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The 'I was' Thread
My back is already comfortable as I lie on the bed to prepare for a restful sleep. It's three more minutes before 12 in the midnight.
As a usual thing to most of mankinds, I'm scrolling through my phone as I wait for Mr. Sleepy to kiss me goodnight.
And I saw this thread in Facebook.
The 'I was' thread.
It's basically just a continuous screenshot post. And each of them has the caption 'I was' followed by a particular number just like "I was 12" ; "I was 16" something like that.
I don't actually get what it means. And it was shared by my former classmate, whom is like a sister to me, captioning it with "I was 14."
Out of curiosity, I browse through the comment section, and it is full of "I was —" comments.
But one eomment stands out, and explains everything.
As I read the comment, I tried scanning myself. Was I?
When I was little, aging even four to seven, I can literally remember myself swimming with sexual pleasures.
At that early age, I used to play like I'm being captured and raped in my room.
I covered my mouth with something, and my hands are together tied at my back.
My clothes were all out of my body. And I play my private parts while pretending I am crying.
No one ever told me about that, nor did that to me. But I don't know if there's something I cannot remember. If there's a reppressed memory at the back of my childish state of mind that is responsible for my not-so-innocent childhood.
But let that be. If someone did sexual favor on me when I was a child, I don't want to know who is he now.
I don't wanna recall those abominable memory.
But one thing I cannot forget.
I was nine.
It was a very exciting day for me. My Aunt will take me to Manila, and will let me meet Television Actors in Megamall for their Premiere Night.
We dropped earlier than the actors' arrival as we head straight in there after my Aunt had her dental cleaning.
At first, it's a very free space to move in, but then the crowd got thicker.
And thicker.
It moves to the point that your shoulder to shoulder with other people, and I'm just going through their movement as I was just nine, and little.
The crowd went howling and growling, but I remain shut.
I was nine.
And I felt something's poking my butt.
I cannot move, I cannot even have a courage to take a look who was behind me. I felt like I'm getting controlled, it felt like I don't have anywhere to go as I was in the middle of the crowd.
I gathered some courage to look behind me. There was a man, looking also straight on me.
I was so freezing scared, barely moving to a tight space. A dick pressed on my shorts, it was hard and pointy as I felt. And it stayed there for so long, like minutes, but it felt like forever.
And suddenly, my Aunt dragged me out of the crowd. She told me she also felt like something's did to her by a random person.
I also shared what happened to me
And this is what she said:
Don't tell your parents, or we'll both be scolded.
And I remained silent for 10 years, afraid of being scolded.
And just now, I saw this thread in Facebook.
The 'I was' thread.
I don't actually get what it means. Out of curiosity, I browse through the comment section, and it is full of "I was —" comments.
But one eomment stands out, and explains everything.
As I read the comment, I tried scanning myself.
I was nine when I was sexually harassed.
© Pristina
As a usual thing to most of mankinds, I'm scrolling through my phone as I wait for Mr. Sleepy to kiss me goodnight.
And I saw this thread in Facebook.
The 'I was' thread.
It's basically just a continuous screenshot post. And each of them has the caption 'I was' followed by a particular number just like "I was 12" ; "I was 16" something like that.
I don't actually get what it means. And it was shared by my former classmate, whom is like a sister to me, captioning it with "I was 14."
Out of curiosity, I browse through the comment section, and it is full of "I was —" comments.
But one eomment stands out, and explains everything.
As I read the comment, I tried scanning myself. Was I?
When I was little, aging even four to seven, I can literally remember myself swimming with sexual pleasures.
At that early age, I used to play like I'm being captured and raped in my room.
I covered my mouth with something, and my hands are together tied at my back.
My clothes were all out of my body. And I play my private parts while pretending I am crying.
No one ever told me about that, nor did that to me. But I don't know if there's something I cannot remember. If there's a reppressed memory at the back of my childish state of mind that is responsible for my not-so-innocent childhood.
But let that be. If someone did sexual favor on me when I was a child, I don't want to know who is he now.
I don't wanna recall those abominable memory.
But one thing I cannot forget.
I was nine.
It was a very exciting day for me. My Aunt will take me to Manila, and will let me meet Television Actors in Megamall for their Premiere Night.
We dropped earlier than the actors' arrival as we head straight in there after my Aunt had her dental cleaning.
At first, it's a very free space to move in, but then the crowd got thicker.
And thicker.
It moves to the point that your shoulder to shoulder with other people, and I'm just going through their movement as I was just nine, and little.
The crowd went howling and growling, but I remain shut.
I was nine.
And I felt something's poking my butt.
I cannot move, I cannot even have a courage to take a look who was behind me. I felt like I'm getting controlled, it felt like I don't have anywhere to go as I was in the middle of the crowd.
I gathered some courage to look behind me. There was a man, looking also straight on me.
I was so freezing scared, barely moving to a tight space. A dick pressed on my shorts, it was hard and pointy as I felt. And it stayed there for so long, like minutes, but it felt like forever.
And suddenly, my Aunt dragged me out of the crowd. She told me she also felt like something's did to her by a random person.
I also shared what happened to me
And this is what she said:
Don't tell your parents, or we'll both be scolded.
And I remained silent for 10 years, afraid of being scolded.
And just now, I saw this thread in Facebook.
The 'I was' thread.
I don't actually get what it means. Out of curiosity, I browse through the comment section, and it is full of "I was —" comments.
But one eomment stands out, and explains everything.
As I read the comment, I tried scanning myself.
I was nine when I was sexually harassed.
© Pristina
