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Deleted member 47384
I know its reflexive for people to be like "It wasn't your fault" when it comes to trauma, especially sexual trauma, but I feel like this place is more practical than that. I've seen a good number of posts where members point out that other members deserve what happened to them, or how it "doesn't count", and it made me realize that I'm right there with them. My question now is, what do I do about it?
I grew up around men. When my brother started putting his hands on me at around age 8, our folks just shrugged. "He's a boy, that's what they do." I had to find ways to protect myself from the get-go - I was too small to fight, but I got really good at hiding, and sneaking around the house, and dodging his hands. By the time I was older, in my teens, I should've known better. It never really stopped at home, and when I started getting out and about, taking the bus and public transit alone, I knew it would happen there too. And it did. Every single day, on my 45-minute commute to and from school, there was always Something. Some man's wandering hands, some man pressing against me, or whispering disgusting things in my ear.
I was too tired to fight back by then. I just sat there, feeling sick and waiting for it to be over, because I needed to save my energy to fend off big brother at home. He was more likely to rape me than any of these randos on the bus, I knew - strangers hear a scream and come looking, but mom and dad would just shrug and turn the TV up louder. Home was infinitely more dangerous than anyplace else.
People don't like to tell me I deserved what happened to me. But I have a feeling more than enough people on this site will agree with me, and know that I absolutely did. Maybe not from my brother - or maybe I did, who knows? - but definitely from those strangers on the bus. That's what I deserved, for sitting alone on a city bus, having a c*nt and all. It didn't matter why I didn't fight back, just that I didn't. I deserved all those fingers inside me, all those things rubbed up against me.
I don't know, I'm just. Having a hard time processing. And I think that's because no one wants to admit that I deserved it. My therapist keeps fighting me on it, and I feel like denying my accountability is keeping me from healing.
I grew up around men. When my brother started putting his hands on me at around age 8, our folks just shrugged. "He's a boy, that's what they do." I had to find ways to protect myself from the get-go - I was too small to fight, but I got really good at hiding, and sneaking around the house, and dodging his hands. By the time I was older, in my teens, I should've known better. It never really stopped at home, and when I started getting out and about, taking the bus and public transit alone, I knew it would happen there too. And it did. Every single day, on my 45-minute commute to and from school, there was always Something. Some man's wandering hands, some man pressing against me, or whispering disgusting things in my ear.
I was too tired to fight back by then. I just sat there, feeling sick and waiting for it to be over, because I needed to save my energy to fend off big brother at home. He was more likely to rape me than any of these randos on the bus, I knew - strangers hear a scream and come looking, but mom and dad would just shrug and turn the TV up louder. Home was infinitely more dangerous than anyplace else.
People don't like to tell me I deserved what happened to me. But I have a feeling more than enough people on this site will agree with me, and know that I absolutely did. Maybe not from my brother - or maybe I did, who knows? - but definitely from those strangers on the bus. That's what I deserved, for sitting alone on a city bus, having a c*nt and all. It didn't matter why I didn't fight back, just that I didn't. I deserved all those fingers inside me, all those things rubbed up against me.
I don't know, I'm just. Having a hard time processing. And I think that's because no one wants to admit that I deserved it. My therapist keeps fighting me on it, and I feel like denying my accountability is keeping me from healing.