Christina’s Story
A Journal Entry From June 5th, 2020
For years we’ve been taught
That sexual predators hide in the dark.
That they creep up on you unexpectedly
And that they’re utterly unrecognizable.
I know this to be false.
The fact is,
That sexual predators walk freely
In broad daylight.
That they show their facade without fear,
Because they are people we know.
My first abuser told me he was a good guy
And as he spilled those lies, he MUST have had his fingers crossed behind his back.
He wasn’t good at all.
As he got me into his room
He begged and begged for acts I said no to.
I faked being on my period
Just so that he’d stop asking.
He nodded as if he understood;
I thought he understood.
With a sly grin on his face
God, I will never forget his face,
He took my hands and said the least I could do was help him get off.
As he directed me to the bathroom
All I wanted was to shut the door on him
And curl up against the cold tile.
As he directed me to put the lotion on my hands,
All I wanted was to rub it off my skin
Even if it meant my fingers would ache forever.
And as he lied down on the bed directing me to his body,
All I wanted was to die.
With a smile on my face, I did what he asked me to do
For my own safety, I complied.
I will never forget what I saw that night
And I will never forget how I felt.
And so when my second abuser came to town
I was convinced I knew what danger looked like.
I was convinced that wasn’t him.
January 1st, New Year’s Day.
In a room full of family members
My own relative put his hand under my sweater.
The chills up my spine screamed for help,
A reminder that I knew this situation all too well.
And as I turned, he pretended like it never happened.
And when I least expected it, he did it all over again.
Same spot,
But more forceful.
His invasive palm on my side demanded that I allow this to be done.
My voice was gone.
My head pounded with the desire to yell,
But my mouth froze
And my body fell numb
And all I could do was countdown to when it would be over.
60
59
58
57
56
55
And when I’d hit 0,
And his goddamned hand was still on me,
I had to restart.
I broke my own heart as I repeated the same numbers I had mentioned in my head
just minutes ago.
And as those minutes turned into an hour,
I was reminded of that feeling.
That horrible aching feeling
Of wanting to die,
Right then and there,
Because there’s nothing more humiliating
Than being objectified.
Than being simply a body.
Than being frozen
As someone who you once trusted
Strips every piece of autonomy away
Until you’re left bare,
And in the cold,
With nothing to cover you but guilt and shame.
Why me?
Why me?
I will never truly understand what was in their heads those nights. But I want them to understand this:
I didn’t want it. Not even for a second.
What seemed like fun to you, has destroyed my capability to trust.
It has obliterated my desire for touch from anyone.
Every stroke. Every nudge. Every hug
From a partner or even from my little sister,
Feels like a threat.
I do not feel safe in my own body anymore.
You’ve taken that away from me.
And although I froze those nights
I’m thankful for myself
For doing what needed to be done in order to self protect.
And even so, I will no longer stay silent.
I will continue to tell my stories
And pray with everything in me
That my little sister never has to know what it’s like,
And that my future daughter has the tools to be empowered in her own body,
And that my future son knows the simple meaning
Of consent.
I will be spending the rest of my life healing
In order to undo the pain they’ve caused.
But that also means
I’ll be spending the rest of my life being a voice;
A voice for survivors as I share my pain.
I will never truly understand what was in their heads those nights.
But I now know what’s in mine:
That it wasn’t my fault.
That my feelings are powerful.
And that my experiences are valid enough to stand alone.
With each sentence that I share,
The burden lifts.
I am not alone,
And I will never will be again.
