice. At the time, I thought he was being a good uncle.

Now, I realise that he was grooming me. At that dinner, he told me about a sexual encounter he had with a woman when he was younger. I listened and laughed, as a 13-year-old, I thought he was telling a funny story. Again, I was wrong.

That man would go on to molest and rape me.

I cursed myself for wearing skirts to church. I cursed myself for being so vulnerable. I still curse myself for trusting someone so easily.

After those events, I lost myself. I can admit that today. I was once a young girl who made mud pies in her backyard and loved to pluck dandelions so that she could blow them away. She, unlike me, loved the world and all the possibilities it held. She was curious about love, and hoped that a prince would marry her when she got older.

She was innocent.

It would've been fine if that innocence would've been allowed to leave on it's own. Instead, it was ripped from our body, without a care to our mind, soul, or spirit.

Now, I only carry a memory of who I was once. If I'm still here at all, it's for my family and a slight desire to help others who have suffered like me.

But my family isn't perfect, and they are part of the reason as to why I still carry so much hatred and anger within me; because they didn't believe me.

The people that I was depending on the most weren't there when it really mattered. If anything, some of them called me crazy and a liar. I was told that I should be put in asylum, and that I was lying for attention. Others showed their opinions with their silence.

I was alone. When it came to reporting it to the police, I thought I was making a mistake. In my mind at the time, I was hurting my family. I was responsible for what happened to me. It was all my fault. So I didn't press any charges.

He got away with it, and has been living his life ever since. I, on the other hand, live with those events burned into my skin. Never to be forgotten.

I wish I could say that this story finishes with words about my recovery, and how I've healed since my assault. Unfortunately, that's not the case. I'm not there yet, and I'm not sure if I ever will be in the near future. I can say wholeheartedly that I'm trying. That's all I can ask myself for and that's enough for me.

Here, however, I commit myself to taking my body back.

To the future me,

I ask that we would learn to love ourselves again. Every single part of who we are. My hopes are that one day, our younger self and our future self would meet and embrace each other.

I hope that one day, I'll learn to understand that I did what I thought was right. I can't judge my past on what I know now. That's not fair to myself.

I hope to one day believe that I am beautiful, that I am worthy of love, and that I am not responsible for what happened to me.

I hope I can forgive myself for treating my body and mind like strangers.

Please remember, that it's not your fault. Don't apologize for crying, for feeling betrayed, or for your nightmare and flashbacks. Don't apologize for what you can't and couldn't control.

Sincerely,

Jenny

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About the Creator

Jenny B.R.

Amateur writer/poet. Looking to share my experiences with others. I write poetry, short stories, and small pieces.

Instagram: @jennysnspj

Facebook: Jenny's Not So Private Journal

[email protected]

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