It’s strange how the human mind works. Replaying memories over and over like rewinding a VCR tape until the ribbon wears out. Some memories bring a warm feeling, like the sun is shining directly on me. Other times, though, there isn’t a sun. The memories are cold and fierce. I try to forget, but all around this town are reminders. Every single place, every house, every room are reminders.
Reminders of the first time he took my innocence. The first time I realized not all people are good. The first time I felt like I wasn’t worth anything. The first time I felt at fault for someone else’s actions.
Reminders of the many nights I woke up to him reaching under the blankets and into my pajama bottoms. Reminders of when he’d grab me. Reminders of the way his breath felt against my ear as he’d say, “Shh” so soft I could barely hear it. Reminders of how I'd go into the bathroom for refuge and use all of my strength to keep him from opening the door.
Reminders of how he’d pull his hand out of my pants and jump back when someone would walk into the room. Reminders of how I would verbally express that he was hurting me, but he didn’t stop. Reminders of how I didn’t tell anyone soon enough, and reminders of how a single wall separated their world and mine. Reminders of how when he'd take me home from school and try to pull me across the seat to him. Reminders of how white my knuckles would be from holding on to the door to keep it from happening.
All around this town are reminders of what was taken from me, but also reminders that I made it to where I am now. All around this town are reminders; reminders that play continuously in my head. All around this small town are reminders that I am 3 out of 4 adolescents, that I am 1 in 4 girls, and I am only ONE of 1.8 million people that have been sexually abused.
