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366 Days of Writing Prompts – Day 66

March 6, 2016

All grown up

When was the first time you really felt like a grown up (if
ever)?

I was beginning to feel grown up around age 11. The boys in school had introduced me to my sexuality with their teasing, taunting and sexual remarks. I was more mature than most girls in 6th grade and the summer before my 12th birthday, I began my menses cycle. I was also wearing my first training bra by then. By the age of 13, I was gaining curves and was in a B-cup, still being teased and taunted.

However, it wasn’t until one night at home when my sister’s boyfriend stopped over that I really felt grown-up, but not in a good way. There was an alcove behind the staircase, private and dark. The boy, for whom I will just call J, trapped me behind the alcove and pushed me up against the wall. He held my hands behind my back with one hand and then used the free hand to push and prod at my breasts. He tried to kiss me, but I kept turning my head. I felt his hot tongue on each cheek. I tried to scream, but he loosened the grip on my breasts and cupped my mouth. Then J whispered into my ear, “Big sister does, does little sister too?” I got my hands free, but he just used his freed hand to try and get into my jeans.

Then we heard someone on the stairs. J whispered into my ear, “You’d better not say anything to your sister or parents, or I will tell them you dragged me back here. Got it?” He shoved me against the wall and left the alcove just as my brother rounded the corner of the banister. I stayed hidden in there for a few more minutes, shaking and crying. When I saw that there was no one around (they’d all gone outside), I dashed for the stairs, ran to my room, locked the door, and cried on my bed. What little innocence I’d had left was taken away that day. I no longer felt like a child, not quite like a woman, but definitely older. I never told anyone what happened until about 6 years ago when I told my therapist.

My sister only dated him for a few more weeks after that, but I had classes with his younger brother and always felt like he knew, that J had told him, and I couldn’t look him in the eyes. And I wondered if he told his friends, some of whom were the boys who always teased and taunted me. They all looked at me differently or maybe I just saw them differently with wide-opened eyes and an understanding that boys all just wanted sex. I became withdrawn after that. Didn’t talk to boys in school, kept to myself, and didn’t date until well after high school was over. I sometimes wonder if this incident is what set me on the road to having Borderline Personality Disorder. I became quite uninhibited about sex in my late teens and early 20s. I used sex like a drug for much of my adult life. But I always felt ashamed afterwards. Like I was as dirty as that little girl trapped in the alcove and everyone knew what I’d done.

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7 Comments
  1. Oh, Lori. Writing, I believe, is a gift that you have been able and should continue to use as a tool for recovery and healing. It can take a very long time to be free from the impact that such an incident makes on a person, but sharing it openly definitely helps, as well as allowing oneself to support others who have been through similar experiences. Blessings to you!

    • Thank you for your encouraging words, Pia 🙂 I do hope my words can help someone else dealing with similar things. Blessings to you too dear 🙂

  2. Given the subject matter, I don’t really think “like” was the appropriate button to hit, but I hit it anyway. I read a statistic the other day that sadly, one-third of all woman will be sexually molested in one way or another in their lifetime. And had you been an adult, you may have managed to shove your aggressor aside, but instead the incident colored your entire life. Happy for you that you are managing to move through it and come out the other side. Writing always helps, doesn’t it? You were courageous to share. Perhaps if enough people do share, consciousness will be elevated and women’s positions in life will be improved. At least we’re not chattel anymore although in some countries we still are so technically, that’s not true.

    • Thank you, pj for stopping by and for such a wonderful comment. I still don’t feel very brave, even after posting this. Sometimes I still feel like that little girl. But I am much stronger now after intensive therapy. I long for the day when no young girls or older women have to live through any kind of horror like this. If it means telling my story over and over again, then I will do so. Thank you again!

  3. What a horrible experience! Traumatic enough to at least have PTSD, and possibly a trigger for BPD.

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