Life · Random Thoughts


When I first saw that I didn’t know what the hell that meant.

CSA…child sexual abuse. Oh. Well then. That would be me.

I was sexually abused when I was younger. By my grandfather. And when I told my father about it, he called me a liar.

A few weeks ago, we needed a few things from Walmart, so I went after work. By myself. The entire time I was there I was ogled by men. I had on a puffy black winter coat zipped up to my neck, so I wasn’t dressed provocative. (Why does it even matter what I was wearing??) And still, I could feel their eyes on me. A few openly leered at me as they passed by.

I didn’t even get everything on my list. I rushed out, and once I was in my car I started to cry. I felt…violated.

22 years after my grandfather touched me inappropriately, I’m still afraid of older Black men. I can’t be around them without a man I trust nearby.

22 years later, I’m afraid of any man that looks at me appreciatively.

22 years later, I’m still sometimes afraid to go to shops or restaurants or get my oil changed by myself for fear that some man will take it a step further than just staring at me.

When men strain to see my face or stare at my chest…it’s not flattering to me. It’s fucking terrifying.

So yep. I ran to my car and cried. And called Husband.

“Why do I feel this way?!” I sobbed.

“Because of your past,” he said, his voice soothing. “It’s ok. You have a safe place here at home. Take your time, come on in.”

When I got home, I started crying again. He held me until I felt safe enough to let go.

I don’t usually fall into a victim mentality when it comes to this, but tonight I felt like it was unfair.

It’s unfair that I feel this way. That a security was taken away and I didn’t have a chance. Didn’t know what was being taken away. I did know that no one could protect me. My father was in shock, followed by denial. He said that I was a liar. Branded me one for the rest of my life. My mother dutifully took me to therapy, but it was too late.

My self esteem was shattered. I hid behind baggy clothes. I learned to compartmentalize negative emotions. I developed an eating disorder (that I still struggle with today).

There’s no point to this post. I just needed to get it out somewhere.


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