image courtesy: doctorsinsta.com
I don’t even remember my age when I got involved in a series of “child-play”, that was going to impact the rest of my life. My own family member, under my safest shelter indulged in the adult activities that he must have presumed to be the most comfortable environment for him.
All I remember is that he wanted to play an extended version of kitchen game. Here instead of role-playing with miniature kitchen toys, he got me into the game of “husband-wife”.
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He said this game is the finale of the kitchen, and would be the most exciting and fun part. It should be kept as a secret, or else no one would allow us to play the game again and I would get heavily reprimanded for it.
It was uncomfortable and it was unnerving.
I would dread this part of the game everyday.
And one day, I ran.
I ran out of the room, out of the house. I did not want to play this game anymore. I felt awful and wanted to stop feeling the same.
I decided I would not leave my room ever.
How it affected my childhood
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I feared everyday that he would come back to me. I feared everyone is going to know that I did something terrible and shameful.
I became a loner.
I quietly went into my shell, and stopped talking to anyone at home.
I became extremely clingy to my father. I would refuse to leave him.
I do not further remember how I must have coped with it, but my life did transit and branch into normal ways.
I somehow became non-cognizant of my past, carried out with my academics.
My life went really smooth, until I fell in love and got into a relationship.
Intimacy drove me back into my past.
I realized human brain has some wonderful ways of fading hurtful memories.
What did I do?
It was a family member. I cannot share this with anyone.
I knew then, this is going to last for lifetime.
I overheard someone saying. This is common. Young men do this often; they do not know what they’re indulging in.
I feel violated.
That one moment of truth.
Someone I know, in a conversation, disclosed to me that she’s been a victim of child abuse. She had an indifferent demeanor. She blamed herself for things that happened to her.
I wanted to yell at her.
Or maybe I just wanted to yell at a blank space.
She was me.
I cannot see myself being blamed.
Keeping calm, I told her it is not your fault.
IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. YOU DID NOT KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO. YOU WERE TOO YOUNG.GULLIBLE. VULNERABLE.
I yelled in my mind.
I wanted her to heal. It seemed that it could be a path to my healing.
And I break down.
I knew I needed help.
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How I am still surviving it
No, I haven’t shared it with anyone yet, except my therapist.
When you verbalize your struggles and pain, you bring a shadow to light that helps you look at it in a different way.
I learned my unwillingness to share my general concerns, the insecurity, were deep-rooted. I had learned to feel helpless. It had affected all the domains of my life.
What happened to me was not in my control.
You can control things you are aware of.
You can control things when you know how to.
You cannot control the act and intention of others.
I am not what happened to me. My experiences wouldn’t define what I am today.
I have not been a victim. I am a survivor. And I’m still surviving.
image courtesy: Pinterest
Disclaimer: Please note that we are not a crisis intervention helpline. Should you have severe symptoms or have thought about harming yourself, please seek immediate medical help or call suicide prevention helplines such as
Aasra 24x7 Helpline: 91-22-27546669