u/targetedfawn

how could i forget something so extreme and horrifying? i don’t understand. how could i go basically my whole life without realizing this happened to me? how could i have been so hypersexual and disgusting growing up and not remember being raped like that until last year? why do i have to deal with the torment that comes with being in the dark every night and seeing those things and feeling his weight on my chest? why do i have to think of this every second of every day? why does this happen to people, to innocent people? i want to die. how could this have happened and how is it even real? i can’t accept it. i can’t accept that it’s real.

tw for sexual harassment, rape, csa

did anyone else feel connected to this book? when i was younger, before i remembered or realized anything wrong, about my granddaddy or my friend’s dad, i read this book.

we were in seventh grade and i was sitting at my desk. i had always read ahead of the whole class so i was close to the end. i related heavily to sally, to the chapter “what sally said,” to her home life, her fear and love for her abusive father. i flipped through the pages and read “red clowns” and my stomach dropped.

i remember rereading that chapter over and over again. and then i would close the book for the end of class, and reopen it at lunchtime and reread it again. and again once i got home. i was morbidly obsessed with it. i wasn’t sure why- i hated the heaviness on my chest, hated the pit in my stomach, but in a weird way i loved it? i loved the terror that chapter made me feel. i loved the way it felt to read someone having that fear and pain too, even though at the time i thought i’d never experienced it.

it was the same with csi episodes i would watch at my friend’s house with her parents, involving rape or assault or csa. i remember the fabric of her dad’s pants under my hands and on my cheek. i remember the feeling of him hugging me and asking me to open my mouth and show him if i could touch my nose with my tongue. i remember the clock with the red numbers. my dad was so unsafe to me, so verbally abusive and scary. her dad was my safe space and i loved him, and i loved the time we would spend together even if it were just him and i alone.

i remember the boy in my class showing me porn, and him touching my leg under the table. i remember getting beat up when i was at a birthday party and the thorns in my knees and the bruises on my legs. i remember the room of my neighbor, who was only a few years older than me. i remember the kitchen of my other neighbor who was much much older and always watched me with eyes like a predator. i remember crying with my friend, my dear classmate, when she told me that she had been raped and we were only in sixth grade. i remember her hugging and holding me too.

i remember being obsessed and having intrusive thoughts of my classmates genitals when i was only in first grade. in fact one of my earliest memories is playing house and one girl if we could pretend to have a baby, and getting a sick physical pleasure from her describing what would happen during birth. i remember thinking >!that i “wanted to be stretched out” and how it would feel nice!<.

shit, i’m remembering stuff as i’m typing. i was such a sick fucking kid, but i was so quiet and shy and polite that nobody knew how fucked up in the head i was. completely fucked up in the head.

i remember reading and writing smut for kids books and shows. i remember being fascinated with a grooming relationship in warrior cats of all things, and writing smut for that. i remember reading a rape fanfiction when i was only around nine or ten and masturbating to it, and playing it out with my toys, and it was my secret, and the “best feeling in the world.” my brain is warped and malfunctioning. i cant even clean between my legs now without feeling this deep sadness and pain, and the avoidance of such things resulted in a uti. how could i have been so hypersexual and now sex repulses me? i wish i didn’t have genitals. every day i wish i could sew myself up and never have to look at it again.

last year i finally recovered memories of my step grandfather doing those things to me. my granddaddy who smelled like red wine and pretzels and chased me around and would grab me against my will. my granddaddy who’s lips i feel on mine still, who’s body i feel on mine, who’s genitals will have always touched me and done those things to me. my grandfather, who disgusts me. he is alive and well and thriving. i thought he was dead all this time but he only lives two hours away from me. god this post got out of hand fast.

and yet i still don’t believe myself. i still cant believe this could’ve happened. god is cruel.