Sometimes, I wish it were boy. A boy who kissed me for the first time. A boy who saw me naked for the first time. A boy who touched my body for the first time.
Instead, it was a girl. She would make me take my night gown off when we would sleep in the same bed. She would kiss me and touch me when I had no way of understanding what it meant or why it was happening.
But I let her.
See, in my mind, I was finally getting the attention I was lacking from everyone else. I finally felt loved. But she manipulated my innocence by making me think this was all normal.
When it wasn't.
I didn't realize this for 3 years. 3 years of confusion. 3 years of shame. 3 years of abuse. At least it stopped.
It took another 8 years for me to actually tell someone. I remember there were very few words exchanged. No tears. No hugs. Unbearable silence.
I remember spending that night crying into my pillow wondering why nobody cared. Would they have reacted differently if it were a boy who had done this to me?
A boy who stole my ability to trust anyone. A boy who made me afraid to sleep in my own bed. A boy who stole my ability to think of my own body as a temple. A boy who took advantage of my desire to be loved and then made me feel unlovable.