I keep replaying a faded memory in my head lately. These past few years, I think I’ve only thought about it 3 or 4 times (and only for a split second). However, for some reason, for the past few months, I’ve begun to remember bits and pieces more and more. Each day, I think about it more frequently, and I’m hoping that since I’ve recently reinforced my daily self-care routine (daily meditations, writing my poems/lyrics, daily cardio, doing word puzzles, learning at least 1 new thing per day, keeping the house clean) that this new method of Philosophical Meditation will help me in uncovering and finally one day facing the truth.
I’ve told ONE person before since it happened, and she was my best friend in middle school. I remember being in absolute shock that I had even admitted it. I don’t remember going into details, I don’t even really recall telling her about this very well (I think I blocked this one out too because I knew I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet) but I do know that it DID in fact happen. I don’t remember her reaction much, just that I begged her not to EVER mention it again, to me or anyone else, and she complied. I think I only told her because I had ABSOLUTE TRUST in her and I somehow knew she would’ve helped me through it in some shape or form, which I guess she kind of did, considering how it is SOME form of progress. We lost touch in high school, and I guess because of that I hadn’t really thought of it since.
Here’s the thing, a brief history of me (the important parts of the story). I’m 19 years old, I grew up in a low-class family living off government assistance, with my Mom, Dad, and my Brother who is 4 years older than me. My dad worked for the city’s electricity company and my mom was mainly being a parent volunteer at my brother and I’s elementary school. My dad was out at work a lot and my mom was stressed, I assume it is because this is around the time when her mom became sick (and she eventually passed not too long after). My brother and I were practically best friends. We would constantly be playing with our toys together, playing videos games, chasing each other around the house, all of that, despite the age difference (it was significant enough to feel like we were in different generations, which we are). Come to think of it, we really had no real conflicts with each other, up until after this point. The time that the memories took place was around 2004-2005, I believe, so I would’ve been around 5 or 6 years old. Okay, with this context, hopefully enough is clear.
*take 3 deep breaths*
Like I said, the memory is fuzzy, and I’m not too sure on exact details of the day or what I was doing prior or who exactly was home and all of that. *wow, the closer I get to writing it down the more gradually sick I feel to my stomach, but I’m trying to toughen through*
Anyway, I think one of my parents was working and one of them was home with us. I think it was summer or a weekend or something like that because it was the middle of the day and the sun was out, but me and my brother were both home. I think it was my dad who told us that he was going to shower, as we all always announced beforehand, just in case someone had to use the bathroom. Then he went to shower, and he takes LONG showers, so that’s why I think he was the parent who was home at the time.
*3 deep breaths* *here comes the rough part*
I don’t remember what we were doing, maybe we were playing with our toys or something, I don’t know, but my brother and I were in the living room together. He was around 8 or 9 years old at the time maybe.
This is where the haze really begins.
I remember my brother asking me something about something he called “Butt Time”, I don’t remember if he was asking if I wanted to do it or if he was like “C’mon, let’s try it out!” Or something like that. I didn’t really know what was going on, I was too young to question it, I think so. I knew something was off about it, but I wasn’t sure what, and I wish I hadn’t fallen for it.
You see, Butt Time was just a thing that only happened whenever my dad would be in the shower. *here’s where it gets even more hazy*
I think he asked me to take off my clothes, I think he said he was going to do it too, because I remember him holding up a pillow to cover his junk.
I remember just standing in the living room, innocently looking at him with my pants and underwear around my ankles, waiting for my next instruction. I didn’t think anything of it. This was WAY too early in my childhood for me to even have a clue of what ANYTHING sexual was, so I didn’t know what I was doing was bad, I just thought it was something new I guess.
I remember him making a specific comment on my vagina, saying “It looks like a little butt!”.
*gets even hazier*
I suddenly remember being on the couch, dare I say so graphically, on all fours, completely naked. I don’t remember if he was naked anymore, but I don’t think so because of what I think I remember next.
Suddenly, I remember him thrusting his junk and just rubbing it on me, dare I say again so bluntly, he was humping me, but I think I remember feeling some type of blue-jean fabric rubbing against me. I knew it was his boy-parts that he used to stand to pee, but that’s all I knew about those parts.
After that, I do NOT remember anything else about that day. I think we got dressed and agreed to not talk about Butt Time unless my dad was showering (in other words until the next Butt Time). I don’t remember him ever threatening me and saying anything like “DON’T TELL OR ELSE!”, it was more like a scheduled activity.
I don’t clearly remember it ever happening again, HOWEVER I do KNOW that it happened more than once. I don’t know if that means that it was twice or 3 times or dare I say even 4 or more (I honestly don’t believe it was more than 3 or 4 times), but I’ve just always had a gut feeling. I guess by this point, I had already been through enough trauma to block out the memory entirely.
*But that’s not the end of the story*
I don’t remember how it happened, I think one day my dad overheard us talking about this thing called “Butt Time” and I just said, “It’s when you go to the shower and we talk about butts”. I’m guessing after this, my parents were suspicious of something, and that would explain what happened next. I don’t know if it was the same night, or a couple days later or I don’t know, but my mom pulled me aside alone and asked me what butt time was. My dad had my brother pulled away somewhere else, I guess he was asking him the same or maybe they were asking me about it because he had told them what it was, or? I’m not sure, it’s SO blurry.
I don’t remember explaining anything to her, but I do remember lying about how many times it had happened. I told her it was only once, I think, but like I said, I knew it was more than once. I Faintly remember her telling me “If he EVER does that again, YOU BETTER TELL ME because he can go to jail for this!” Or something like that. I said okay, and I think after that we agreed to never do it again.
I don’t remember if they grounded my brother or what they told him or anything, but I know they got upset at him and I THINK he got in trouble, but I don’t know ANYTHING else.
What’s weird is that since that day, literally NONE OF US EVER BROUGHT IT UP AGAIN. ANY OF US. Not my mom, not my dad, not even my brother.
I think because we all just never mentioned it again, my brain must’ve tricked me into completely forgetting it happened at all. I think it was after this time where I began to act out, and I was suddenly an angry child who HATED school and socializing with other kids. After this, I think is when all of my morals and values changed. After this, I became a bit dark and have always had a weird sense of guilt without ever knowing WHY.
When I turned 18 and I came out as Trans FTM, I thought for sure that the, “What happened to you that makes you feel so guilty all the time?” Question would finally be answered, but now I know that my being trans literally has NOTHING to do with this incident, but to do with my matching the outside to what’s always been inside thing. I think up until writing this right now I had NEVER actually said that part aloud…well, a-typed in a thing. I’m glad I said it though because I’ve always thought it. Most people’s reactions to trans or queer people are them saying “They’re only like that because they were molested!”, and after seeing that people really do believe that, it really can make you think it’s true and make you feel even worse about yourself than you already do. But oh well, welcome to humanity, I guess …
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