To the person who molested me. Why? At what point did you ever think it was okay touch me? At what point did my quiet, broken no become a yes to your ears? At what point did it become okay for you to sneak into my room night after night.
I was only thirteen. I had never even kissed a boy. And you made me never want to. You made me terrified of the opposite sex. You made me lose sleep almost constantly for seven years. Your face still haunts me, even after all this time.
I finally found someone who I cared enough to get close to. Someone who I trusted enough to try and pick up the broken pieces of me and patch them back together. And he is amazing. And because of you, I wake up terrified in the middle of the night, fighting to get away from him.
Not because he scares me. But because I am terrified that it is you. That kind of thing doesn't go away.
You went on to live a normal life, so I've heard. I wonder if you ever think about what you did. Were there others that you did this to? Or was I special for some twisted reason?
Do you realize what you did to me, the stain that you left on my soul? Even now, as I fight to move forward with my life, I don't know how to get passed you.
I've tried to forgive you. Not for your sake, but for mine. And I find it nearly impossible to even fathom the idea. Why should you get to be forgiven when I carry this burden around?
