The Ball

I let my story go a long time ago and talking about it won’t traumatize me. Over time, I have experienced it and I don’t remember it like it was a few years ago. If I remembered this story three or four years ago, aggression arose in me, and now I have completely let it go. It’s my life, I’ve already learned it.

To be honest, I don’t remember my exact age because I didn’t leave the house for a long time after the incident. I can’t explain what was happening to me, I don’t even remember many things normally. I was probably 8 or 9, no more, no less. I went with my mother to our relative’s house, a very distant relative from my father’s side. They were mother and son. My mom and his mom went to the field to collect hay or something like that, and they left me with him: well, he was older (he was 16), and I was a bit of a naughty child, so they left me with him to take care of me. They left, and the two of us stayed. We were playing some games with rubber balls. I remember that rubber ball was in my hand, he said:

֊Give me!

֊Fine, ֊ and I gave the rubber ball. He looked at me and said:

֊ I don’t mean that. 

I don’t remember how it all started, I only remember that at first, he stood up, we were in the living room, and he had pulled his pants down. He said: 

֊Look what I have! 

I must have been a stupid child because I didn’t understand what it was, what it was for, why it wasn’t like mine. I was sitting on the couch, I was looking and I wanted to understand why he was showing me. To be honest, I was scared, I just shook my head and said:

-Yes, I saw.

He approached and said․

-You can touch.

I said:

֊I don’t want to touch,֊ again a deep sigh as he continues. I said, that I don’t want to touch it, and he took my hand and put it on it as he said;- You can feel free, it will not bite you.   

I wanted to pull my hand, but he grabbed my wrist so I wouldn’t pull. 

I only remember how I was crying, calling my mother, but my mother did not come because she was not there.

Yes, once, after that, when I wanted to tell my mom, because I didn’t understand what was happening to me, because I was brought up a little differently and I had no idea what it was, I didn’t know what “sex” meant. When I wanted to tell, he told me:

– If you tell someone, I will tell everyone that you wanted it.

It’s normal that at that age I didn’t think so much that it’s not normal that a sixteen-year-old…

So, I didn’t tell my mother, and I didn’t go to their house either, for obvious reasons. After that I didn’t leave the house, I didn’t even go to school.

My fears developed to such an extent that I was afraid of my father. I locked myself in my room, that’s how I felt safe. I didn’t want to leave the house, I didn’t want to see people, because I thought it was my fault, maybe I did something wrong, maybe I said something wrong. I was probably at home until I was 13-14 years old, I didn’t even go to the store. I don’t know what I have done during that period, because I remember little, very little. 

Maybe until I was 17, or 18 my fears didn’t go away. I was enrolled in college, I left the house, and I socialized with people, but if I found myself in an area with a guy where he and I were alone, I would panic to the point where I wanted to just run away. God forbid if they suddenly pinched me with a finger. hysteria and aggression started in me that I can’t even explain. No, I was like that until I was 18, maybe up to 20 years old. Maybe after 21, I slowly…

It’s been years, I seem to have forgotten. Now I was telling and I understood that I was drowning at some point, maybe I am ashamed of what happened and maybe that’s why I didn’t tell anyone all these years.

But now I know that nothing like this can happen to me, I know how to protect myself and other people too. Let them just try.