Abuse? What Abuse?!

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Have you ever had “the abuse conversation” with your mother? Has she ever said to you that if anybody touches your “intimate parts,” it is called abuse and it is not acceptable? Has she ever told you that if anybody calls you names and emotionally blackmails you because you do not want to do something they asked you to, it is also a form of abuse? Most chances are that the answer is no. The reason for this silence is very simple: we are not brought up this way. When you grow up in a society where the man is powerful and the woman is a slave to his wishes, it is very normal to not have these conversations, let alone to know the meaning of the word “abuse”.

Men allow themselves to take such actions because they think that women are here to satisfy their fantasies. They fantasize about lesbian sex, and in their minds, women are not feeling pleasure when touching each other, they are only doing so to boost the men’s excitement, to obey their orders, to do as they say, when they say it. Abusers do not realize the damages they can cause to their victims. They do not realize that what they are doing is ruining lives and making it even harder to have a normal lifestyle.

What I am about to say, I have never said before. I used to be a victim of sexual abuse.

At the age of 8, I was abused by the son of my parents’ colleague. To describe it would be too graphic. What I am going to say is that it was brought to me as a game; but when I said that I wanted it to stop, the guy told me that if I made a sound, he would hit me, and if I talked about it, I would die. I cried waterfalls while trying not to make a sound. When he was done, I just ran away. At that age, you manage to put it away in the back of your mind and forget it ever happened. You go on with your life as normal as any child.

At the age of 11-12, I was once again abused. This time, by a friend’s father. That’s when things went bad for me. I remembered the earlier incident, I became really depressed, I became suicidal, I cut myself, and I stopped talking to everybody. I felt that it was all my fault, I felt disgusted, I felt dirty, no matter how many showers I took.

My only fault was not talking about it to my parents.

Things took a turn when I decided to prove to myself that not all guys are like this. I started becoming friends with them; I even became one of the “boys”. Girls envied the relation I had with guys; I was not intimidated by them, if anything, they were intimidated by me. They saw that, not only was I a part of their gang, but I was also very independent. I didn’t need them to protect me and it scared them.

A couple of weeks ago, I was on a bus and a guy was sitting next to me. At some point, he took his d*** out of his pants, covered it with his jacket, stood up, pretended to close the window, and shoved it in my face. I started shouting at him, while still being polite. His face turned green, purple, and blue. He was so embarrassed that he stepped off the bus. If that were to happen to me a couple of years ago, my reaction would have been totally different.

If you are reading this and you have been in a similar situation, you have to keep in mind that you ARE NOT responsible for what happened to you. You did not bring it upon yourself. You can come out of it as strong as a rock, like I did. Do not be a victim all your life. The sooner you realize that it was not your fault, the sooner you will be able to free yourself from this weight. Let it make you stronger, because it can, and in a very powerful way.

- Contributed by Rhea

Guest Contributor

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