"I've heard that
sharing your story helps heal the pain, but it's never easy opening closed
scars, buried with Layers of self hate, regrets and disgust.
My story is no more tragic than others, definitely even less
than some, but every tale of sexual violation is just as damaging as the other.
No one should ever have to feel like this, like a thing, an object at the mercy
of your violator, used at will in some cases by someone you know and trust,
this is most difficult, having to suffer abuse and violations by someone you
know, watching them take advantage of your trust.
Your pain matching your violators delight.
The loathe in your eyes matching his cold glare of
excitement
Your rage and disgust fueling as he hits his climax.
Your hate powered by the vile smile that dances in his lips.
He's very aware of your evident hate and pain, he feeds on
it.
What he's oblivious to is the aftermath .
The ugly details of sexual abuse leaves it's self damaging
effect on its victims, with a rather heavy burden. From self hate to hate for
the opposite sex, even worse is the shame, psychological and emotional damage
this dark secret imposes on its victims. So even years after the body heals
physically, the scars remain.... "
I was 18 and had to spend the night with a relative Michael.
It was late at night when the fights in school started, and the streets were
unsafe for a girl. He took me to his house, mine was farther than his, it was
only right we spent the night at his place. I had no reason to feel unsafe, I
trusted him not to hurt me.
Until deep into the night, when I felt his hands on my body,
I felt violated, I pushed back his hands. He returned them again, this time
violently turning me around. I screamed pleading and crying as we struggled, I
was no match for him, he was charged, with so much energy and excitement. My
pleas fell to deaf ears as he continued. My legs grew weaker with every passing
minute, my thighs weak with every punch he fed them, wrestling my Jean pants
off he placed his knees between my legs, his right hand holding my hands firmly
over my head, his left hand over my mouth. Hot tears burning down my eyes with
every thrust, the pain and ache between my legs became unbearable, I wept
bitterly, cursing myself.
This was all my fault.
Let's share to help raise awareness about Sexual Assault!!
-Written by
Korikiye Teke
Thinker, Talker and creative writer.
Contributor for Black African and Female
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