Each types of abuse leaves its own scars. Sexual abuse filled me with guilt and shame. With no attention at home I was vulnerable to predators. I sought attention from whoever would give it. Older boys who were “kind” to me, but were only interested in using my body to fulfil their own curiosities, made me feel special. I enjoyed their attentions, and after a while, even the sex. Because of that, I felt it was all my fault. I should have stopped it. I was so terrified of my parents I could not tell them. By the time I was eight years old, I felt my sins were so great, I was going to hell. I became afraid of dying and suffered from anxiety attacks, which led to nightly beatings from my father. The dark secret I carried within my heart was a tremendous burden. If anyone found out they would be repulsed by my actions. I was filled with self-loathing, friendless, and lonely.
Peers could not see my pain. They knew I was “different”, that’s all, and they didn’t want to be my friend.
Can you relate? What was life like for you?
Caring for victims,