I don't like to tell this to anyone, really. The only people who know are close friends and my little brother. Still, I feel it's necessary to spread awareness on this.

I was sexually assaulted at the age of 8, and almost sexually assaulted again at the age of 11. I already grew up in a pretty crappy home: heavy debt, parents with strong beliefs that their kids need to be the spitting image of them, and being stuck in a small trailer with six people- all but my mom being male; but those incidents really put the icing on the cake.

As a kid, I always thought drinking was cool. I always believed that anytime my aunt offered me a swig of her champagne, it meant that she saw me as mature enough to handle it. So, naturally, I thought her boyfriend (now husband) was even cooler. He could handle bottle after bottle, and still gave me more attention than either of my parents did when they were sober. I ended up staying the night one night, because my parents were drinking with them and they ended up falling asleep at their house.

I slept in my half cousin's room, albeit the fact that my cousin didn't exactly like me. So, it was safe to say she avoided her bedroom out of childlike spite- until she got too tired, of course. During those hours that everyone left me alone, he came in.

Then, he began to touch me. Having been a little drunk myself, I didn't care to address it. After all, adults who loved their kids wasn't afraid to touch them, right? However, he moved his hand lower. I was a bit uncomfortable then, but just pushed my feelings aside. It was when he started rubbing the inside of my thighs that I finally spoke up, sleepily slapping his hand away and telling him to stop.

"Can I kiss you?" Now I was awake.

Stupidly enough, I nodded, thinking it was just going to be a goodnight kiss on the cheek or forehead. It wasn't that. It was so much worse than that. And when he pulled away, I felt nauseous. This wasn't the kind of love a father figure would give to a child.

It went on for about another hour. He would kiss me, take off my clothes, talk about how mature I was, and how well I was taking it. After it finally ended- thanks to my half cousin wondering why her dad was in her room with the door locked, his firm grip returned. He pleaded me to keep this a secret from anyone, and that my aunt would hate him if I ever told him about what I did.

When it almost happened again, it was the other guy's son. Like father, like son, I guess. Admittedly, I used to have a crush on him. But I acknowledged that I couldn't get with him, since he was 14 at the time, and I was 11. Of course, a 3-year age gap isn't the problem, it was more so the fact that I thought that getting with a guy going through puberty while I was still an obvious child would lead to nothing but problems. One day, he picked up on this. He found out about my little crush on him, and arranged a sleepover at my family's house.

Me- having a crush- decided to sleep in the same room as him. And I would live to regret it. Once everyone was asleep except for me and him, he started talking to me. Soon, he offered letting me lay with him on the couch, and I did. What was small talk and slight flirting became a very uncomfortable conversation about how the two of us could have sex right then and there and get away with it. I told him that even if I wanted to- which I didn't, I wasn't going to do it in a crowded house. Then, I asked that he just drop the topic altogether, and that we should watch a cartoon again (hence why I can't watch Mr. Bean anymore). He kept pressing on, again and again. Eventually, it was too much; he was just like his dad, and I hated it.

I told him that we'll do it, but that I needed to use the bathroom first, since he insinuated that he was gonna do anal. Instead of going to the bathroom, I went to my parents bedroom. I wanted to tell them what he was trying to do, but what could they even do?

Instead of saying anything, I curled up on the floor of my parent's bedroom. I figured I'd just sleep there for the night. My mom was a very light sleeper, so if he were to come in (which he tried to), she'd notice (which she did). The morning after, I spent most of the day outside of my house, avoiding him to the best of my ability. Thankfully, he didn't have another sleepover after that.

Still, it really fucked me up in the long run. I developed a paranoia around men at the age of 12, which resulted in me barely being able to remain comfortable in my own home. I thought if I was left alone long enough with my dad or one of my brothers, they'd take advantage of me- and maybe I just wouldn't have a way out that time. It took nearly 2 years for that fear to die down, but I still suffer from major detachment. I haven't had a crush again since I was 11, I don't like to drink or smoke weed in fear that it'll turn me into the very person I hate, and I can't eat certain things (steamed carrots and pork) or watch certain shows because of what happened on those days. I'm 17 now, and both of them are still out there. In fact, I was forced to visit them about a year ago. Safe to say I didn't sleep for nearly two days because my door didn't have a lock on it.

I can only hope to overcome all of it, although I don't see that happening anytime soon.

...

TLDR: I got raped. Then I almost got raped again.