Explaining the misconception of child abuse.

How I Loved the Man who Raped me.

They told me it wasn’t rape, and that I should have known better

Photo by Nicholas Kusuma on Unsplash

If I think back real hard (cue the floating feather scene from Forest Gump), I can remember my first sexual assault.

Aside from my usual childhood trauma posts about negligent parents and mommy’s magic sleeping pills, I also was a target of molestation and rape. The first time I can remember being a plaything to some polluted piece of human debris, I was around 5-years-old. However, this instance I’m talking about with you today started when I was around 10-years-old. For personal reasons, I will not give out any specific details of the man-pig or how I came to know and even love him.

He was eventually caught red-handed with two other children under the age of five; along with a hefty chest of youthful video footage, I am joyous to say, he is now in prison for the rest of his miserable life.

Before I begin, I want to let anyone know who has been a victim of rape; It is NOT your fault!