Sometimes, I wish it were boy.
A boy who kissed me for the first time.
A boy who saw me naked for the first time.
A boy who touched my body for the first time.
Instead, it was a girl.
She would make me take my night gown off when we would sleep in the same bed.
She would kiss me and touch me when I had no way of understanding what it meant or why it was happening.
But I let her.
See, in my mind, I was finally getting the attention I was lacking from everyone else.
I finally felt loved.
But she manipulated my innocence by making me think this was all normal.
When it wasn't.
I didn't realize this for 3 years.
3 years of confusion.
3 years of shame.
3 years of abuse.
At least it stopped.
It took another 8 years for me to actually tell someone.
I remember there were very few words exchanged.
No tears.
No hugs.
Unbearable silence.
I remember spending that night crying into my pillow
wondering why nobody cared.
Would they have reacted differently
if it were a boy who had done this to me?
A boy who stole my ability to trust anyone.
A boy who made me afraid to sleep in my own bed.
A boy who stole my ability to think of my own body as a temple.
A boy who took advantage of my desire to be loved
and then made me feel unlovable.
But it wasn't a boy.
**It was a girl.
The abuse no one ever talks about.