This is my story. That I've never told anybody.
When I was 6-7 years old (I'm not too sure of the age), my nine month old cousin teetered his way down the hallway to our bathroom. He died there. I had left the water in the bathtub and he fell in and drowned. I found him, and I screamed for my mom and tried to pull him out, his body now heavy as if a weight was on him. My Aunt started screaming at me after I said "it's all my fault", and she told me to shut up hysterically. My mom, dad, and aunt left the house in an ambulance with the baby, and me and my two other siblings were left at home.
He was dead, my mom said when she called our house. He was dead. Out of my other siblings, I was the only one who wanted to go to the hospital to see him for the last time. I held him in my arms, numb. He looked like he was sleeping, all wrapped up in a hospital blanket. My aunt said he was an angel.
I walked out dead. I became mentally ill.
That's when it started.
My used to be best friends began to fuck with me, emotionally and mentally. They began to talk behind my back, spread rumors about me, and eventually nobody at school liked me. I was just a kid, and I was alone in school. My parents didn't talk to me that much, they were too deep in their own trauma. One time, I was crying so hard that my dad hit me over the head repeatedly, and my nose started crying. He was a pastor. He threw me across the room too, when my brother tattled on me.
I hated my life.
I thought about killing myself. I still do.
I'd spend those days on the school blacktop, and I'd cry in the corner of the brick building by myself. Nobody would come over. Nobody asked what was wrong.
I was eleven when I was molested.
My uncle...I loved my uncle. I STILL love him. But one day, after we had smoked some marijuana, he asked me if I wanted sex. I said no, scared for the first time. I had never been scared of him before. People thought he was a sex offender because of his past, and I didn't believe it because he said it wasn't true. I guess it was, because he advanced on me. I ran into the other room and he followed me, pushing me down unto the bed and taking my pants and underwear off. I screamed and cried, and he stopped, telling me to never tell anybody about it.
Other occurences happened.
One time I walked downstairs to my bedroom, since him and my other aunt were living with us, and he was on my bed. Laying there. I ran upstairs and begged my aunt to make him STOP! And she did.
One weekand I spent the night there, at their new house. This wasn't long ago. He started tickling me, then he pulled my pants down again and rolled me over, and he started kissing my butt. I begged him to stop, and he acted like it was just a game. I confessed to my aunt, and she said I couldn't go over there anymore. But I can't tell my parents, because they'll do something to him. I still love my Uncle, no matter how scared I am of him...
And finally, I fell in love. With a goth guy, but he was amazingly sweet and nice when I first met him. Then, out of nowhere, he broke up with me, and I thought we were in love. But he only wanted me for sex. I went insane. I didn't give a fuck when my period started. I bled through my pants. I barely showered, and I smelled bad all the time. I wore no makeup, never brushed my hair...
I was lost.
I guess it's gotten better. I don't cry myself to sleep. I don't think about him too much. I don't think about any of them too much. I'm getting better. But I still feel an ache. It will never go away.