A Paedophile Victim

First of all, I would like to stress out about the disclaimer on this writing.

This is not my writing. I took it from ‘The Mighty’ page, and it was written by Christina Stone.

It’s about being a victim of paedophile. I took this story because this is EXACTLY what happened to me. I’m sorry because I couldn’t come out with my own word. (I do add up some of my own words though).

So here is the beginning of the story.

We grow up hearing “stranger danger,” but what do we do when the danger isn’t a stranger but someone you share DNA with?

I was 5 years old when you first stole my autonomy, treating this body — my body — as if it were not my own, but yours. I was 5 the first time your hands touched me, leaving their invisible marks and gaping holes and scars from the pieces you stole. And at first I didn’t understand… I didn’t understand this situation, this sensation.

I was confused, but I knew I did not like this… I was 9 the first time the thought crossed my mind that I wanted to die — a real but fleeting thought… a thought I didn’t give much thought to at the time.

I was horrified and the reality set in of what was happening. And suddenly I was not 9. I was not young and innocent — I was a 100 years older and the more references I saw, the more the sinking dread set in that this… this was wrong.

You told me this was our secret and I felt special until I realized this was not a secret I wanted to keep. This secret felt dirty, like a discarded piece of clothing. Heavy like an elephant on my chest, a weight pulling me down making me drown.

Goodness, I wanted to breathe — I needed to breathe — but every time I tried, you, like water, entered my lungs and threatened to suffocate me. And one second it’s ice cream for breakfast and the next it’s threats within an inch of my life… and theirs… and you’re a paradox of things..

And I do not even know what to think nor what believe and the confusion of it all overwhelms me.

I was 11 the first time I tried to end my own life, but I didn’t want to die. I wanted to feel real… I needed to feel real. I wanted to escape. I needed to escape. I felt so hopeless, so powerless, so lost and felt so much pain. So much pain I needed to run away.

And no, I was not being a coward.

I had been strong and hung on for far too long. I was tired. I was 12. I was 12 when I got the courage to stop seeing you. I was 13 when I thought this nightmare was finally over. I was 13 when I stuffed all memories inside of me. My brain was protecting my body. It was protecting me…

But I was 13 when those suicidal thoughts got louder… I were confused as to why I felt this way and why was this not getting better? I was 14 when I visited you again… I walked into that house — your house — the house that used to be mine too. I was 14 when those memories came flooding back… causing a panic attack… making it hard to breathe. I was 14 when I learned this nightmare — my nightmare — was not over.

The secret lived on. I was 14 and when you were asleep in your bed while I was up dancing with the demons that play in my head, watching the memories on repeat — a personalized horror movie just for me.

I was 15 when I realized what I needed to do. I was 15 when I realized I needed to stop you. I was 15 when I finally did what I was afraid to. I was 15 when I broke the oath of silence you swore me to.

And I thought it was finally over, this nightmare that was you.

But it turns out in protecting those you love, there are more things you must go through. And you continue to take things from me, even without trying to. My family, my dignity, my smile, my light… and the more you take, the harder it becomes to try.

And I count out all my mistakes, blaming, shaming myself, looking for where I went wrong, second guessing every word, every action, every move, trying to figure out what I did to make you do this…

You act like nothing has ever happened.

Why did you do this? And I swear if you look real close you can almost see those fingerprints, your fingerprints littered across a body that is not yours. The aftermath of this dark event is that all my life I have been trying to fight with myself.

Sometimes I’m seeking for that “pleasure” and at the same time I tried to fight that desire. I have mixed feeling to fight it. Hatred, afraid and anger and all those negative emotion are there.

I blamed myself for doing that pathetic things again and again. It’s hard for me to get rid of that “pleasure” because it makes me feel alive but at the same time it also triggered me. No one ever know about this.

I have told my mom and sister about this dark event. It turns out that my sister also has became a victim just like me. My mom couldn’t do anything because of our blood relation. My mom couldn’t protect us because she don’t want to ruin our family relationship.

How powerless and helpless we felt at that time.

An innocent kids who are supposed to be happy with their family, grew up as a “pretender” just to hide her own trauma and live with it for the rest of her life.

(To mom out there, when your child tell a story about something weird and abnormal, please listen, investigate and take action. Please protect them. They have a right to be protected.)

I still remembered, when I was 10 I came out with murder plan. I want to kill that person so badly. From poisoning, stabbed, cut his head, you named it, all of those idea kept on pops out at that time. The hatred and grudged is unbearable.

I couldn’t even throw away this memory. I have to live with it for the rest of my life.

I’m only human, I’m powerless, helpless.. But I believe in kifarah. Patience and forgiveness is what I need.

If all paedophile’s victim lodge a report, all prison in this world will be full with those freaking paedo.

– Rianne Roger –

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