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My Trauma of Child Sexual Abuse by Multiple Men Still Haunts Me

I just hate the thought of any man coming close to me. The wounds are so fresh and raw.

Updated
Gender
4 min read
At one point, I gathered enough courage to tell my mother that he touched me inappropriately, to which again she told me to keep quiet.
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I must have been 4-years-old. My dad was in the armed force and was posted in the forward area. The only thing I remember was the safai man or the sweeper, who told me, Aaj maine ****** sahab  ki beti ko finger ( in Hindi) kiya , ab tumhe bhi (and the sentence was left mid way... ) Kissi ko bolna mat. Nahi toh mummy se maar lage gi (Today, I fingered the boss’s daughter. Don’t tell anyone or else your mother will scold you)."

For some time, I felt safe and relieved but soon he too started doing the same things to me.
For some time, I felt safe and relieved but soon he too started doing the same things to me.
(Illustration: iStock)

When my dad moved to Delhi, the new sahayak used to smell my undergarments and one day he touched me inappropriately. He threatened me with dire consequences, if I told anyone. I  was in class 2 at that time. This continued for a few months till a new sahayak came to replace him. For some time, I felt safe and relieved but soon he too started doing the same things to me. I would be so scared. My mother was strict and not in good health. I could never approach her.

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It did not stop there. Then my cousin brother came to visit us. He was nearly 10 years older to me. While having a conversation with my mother, she asked me, if he ever lay on top of me? I explained, indicating with my hands. I was told never to talk about it again in the future.

Then dad got posted out and the sahayak went along.

At one point, I gathered enough courage to tell my mother that he (sahayak) touched me inappropriately, to which again she told me to keep quiet. I never could voice another word.

I turned 19, and I met a dashing officer from the Naval Aviation. He was six years older to me. He told me, he loved me. I lost my virginity to him. He was good looking and so suave. I thought he’ll save me.

He was good looking and so suave. I thought he’ll save me.
He was good looking and so suave. I thought he’ll save me.
(Illustration: iStock)

Every time he would come on leave, he would take me to room or a lodge, spend two hours with me and leave, saying he loved me. I would wait for months to be with him. We never went out on dates, he never bought me flowers, he never came home to drop me. He told me, “This is what love is.”

When I turned 21, he turned his back on me and left. Like all others, he too just wanted my body.  Now I understand that he had forced himself on me.

Now I look back, and I know he raped me, so many times.

I couldn't stop crying. I hated being touched. I got married and it was mere formality. But after the birth of my child, I never once left the baby alone with anyone.

NO ONE.

People said, I was paranoid, out of my mind, inhibiting my child’s growth but I was just protective of my baby.

I struggled all alone without anyone having an inkling of my pain and the torture I was subjected too.
I struggled all alone without anyone having an inkling of my pain and the torture I was subjected too.
(Illustration: iStock)

I had been through hell and back. I struggled all alone without anyone having an inkling of my pain and the torture I was subjected too. I might seem like a woman who is in control of herself but the scars of my trauma still bleeds.

I wake up in the middle of the night having nightmares. I have managed to build a wall around myself that no one dares to break. Inside those walls, the ‘real me’ lives.

The one who is scared of living, a woman who is still scared to voice her trauma, a woman who is ready to give up on life. I sometimes feel, my responsibilities made me hold on but now I am free and sometimes I have no urge to carry on. I just hate the thought of any man coming close to me. The wounds are so fresh and raw.

Such is the trauma, a kid, who is sexually abused goes through. I feel, parents need to talk about this more openly with their kids. If only, my mother could hold my hand the first time I told her about this. Then maybe, things would had been different for me.

(At The Quint, we are answerable only to our audience. Play an active role in shaping our journalism by becoming a member. Because the truth is worth it.)

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