Yesterday on facebook someone who is my “friend” solely on the fact that I like her hair said something that shook me.

“At least 40 percent of Black girls have been violated sexually. These individuals are our fathers, uncles, grandfathers, cousins, family friends, mother’s boyfriends, baby sisters and pastors-both men and women sickos.” Listen to what the girls in your life won’t say.

Seeing this on my newsfeed brought back a bunch of memories, that for so long I tried to forget. Being sexually violated isn’t something that I will ever forget, something like that never leave you. Up until recently I kept quiet about it, even then it wasn’t something I was really willing to share with people. I kept hoping, waiting for it to go away, but last night my emotions got the best of me and I couldn’t help but cry. For the first time ever I truly cried about what happened, I cried for not saying anything to my mom, to my sisters, I cried because I never spoke up, I cried because after all these years my past still hunts me. I cried for resenting my mother for not protecting me, I cried because I am damaged goods, i just cried and and cried.

I woke up the next day and realized that for the first time in my life i truly acknowledged what happened to me and began accepting it. I began to think about how it affected me all of these years, how it affected my relationship with men, how til this day I am not truly comfortable around a man. Always expecting him to take advantage of me. Always afraid, uncomfortable around men, never truly relaxing around them. For so long I battled with not wanting to be pretty, trying hard not to dress nice because I didn’t want to attract any attention.  In the back of my head  I could still hear him saying that he couldn’t help himself that it was my beauty that made him touch me.

AGH!!! Why did she have to write that? Why did I have to read it?! Why does it still bother me? This thing, has changed me in so many ways. I don’t, cannot, will not talk about my feelings. I started this blog to write about what I won’t say outloud and even then I am cautious about what I say. Because having someone, anyone even those who don’t know me, know how I am feeling or thinking is way too scary. What kind of life is that?

I stay away from men and whenever I find myself attracted to a guy, I don’t know how to deal with any feelings I have about him. I get uncomfortable but somehow expect him to be my knight in shining armor and save me from myself. That kind of twisted and crazy thinking is unhealthy.

This thing affected me so much that I mostly live in a a fantasy land where I know exactly what will happens and no one will ever hurt me because quite frankly reality hurts, but reality is real and I need to be in it to move on.

Before I can even think about meeting someone and falling in love I have some serious self therapy to do.

Self therapy, is that even a word? Whatever the correct phrase is, I need to do it.

So this is me perfectly imperfect, a continuous improvement.