Anonymous Story: He Betrayed My Trust

When I was 14 years old I was repeatedly sexually abused every day for several weeks by a 25 year old man. It was the summer before ninth grade and I was at summer camp with a couple of friends. He betrayed my trust and now I can’t trust people as easily because I’m afraid they’ll break me the way he broke me. He was so much nicer than the counselors that summer who were too busy with their own lives and dramas to care about the campers. He wanted to hear my opinions and he would look me in the eyes when we talked. He treated me like an adult, and when I was 14 being treated like an adult was the best and rarest thing in the world.

He asked me questions about my life and interests which I wasn’t used to but I loved. The only time he asked me questions that should have been major red flags (but didn’t) was when he asked me if I had ever had sex. This was part of the lead up to his putting his fingers inside of me the first time. At the time I remember being confused and taken aback by the question because I had never had anyone ask me that before. That’s why I thought it was weird, not because he was a 25 year old man asking a child if she had had sex. Try to find someone more naive then I dare you. I remember laughing because laughing is my coping mechanism and saying no to the question.

His answer repulses me even to this day. I’ve put my fingers down my throat to make myself throw up because of it. He said that’s a shame because nice girls deserve to feel good. I’m just, what the actual hell was wrong with him? Who deserves that type of treatment? I didn’t deserve to feel good! I thought it was a compliment because I didn’t know what he was alluding to, but it wasn’t. I didn’t deserve what he did, it wasn’t what a nice girl deserves, what any girl deserves yet, I thought it was a compliment so I accepted it. That piece of shit. He didn’t even make me feel good. It hurt. I cried, I used to tear up when he did it. He knew. He saw.

He didn’t like seeing me upset for some wack reason even though he was the cause for my pain, the cause of my tears. He’d act all distressed and tell me to stop crying, promising me it would get better but it never did, did it? But I learned to fight the tears. I’ve always hated being the cause of someone else’s suffering. And since he seemed to suffer when I suffered, I fought the tears. I numbed myself. I learned how to separate my body from my soul. I feel like it was my subconscious trying to protect me even though I still believed all of this was normal. I told myself don’t worry he’s a good guy.

He means well. You can trust him. This is normal. He said it is. He promised, so don’t worry. That monster.. He had me so manipulated. It sounds so twisted and probably doesn’t make sense but there’s a part of me that wishes he had been violent or aggressive with me. He never was. He never hit me. He never choked me. He never outright threatened me. He never “forced” himself on me. And it’s not that I want this. No one deserves or wants this kind of treatment. But if he had done those things I think I would have realized something wasn’t right when it was happening rather than several months after the fact. I was young yes, but even kids know violence isn’t okay.

I feel like if he had been violent I would have figured out that he was a danger to me. The abuse wouldn’t have kept happening. Instead he was nice, tried to be gentle- or as gentle as one can be when you’re FUCKING RAPING SOMEONE. He was kind, he listened to me. When I was thrown from a horse, he was the first person by my side, showing real concern like a father shows for his daughter. But I wasn’t his daughter now, was I? I was a child who he preyed on. I was a child who he violated again and again again. Sick person, that’s what he was. Always toying with my heart, always knowing how to get me to submit to him.

He took what he learned from me and took those weaknesses and used them against me. He knew I hated being the cause of other people’s pain so he would act like he was suffering so I would feel bad and give in. He’d act like my tears hurt him so I stopped crying when he put his fingers in me. He knew I was quiet so I was very unlikely to tell on him. He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t tell on him. A piece of shit. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I won’t forgive him, never, I won’t forgive him. I don’t care if he’s out there feeling remorse or guilt, I don’t care. He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.

I’m normally a forgiving person but when it comes to him, I will never ever forgive him. He took something from me, I can’t fill the void in me. I can’t do it, he took something from me and he had the nerve to smile at me before he left me to keep myself from shattering. It’s been four years. Some days I’m fine, some days I’m great, but some days I can barely hold myself together. I’m lost. I’m trapped. I don’t feel free. Nothing will set me free. He made the choice for me and trapped me. I had no choice. He is free but I am not.

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