resist this desire to want to feel protected by him?
I decide to go against my better judgment and open up to Josh. My incomprehensible reason to discuss my past isn’t about getting closer to him, even though on the surface that’s how it appears. Slowly, I realize it’s more about seizing the opportunity to face my tragic history, something I’ve always evaded at all costs. Josh just happens to provide me with the push and strength I desperately need at the moment.
My chest begins to tighten. I take deep breaths.
It’s okay. It’s okay. Calm down. You can do this. For the first time in over a decade, I relive that shattering experience.
I begin to speak quietly and slowly, afraid to hear my own words. “When I was little, I developed at a really young age. In the sixth grade, I was a C cup bra size and when I began junior high, I was a size D. The boys couldn’t keep their eyes off me and the girls didn’t appreciate me getting so much attention even though the stares were unwelcomed. Eventually, I grew to be very shy, began to keep to myself, and became extremely self-conscious about my body. Despite being a loner, dressing in really baggy clothes to avoid the annoying gawking, hurtful rumors began to spread about me being easy and sexually active. During that time, I hadn’t even kissed a boy yet. In middle school, the boys saw me as a sexual object and the girls could no longer tolerate the attention I received. Everyone looked at me different and I hated that feeling. I was bullied regularly and had to fight in order to defend myself. Since teachers never witnessed the harassment, nothing was ever done about it at school. I didn’t confide in my mom, afraid if she intervened she would bring more attention to my problem, and make it worse.
One day, I was sitting at the school’s library during lunch when a boy who was in my math class sat across the table from me. He was really nice and asked if I could help him out with that morning’s lesson. I agreed to help him. There was nothing more I craved than a friendship. For the remainder of the week, I helped him study for our math final and was happy that I finally had a friend again. On the last day of school, before summer vacation, he wanted to buy me ice cream as a thank you gesture for my help. We agreed to meet at a corner store that was at the top of a hill near his house. It was a longer distance from my regular route, but I didn’t care. I went through a park that was right across the street from the store. As I was walking by the empty basketball court, I heard my name called out. I turned and saw my new friend; he was with two high school boys. I stopped and let them catch up; right away, they started walking with me. I noticed their eyes were red and that they couldn’t stop laughing. I felt uncomfortable and decided to go straight home. One of the older boys grabbed my arm and told me I wasn’t going anywhere. I yanked my arm away from him and began running. They all caught up to me, stopped me, and kept me in place. All three boys began harassing me by fondling my whole body. I tried fighting them off and managed to kick one in the groin. He dropped to his knees, gathered himself, and struck my face with a closed fist. Another one of the boys pushed me so hard I lost balance and hit the back of my head hard against the pavement. I tried getting up, but I felt too dazed. Someone grabbed my arms and dragged my body behind the bleachers of the basketball court. I was punched in the face again when I attempted to get up. I wanted to yell, but couldn’t, instead I was choking. One of the boys was pouring alcohol into my mouth as another was pulling down my pants.” I wipe away tears I didn’t know had escaped my eyes.
As I relive that experience by telling my story, the tightening in my chest becomes unbearable, but I want to continue.
“I was raped by each of those boys. I was only twelve years old, five days before my thirteenth
I decide to go against my better judgment and open up to Josh. My incomprehensible reason to discuss my past isn’t about getting closer to him, even though on the surface that’s how it appears. Slowly, I realize it’s more about seizing the opportunity to face my tragic history, something I’ve always evaded at all costs. Josh just happens to provide me with the push and strength I desperately need at the moment.
My chest begins to tighten. I take deep breaths.
It’s okay. It’s okay. Calm down. You can do this. For the first time in over a decade, I relive that shattering experience.
I begin to speak quietly and slowly, afraid to hear my own words. “When I was little, I developed at a really young age. In the sixth grade, I was a C cup bra size and when I began junior high, I was a size D. The boys couldn’t keep their eyes off me and the girls didn’t appreciate me getting so much attention even though the stares were unwelcomed. Eventually, I grew to be very shy, began to keep to myself, and became extremely self-conscious about my body. Despite being a loner, dressing in really baggy clothes to avoid the annoying gawking, hurtful rumors began to spread about me being easy and sexually active. During that time, I hadn’t even kissed a boy yet. In middle school, the boys saw me as a sexual object and the girls could no longer tolerate the attention I received. Everyone looked at me different and I hated that feeling. I was bullied regularly and had to fight in order to defend myself. Since teachers never witnessed the harassment, nothing was ever done about it at school. I didn’t confide in my mom, afraid if she intervened she would bring more attention to my problem, and make it worse.
One day, I was sitting at the school’s library during lunch when a boy who was in my math class sat across the table from me. He was really nice and asked if I could help him out with that morning’s lesson. I agreed to help him. There was nothing more I craved than a friendship. For the remainder of the week, I helped him study for our math final and was happy that I finally had a friend again. On the last day of school, before summer vacation, he wanted to buy me ice cream as a thank you gesture for my help. We agreed to meet at a corner store that was at the top of a hill near his house. It was a longer distance from my regular route, but I didn’t care. I went through a park that was right across the street from the store. As I was walking by the empty basketball court, I heard my name called out. I turned and saw my new friend; he was with two high school boys. I stopped and let them catch up; right away, they started walking with me. I noticed their eyes were red and that they couldn’t stop laughing. I felt uncomfortable and decided to go straight home. One of the older boys grabbed my arm and told me I wasn’t going anywhere. I yanked my arm away from him and began running. They all caught up to me, stopped me, and kept me in place. All three boys began harassing me by fondling my whole body. I tried fighting them off and managed to kick one in the groin. He dropped to his knees, gathered himself, and struck my face with a closed fist. Another one of the boys pushed me so hard I lost balance and hit the back of my head hard against the pavement. I tried getting up, but I felt too dazed. Someone grabbed my arms and dragged my body behind the bleachers of the basketball court. I was punched in the face again when I attempted to get up. I wanted to yell, but couldn’t, instead I was choking. One of the boys was pouring alcohol into my mouth as another was pulling down my pants.” I wipe away tears I didn’t know had escaped my eyes.
As I relive that experience by telling my story, the tightening in my chest becomes unbearable, but I want to continue.
“I was raped by each of those boys. I was only twelve years old, five days before my thirteenth
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