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my experience;

Hey, I just thought I'd come on here since I've been bottling my feelings for too long and I have nobody to share my thoughts to.

When I was 13, I was sexually harassed, for years. My friends had always told me that it's a compliment to be touched and to have people compliment your body, and maybe that's true. However, to this day, it makes me feel so uncomfortable, and so dirty to have allowed myself to be touched by so many hands, especially since these people didn't care when they did it, whether or not I was surrounded by large groups of people or when I was alone, whenever that had gotten the chance, they'd do it.

I started cutting myself because I felt guilty. I thought that I was being ungrateful for the amount of attention I was receiving from boys, even older boys. I thought that it was my fault that I was so vulnerable and allowed other people to touch me and make such disgusting comments about my body. A boy from my grade had once told me that he'd "slap my ass, but we're friends so I won't", and another had literally stated that he'd rape me. I was getting attention from older boys that I had never wanted and it was really eating at my self esteem. Sure, it's nice to be told that you have a nice body, but once people begin to think that they have the right to touch you just because you accept their compliments, it really makes you insecure. This only got worse as my body started to develop further, and I got older.

My twin brother had found out about my self harm, and he ran straight to our mom and told her. I wasn't confronted until the next day, and I was trying really hard to make it seem like it was pen ink, or it was cuts that I had received from our cat. Rightfully so, since once my mom did confront me about the cuts, she simply threatened me by saying that if I didn't stop she'd send me to psychiatric hospital, she never offered me any support. Out of fear, I stopped, but I honestly wish that I hadn't, maybe a trip to the psych ward would help me straighten my thoughts, or maybe the punishment that I would get from the cuts would be enough to make me realize that I deserved what happened to me, that I just had to learn to be grateful for the "positive" attention that I was receiving from boys. Or maybe that one day I'd finally pluck up the courage to simply end my life, having to continuously be reminded about my experience with sexual harassment.

Maybe one day.