I was molested by my father when I was 5.

He abused me physically and mentally all through my childhood.

I never stopped believing that monsters existed. How could I? I’d lived with one throughout my age of ‘innocence’
Fragile is a word that means easily broken or destroyed and that’s me. I’m a fragile girl with fragile flashbacks and fragile triggers. I get told constantly that I need to be brave and be glad that all of the abuse is behind me but it never feels like it’s ever gone. 2 am tremors send me back and I’m seven again with my small stature and his towering body shouting words that form wounds that will never heal. I wasn’t fragile before. I’d hide my bruises and turn up to school where I’d work at the top of my class then I’d go home and face the same wrath again. I never used to be fragile but now the words ‘sexual assault’ cause me to clam up and freeze as hot tears trickle down my face. I’m 5 again and I’m in the shower with wandering fingers that feels so wrong. I’m no longer in the safe refuge of the present, I’m all alone again. and again. and again.

Fragile is a word that describes me perfectly as the sight of a father loving his children and caring about them fills me with a jealousy and yearning so deep that I go quiet and sob for the loss of the childhood that I wish I had. I feel a sense of entitlement as if I deserved a father that would hold me through the tears and fight away the monsters but it will never happen.

But perhaps I’m not so fragile? I’m not easily destroyed? I mean, look at the way I wake up and fight the demons that I just put to bed the night before. See how I hold my head up and smile as if there wasn’t a war waging inside me? See how I battle the worst of my past and still dare to dream that tomorrow will not be the same as today or the many prior yesterdays.

I am unbreakable. I bruise but do not bleed. I bend but do not break. I will never let the weight of my past shatter me.


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