My sexual abuse started when I was a lee lady, at the age of 8. My swim coach would get in the pool with us to try to "improve our technique". He would in the most innocent way, stick his hands up the crotch of my swimsuit, not on top, but deep inside where I had been told was precious, holy, that should not be defiled, but it was and I was left dirty, an 8yr old whore.
Count 8 years later. Me and a friend of mine were asked to go to an older guys apartment. They had free booze. How could this rebellious teen refuse. When we arrived there were 4 men. 2 I knew well. They were married. I remember so much. The smells, the Seagram's golden wine cooler. I drank too much, way too much. I crawled to the bedroom to sleep it off. I was passed out. I woke up to a 250lb man laying on top of me. The smell of beer lingered in the air. I couldn't breathe. He had ripped my panties off and was raping me. I was out if it. I couldn't even scream. He pinned my arms above my head. I wriggled as much as I could, but my intoxicated body was no match. I was bleeding when I finally gained consciousness. I kept silent. He was a member of the bishopric. Who would believe me, a troubled girl who was drinking at the time? After all I had always been a troubled child. These stories on the news are triggering me to the point of panic. The 80's was not the time for sexual assault. Don't ask . Don't tell should have been the slogan of the era. His weight. His breath. The pain. There is no safe spaces.
That night he took my virginity.
He took my dignity.
He took my childhood.
He took that life.
I never told. He went on to be successful. I have lived through so many trials.
Life is Fair.
I am not ok
Can I have a do over?