[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”section” _builder_version=”3.27.4″ background_color=”#eaebeb” fb_built=”1″ _i=”0″ _address=”0″][et_pb_row admin_label=”row” _builder_version=”3.27.4″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” width=”60%” _i=”0″ _address=”0.0″][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”3.25″ custom_padding=”|||” _i=”0″ _address=”0.0.0″ custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_text admin_label=”Text” _builder_version=”3.27.4″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” _i=”0″ _address=”0.0.0.0″]<\/p>\n
I don’t remember the full story any longer. I only remember parts of how some of my classmates pushed me, pressed me against the wall, pressed my breast, and legs, leading fingers between my legs, and pinched me, while the others pressed me tightly so that I wouldn’t resist. And so on. I remember various similar passages. How many times I have hit their heads with my violin case so that they let me go, how many times I have broken it to protect myself, but I have never been able to do it, I have resisted until I just remained silent in their hands, until they laughed enough, satisfied their lust by touching me and breathing on me one by one. I don’t remember exactly the incidents, whether they put their hands under my clothes or not, but I remember incidents where they tried to unbutton my pants, pulled the sweater neck to expose my neck more, I remember that there was a tall one who grabbed my neck and pressed me against the wall. I remember the faces of my classmates once, especially the girls’ faces, as they were in the other part of the class looking at each other and saying: “You’ve started again, how much is that possible?” and at that time four or five of my classmates were pressing and pulling me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Once, once again, when I broke my violin on the head of one of them, I decided that I had to call my cousin, as I was already in the ninth grade, and tell him because I couldn’t stand the humiliation anymore. I remember it was Russian class, I left the classroom, cried, and went out into the corridor and called my brother, I said that I can’t stand it, that they are bothering me, he said in a worried voice that he was coming at once. Before I could enter the classroom, my Russian teacher came out and said that it was not my business, if I had one brother, they were boys and their surrounding was much bigger, they would call them: “What if they beat each other, something happens, how will you live with that thought?” I was convinced of what she was saying and called my brother back and told him not to come as if I exaggerated and everything was normal. My brother didn’t come and all this got deeper. I understood the accusation of my classmates when they were looking at me as if it was me again because they used to say that I liked it, because they didn’t bother me, but the opposite, I provoked them, otherwise, they wouldn’t do such a thing. I don’t remember those years, I hate those memories, I remember how my back was pressed against the blue cold wall with plaster…<\/span><\/p>\n The only feeling that I began to recognize over time was nothingness as if I were a marble statue, with the image of eyes, and a mouth, but you don’t understand whether it is open or closed, head bent, without wings. Like a statue of Aphrodite. I had to have my head bowed and waited helplessly for all this to end.<\/span><\/p>\n This is my whole story, I would like to add that, unfortunately, I lived with that stupid feeling of guilt and shame, I didn’t tell anyone, and I felt powerless for years. Only now I have clearly decided for myself that if I have children, I will raise them much stronger and I will definitely talk about “shameful” things so that they know that I will never blame them and I will protect them.<\/b><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”3.27.4″ background_color=”#528F96″ custom_padding=”86px||86px||false|false” fb_built=”1″ _i=”1″ _address=”1″][et_pb_row _builder_version=”3.27.4″ custom_margin=”0px||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||false|false” _i=”0″ _address=”1.0″][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”3.27.4″ _i=”0″ _address=”1.0.0″][et_pb_text _builder_version=”3.27.4″ header_text_color=”#ffffff” custom_margin=”0px||0px||true|false” hover_enabled=”0″ _i=”0″ _address=”1.0.0.0″]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”3.27.4″ custom_margin=”70px||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||false|false” _i=”1″ _address=”1.1″][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”3.27.4″ _i=”0″ _address=”1.1.0″][et_pb_text _builder_version=”3.27.4″ custom_margin=”0px||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||false|false” _i=”0″ _address=”1.1.0.0″]<\/p>\n \n <\/p> Send us your story.<\/h2>\n
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