We hear about gruesome things all the time. We are sympathetic for the people they happen to but then we shrug it off and move on. No one ever stops to think that those gruesome things could one day happen to us. I know I never did.
I was molested by my grandfather when I was about eleven. I can honestly say I don’t remember my exact age or the date for that matter because I tried to block the whole incident out of my head. That wasn’t an easy task. I felt like anyone who looked at me knew what had happened. I felt very transparent and vulnerable. As time progressed I began to slowly disconnect myself from my friends and family. I sank into a deep depression. Nothing made me happy, and if I ever was happy it was only momentarily. I began to live my life just wishing it would end. I made it through each day half asleep; in a daze. Everything seemed hopeless. Which is exactly how I felt.
Time went on and I met someone who really cared about me. Someone who I wanted to care about too. And I slowly let myself. But I feared getting in over my head. He assured me he wouldn’t hurt me and that his love was genuine. I was so frightened to get too close to someone. Not because I thought I would have to relive the nightmare I once endured, but because I had this overwhelming fear of being betrayed. My grandfather had left me wounded. As time moved on I began to open up more. The boy I was so afraid to love gave me the courage to love someone. He gave me strength to move on.
I will never forget what happened to me. No matter how hard I try to erase it from my mind, it will always be a part of me. But I’m learning to cope with it and I’m focusing on my future more. It’s true what they say, that all wounds heal. My wounds are healing slowly but I know I will always have a scar.
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