Not broke, just bent

This story was submitted by Taylor through the Share page. 

I was five. It was summer in Wisconsin and we were visiting family for a few weeks. It was beautiful - the sun shining on my grandma's green cottage, the grass tall, family barbecuing and laughing. There were four of us kids - myself, my older brother, female cousin the same age as me, and older male cousin.

He came up with a game, some sort of kickball challenge. Kick the ball behind the shed, win a prize. The sort of thing you fall for when you're trying to fit in with the older kids. I kicked as hard as I could. I didn't make it. "Try harder, you can do this," he told me. I finally made it to the shed. "Time for your prize!" He walked behind the shed, me in tow, leaving my brother and other cousin at the kick line.

He shoved his tongue down my throat. He held my face in place so I couldn't move away. He was old enough to know this was wrong, and yet he did it anyway. After what was probably only a few seconds of this, he said, "Wipe the drool off." He promised me this was just between us. Trying to make me feel special in his own way. And now I wonder what he might have done to my cousin or my brother when they kicked the ball to the shed. He is why I don't like French kissing.

I was 18. On my own at college for the first time for a few months. He was older, cooler, a stoner. I was rebellious, lost, looking for my identity. I went to see him. He got me high. He raped me. "Please stop, it hurts". Over and over, I asked. He didn't listen, not once. I was too embarrassed to do anything about it. I let it go, I was supposed to like this wasn't I? 

He stayed over in the dorm once. I had stopped working out, started eating more. I was spiraling. He called me a slut. He was too rough. "You need to start working out again, you're not looking so good anymore." It took being safely in another state for Christmas break for me to leave him. He couldn't hurt me there. He is why I don't look at my body the same.

I was 19. I moved away from that college. I started a new life in a new state, back safely with my family. I had a friend, he went to high school in Germany like I did. He understood feeling lost. We went to the mall and met a guy who worked at Journey's. He and I exchanged numbers. He asked me to hang out, it was late. I snuck out. He had a car seat in his van. I asked about it. He avoided details, but told me he had a daughter. I hope this never happens to her. 

"I just want to have some fun." He pulled over in a field. I could see my neighborhood, I could run if I need to. He got out of the van and made me get out. He pushed me against the side of the van, pulled my shorts down. "Please stop." He kept going. "Please stop." He wouldn't stop. I snapped. "Stop right now or I'll call the fucking cops." I got home, and I texted my friend about what happened. "That's what you get for being an idiot." I sat in my closet and cried for hours. He is why I don't trust anyone anymore. 

I wonder who I would have been if these things never happened to me. It seems all I've known is a life of sexual assault. And this is the truth for thousands of other women. I'll never know who I would have grown to be without these experiences. I was ripped of that opportunity at just five years old. 

But no matter what I've endured, I've not yet been broken. Just bent.  

This story was submitted by Taylor through the Share page. 

Photo courtesy of Aman Dhakal on Unsplash